2021 桃源國際藝術獎

Before becoming the first chair of the Tainan County Council, Chen Hua-Zong had been the head of Xuejia region in Showa 10 (1935). It was also the year when the entire Office of the Taiwan Governor-General was mobilized to hold the Taiwan Exposition to commemorate the 40th anniversary of Japan’s governance of Taiwan, promoting local urban planning and land division. Xuejia thus became one of the few townships where urban planning was completed before the war. In 1947, the February 28 incident broke out. Chen Hua-Zong, Senator Wu Xin-Rong and others were arrested, being accused of civil disturbance. Originally sentenced to death, they were later acquitted of the charge. In November 1968, Chen Hua-Zong, who was a senator of the Taiwan Province at the time, was killed in a car accident near the Presidential Office Building on his way to the provincial council guest house in Taipei, with his car being crashed by a truck. He passed away after being sent to a hospital. The sudden accident led to the longtime local rumor that his death was related to his advocacy in the county council to establish an international port in Beimen. Going Home takes Chen Hua-Zong as the prototype of the story. It begins with a young man revisiting Chen’s former residence: an eclectic-style building hidden in a deserted place infested with weed that has been ruined for a long time, before moving to the statue of Chen Hua-Zong kept in the storage room of the council building. Through his story, I attempt to show the intertwined network of facts and fiction behind a historical site.

Completed in 1980, the council building has a roof in the shape of a “bagua” (eight trigrams), whose corners and ridges were ornamented with statues of immortals riding beasts appropriated from ancient Chinese architecture. This kind of architectural elements resembling the style of the northern palaces appeared abundantly in the architectural design of official buildings in the 1970s, incarnating how art was employed as an instrument for political propaganda. After the county council was moved into the building, the eight trigrams with the function of exorcism and the golden glazed tiles as symbols of the emperor failed to bring good luck. Many councilors died of diseases or accidents, causing clamorous rumors. The county people rumored that the Chinese-style official building had the negative effect of worsening the feng shui, leading to the council’s final decision to remove the roof crown to appease the voices from all parties. Although this incident happened after Chen Hua-Zong had died of the car accident for more than a decade, all sorts of rumors implying coincidences and conspiracies related to local politics remained to be exorcised. I used the photo of the completion of the council building as a reference and remade the pottery roof crown that had been left behind for decades. Finally, the original function and beauty of the object as a container got restored; but how can life be separated from political and ideological frameworks? I remain doubtful.

In August of 2017, protestors pulled down a monument depicting a Confederate soldier in Durham, North Carolina. The bronze sculpture crumpled when it hit the ground, twisting and bending into a warped version of the upright figure it initially depicted. The resulting object is dense with historical and political meaning, while also an astonishingly complex three-dimensional form. It remains deeply relevant to the present moment as America struggles to right the historical wrongs of racism and slavery, and build a more equitable and just future. The original monument was known as “The Boys Who Wore Gray” after the uniform worn by the Confederate army. Today, the crumpled monument is in storage in Durham, North Carolina.

This damaged monument serves as the point of departure for Disposable Monument II (After the Boys Who Wore Gray), my project for the Taoyuan International Art Award. Much of my artwork deals with historical narratives. I re-create and dismantle the sculptural forms of the past to interrogate the conditions of the present, examining the ways these artifacts reinforce and shape narratives that persist today. Given the rapid removal of monuments to odious historical figures across America and the world, this work seems particularly relevant at the moment.

Rather than triumphant, whole, upright and immobile, my replicas are broken and fragmented, precariously propped up as if they were being carted away or placed in some temporary location. This precarity emphasizes the contingent nature of the narratives and political structures they support, despite the apparently monolithic nature of the stone and bronze figures the works are drawn from. Similarly, the works are hollow and open in back, showing the messy process of laying up the castings and building in the armatures. I think about this contrast between the highly finished front and the rough, practical structure much like a theater set, a facade whose illusion is easily punctured.

The People’s Collection is an independent ongoing project that involves an exploration of the various ethnographic museums around the world, and asks questions about post-colonialism, memory and identity.

In this project, people originating from a colonized country are invited to visit ethnographic museums worldwide and choose an object that they would like to see returned to its country of origin. Before reaching a conclusion, participants are given a set of tasks to perform during their museum visit; the aim of these tasks is to encourage reflection upon the content of the museum in regard to ethnography and identity. At the end of the visit, participants may name their chosen object. If so, Mendes visits the museum, photographs the objects and creates a set of postcards that carry a title combining the name of the participant and the object chosen, for example: ‘State Sword,’ by Heather Agyepong, Ghana.

In November 2014, the project began its first stage of development at the British Museum in London. Since then, The People’s Collection has been developed in more than 20 museums worldwide, including the British Museum, London, UK; MET Museum, New York, USA; Tokyo National Museum, Japan; Korea National Museum, South Korea; Dahlem Museum, Berlin; Louvre Museum, Paris or the Museum of Civilization, Quebec City, Canada.

For the first time, Mendes created a special edition of the postcards, in which the visitors of the Taoyuan Museum of Fine Arts will be invited to post the postcards to the museums in the west, asking them to return the objects, originally chosen by the participants. In this manner, Mendes creates a connection between people living in Taiwan and the west, both of them having a colonial background.

Objects are constructed together as part of a system which enables them to enter our daily events and govern our interactions with the world. In this system, objects themselves need to refer to others by endowing one another with abstractness while their identities are replaced.

Due to the order of the present time based on totality, fragmentation, and transparency, things are becoming increasingly objective and interdependent. Instead of responding to each other, as a result, object and subject tend to build their relationships through communication.

In this work, I try to produce the sense that all things exist in between each other as responses to the phenomenon that things are being progressively interdependent. Through suspending and recomposing the surfaces of everyday living spaces, I attempt to extend the relationship among those objects by presenting their tensions—between folding and unfolding, found and made, absence and presence, object and subject.

When we speak of angels, there are always some certain impressions, such as halo, white rope, golden hair, wings, etc. These elements compose a vivid image in our imagination but not in our actual cognition despite the fact that we have never seen angels; at least, most of us have not. The phenomenon of collective memory involves the issue of power relations established by the semiotic system or that of pictorial propagation in public. There are general images of angels, and the relatively more private ones—the angels in historical paintings. Moreover, to be meticulous, these images are found in easel pictures and non-public mural paintings. They were basically unknown to the public before the system of modern exhibitions emerged. What is interesting is that the private and public images of angels somehow overlap, which seems a response to the issue of power structure mentioned above. To this matter, Kármán Line responses by utilizing historical paintings that contain the element of angels.

The term “Kármán line” refers to the boundary between atmosphere and outer space, which is also the maximum height of aviation. It is not a defined, tangible line, but a threshold that indicates the atmosphere gets thinner while the height increases. Our life seems to be limited in a bubble—humanity lives below the Kármán line, and what lies beyond it is unknown or the domain of the divine. This work extends the concept of stratification to exhibition space. It not only makes use of the horizontal plane we walk on and the vertical walls for showing artworks, but also involves the space above as part of the work, conjuring up the silhouettes of angels in a non-material way from the top of the space. While questioning angelic images, the approach also forms an upward connection.

The term “Fabricating Mandarin Duck” in Chinese originated from Wangan Island and Jiangjun Islet in Penghu, which means “the construction of the 24th Base of Shinyo Tokubetsu Kogekitai (naval suicide squad).”

Fabricating Mandarin Duck is an art project inspired by the emotional connection with Wangan Island formed during the artist’s residency in Penghuin 2015. In 2019, the artist revisited the remote island and realized that the ruin of “Shinyo Tokubetsu Kogekitai” base has been reconstructed and renovated into a brand-new tourist attraction of military history. However, this was done with plenty of absurd viewpoints and false information from the authority due to a biased or lack of understanding from the main islander in Taiwan. A distorted history was thus created.

This artwork continues with the artist’s recent series of OHP installations, and interweaves two narratives of the gloomy war history during the end of Japanese Colonial Period in Taiwan and the history of misusing and misappropriating the name of a famous waterfowl “Mandarin Duck (Yuan Yang)” in Chinese literature, which vaguely correspond to each other.

Through various approaches of geopolitics, biology and deconstruction of literary texts, the name of the Japanese naval base “Mandarin Duck Cave” seems to validate the inevitable and absurd fate of the species.

The flag work, titled ‘The Remaining Blood,’ is inspired by The Red Remaining in Winter, the memoir of Yoshiaki Haza—a former Shinyo Tokubetsu Kogekitai soldier in Wangan. Through exposure to sunlight, the shade of the “Kyokujitsu-ki (Rising Sun Flag)” of Imperial Japan developed with cyanotype a negative image of the “White Sun in Blue Sky” flag of Kuomingtang, or the Nationalist Party, from mainland China—the latter ruler in Taiwan. The flag was then stitched with red threads to depict an ancient map of Wangan Island in the form of the “Thousand Stitched Belt (Senninbari)” created close to the end of World War II. Each red dot indicates a forgotten bloodline remaining at the border throughout the vicissitudinous history of colonization.

This is Taiwan’s “allegory of the cave” that reflects our truth, distortion as well as the eternal blind spot in the gloomy darkness.

The Holobiont Project is based on a concept developed by the famous biologist Lynn Margulis in 1991. The term “Holobiont” means “the whole unit of life,” which refers to a symbiotic complex constructed by a collection of organisms.

The ecological impact of soil degradation is becoming more and more severe, affecting the entire biosphere cycle, such as climate change, food production decline, population migration, and a significant decrease in biodiversity. According to an article published by the Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO) of the United Nations, “Soil makes an amazing contribution to us, but we often take it for granted. It sustains food production, filters our water, is our source of medicine and helps us cope with and adapt to climate change.” So, tracing back to the problem, the degradation of the soil is due to the use of chemical fertilizers.

It is a common practice to use conventional chemical fertilizers when planting crops to aid plant growth. However, without properly taking into consideration soil state and condition, the fertilizers are often overused, which inevitably causes insufficient soil metabolism and indirectly leads to soil contamination and loss.

On the other hand, soil degradation results in microbial activity decrease and depletion, making it more difficult for crops to grow healthily and naturally. Consequently, more fertilizers are used to stimulate growth, creating a vicious cycle. As a matter of fact, the soil system balance is determined by microbial diversity, and microorganisms play an integral role in the relationship between soil and crops.

The Holobiont Project: Ji-Mi is an attempt to understand the subtle relationship between soil, microorganisms, crops and people from all aspects through observing the symbiotic changes between crops and soil bacteria and by using the senses of smell and vision. Through the guidance of smell, we will further consider the layers in the interrelationship and reflect on the ecological connections and impacts.

Workers Holding Placards - a Portrait Project takes the workers holding placards as the subject, and uses the artist’s physical action to record the workers’ laboring state. For the artist, the “immobility” of the workers in the traffic flow of the urban space and the “action” of “laboring” are in a state of concealed labor. The relationship between the appearance and structure of the workers’ body and the placards reminds the artist of religious crucifixion as if someone were being nailed to the wooden signboard, which provides a universal icon that epitomizes those in the lower social stratum amidst the acceleration of urban development in Taiwan.

In Workers Holding Placards - a Portrait Project, the artist created portraits of these workers using the technique of sketching portraits. In addition, through the interaction in the process of painting, the painter and the placard workers engaged in a private meeting in the vast urban landscape. The action of painting also caught the eyes of the riders and drivers in traffic and the passers-by, turning their attention to the interactive portrait-making process between the artist and the workers as well as giving the workers individual subjectivity.

This project attempts to create a reversal of the imagination of portrait painting. Through the artist’s action and creative process, it responds to a social practice highly common to this generation. It is used to explore how body image is currently presented, as well as the complex relationship resulting from the dynamic tension between creative labor, individual, collective, and social mechanisms. At the same time, through the implied meaning deriving from the ritualism and labor in their own actions, the interactive dynamics of “watching,” “being watched” and “other’s watching” are re-deconstructed. Thus, the workers are again posited in the tension between being active and passive.

The concept of “land” is traditionally conceived by mapping or creating boarder restrictions. The history of war and mass killing is always involved with achievement and invasion to another land. In Bengal, the history of the exploitation of land begins by British empire through the cultivation of indigo. Living in the present days of the post-colonial era, the war, boarder restrictions, land privatisations have caused massive migration of human race from all around the world. Because of the private capitalism the indigenous people and the inhabitant are marginalised. Under the fascist progression of privatisation, how can one really relates to his/her own land where the land is already engulfed by others? The natural catastrophe can change immediately to the conventional shapes or maps of this present world.

Thus, this temporality and unsettlement of land questions, is there any land where he or she belongs? What does land mean then? Where is the possibility of the spiritual land where there is a possibility to connect each other by going beyond to this corporate capital world. This video installation is looking for this 3rd land that exists in-between the reality and the altered space, and recalls the abstraction of human existence within different state of land.

V_br△nt* m△tt3r* houses the spirits inhibiting the quotidian places, bodies and things that in one way or another contain liquid crystals—a state of matter that simultaneously shares properties of liquids and solid crystals. In 1888 Otto Lehmann, a physicist with keen interest in microscopes, was approached by Friedrich Reinitzer for help to examine the features of derivatives of cholesterol that he had come across. “A substance whose crystals could be regarded as in a state of flow from direct observations, yet did not disintegrate and reform, but rather maintained their internal correlation under constant deformation in the same manner as do amorphous and liquid bodies,” Lehmann described in the article ‘On Flowing Crystals’ written for Zeitschrift für Physikalische Chemie in 1889.

It is not surprising then that ascribing vibrancy to crystals through either their physical and chemical properties or metaphysical qualities have materialized in different vectors of progress that have fueled production of consumer electronics and their parts, including liquid crystal displays (LCD), thus fulfilling the Lehmann’s hope of accessing new sources of energy through liquid crystals.

The interpretations of the characteristics and powers attributed to the crystals could be described as a liquid state of mind—as something that flows freely between the scientific and empirical to mystical and speculative. The idea of crystal vibrancy long precedes the discovery of the liquid crystals, considering that early alchemists thought of minerals as seeds planted in the Earth.

Installation V_br△nt* m△tt3r* consists of six portals resembling a switched off LCD screen and stones made of recycled plastic, each representing a microhistory that the author deems an important landmark in relation to how we relate to the material technologies. Moments once liquefied and frozen for now—exhumation, modernity, body, production line, commodity, and re-crystallization—are lined up on the translucent surfaces.

The material representation not only acknowledge the reality of crystals enabling the everyday technologies—processes often embodying deeply unethical material realities—but also the phenomena of crystals supposedly countering the negative effects of the same technologies with natural crystal grids blocking radio magnetic waves or chembusters fighting off 5G radiation.

The infinite number of narratives encoded within the material and technospiritual gestures. Or to echo Zygmunt Bauman’s “passage from the ‘solid’ to a ‘liquid phase’ of modernity: that is, into a condition in which social forms can no longer keep their shape for long, because they decompose and melt faster than the time it takes to cast them, and once they are cast for them to set.”

The Invisible contains both ‘Into the Light…’ and ‘Blue Book’ within an installation. It initiates a dialogue leading the viewer to reflect upon the complexities of global politics and the social constructs within which all societies reside. This presentation is a conceptual dissection of the tension among language, law, social constructs and individual beliefs. The two pieces presented together create a conceptual poem that initiates awareness and reflection.

Political capitalism may seem at first to be a form of capitalism, it is not. Rather, it describes the alliances between the political and economic elite who push policies that value the upper echelon of society and disregard the masses. Under political capitalism, businesses have a significant influence on government decisions. Through ‘Into the Light…,’ Ray expresses apprehension about the leverage corporate entities have in a political system dictated by business interests and the cronyism that inevitably ensues.

This series of images pay homage to the craftsmen and artisans who manufactured goods from start to finish. These silver gelatin images are self developed and enlarged. The piece condemns Henry Ford’s assembly line, which segmented production in favor of efficiency and profit over individual skill, pride, and quality. Ford’s manufacturing model introduced a system of competition elimination—one that Taipei convenience stores have perpetuated. In the United States, large corporations have dominated consumer choice in a similar way. The parallels between the power of corporate entities to control product selection in the United States and Taiwan reflect the global impact of political capitalism.

The photographs of convenience stores in the Greater Taipei area are taken at night. Visually enhancing the allure of incandescent light providing shelter and food in return for consumer approval. The architecture surrounding the stores reveals the unification of consumer desire and the effects of global capitalism, allowing the viewers to rethink the relationship between consumption and the end result.

‘Blue Book’ portrays the Republic of China’s (Taiwan’s) guiding principles, Sanmin Zhuyi, translated into Braille and printed in a four-volume cyanotype. The function of Braille—reading by touch—is rendered impossible in this photographic reproduction. Cyanotype is a material often used for blueprints to represent three-dimensional structures in two dimensions. By printing Braille on cyanotype, ‘Blue Book’ reduces the tactile function of Braille to a two-dimensional format, thus creating a work that not only self-contradicts but defeats its original purpose. This philosophical and unidentifiable state of being is a metaphor for Taiwan’s current state as an “unofficial” nation. Through nullifying the function of Braille, ‘Blue Book’ toys with the notion of existence versus non-existence.

Teeth of Time is a series of my propositions. It is the expression for the nature which returns all kinds of materials and phenomena without resting. The vulgar and sensational word of “Teeth” is an emphasis of properties of time. The particles of machines which lost existence and dignity as well as its original shape and function are desolate and sad. Although they are supposed to disappear to the other side of infinity, they cannot help being sad. It is the fate of machines that can exist by their functions and the pity for the lives of people which can be confirmed by pains. I identify the existence through the dreadful reality that the tomb of time so to speak the silence of time has.

“In this work, I expressed the filling and emptying and the circulation of nature and civilization through the medium of clockwork. Cogwheel in Chinese characters (胎葉) is made up with ‘胎’ which means pregnancy, and ‘葉’ which means leaves. It means a frame bearing the life just as leaves made to give life to trees....

I found the answer of tooth of time as awe from the reconciliation between nature and civilization. The beauty of awe is that it grows with age. Awe needs patience and it is the victory over time. It is the opposite of destruction. It can be said as completion.” This is a part of my artist’s notes.

The spiral wound clockwork is the symbol of life that gives life to things. It moves as if it were alive when it was wound but it arrives at death when it is fully unwound. What is allowed to human beings is the finite life until being unwound completely. Nature gets it back without pause. Therefore, existence and nonexistence and to be and not to be is the different sides of the same thing.

In October 2019, the artist visited Hong Kong and joined the protests. While taking photos outside Mongkok Police Station, where protesters commemorated those who sacrificed their lives, a woman yelled at him saying, “Don’t take my pictures. Don’t you know that would endanger me?” Her honest reaction showed her fear and pointed to the lurking threat. The impact of her words far exceeded the images of bloodshed on TV.

Nowadays, the Hong Kong people even have to carefully consider what they can wear when going out. Freedom has gradually disappeared. This is the reality in contemporary Hong Kong.

The artist brought back an important series of woodcuts that was made urgently to record the resistance movement. The series is created in the manner of the left-wing woodcuts emerged in the New Woodcut Movement of the 1930s, which brought together engravers, experts in the art of making dark and expressive images on makeshift wooden boards, with the means at hand, in the urgency of the revolution to illustrate the ideology in progress. The artist followed their path that was in accordance with the aesthetic ideal advocated by Lu Xun (魯迅).

Although digital media are highly developed today, physical media still possess a unique power. By printing layers of dense ink on vat paper, the print series leads the viewer to revisit the historic scenes that shall not be forgotten.

The “National Security Law” was passed on June 30th. Any promotional materials and works of art related to the anti-extradition law are now illegal and punishable by the National Security Law.

It is expected that group exhibitions in Hong Kong and Tokyo showcasing artworks that feature the protests and resistance movement will be cancelled due to self-censorship and other concerns after the passage of the National Security Law.

The project adopts the form used by Hong Kong protestors, who held blank papers to protest on streets. A number of blank papers is displayed on the left side of the exhibition room, whereas an equal number of prints documenting the Hong Kong anti-extradition protests is shown on the right side as a response to the National Security Law. Although the “promotional material” looks like blank papers, its meaning is implied and clear.

Through black and white, the work commemorates freedom and the fallen city.

The project If Mountain Has Deities originated from a long-term field study of the temples of land gods in the mountains of Northern Taiwan, which has later been transformed into the foundation of a series of art projects. This project begins with a viewpoint of political geography and environmental ethics, focusing on animism in the mountains; and from the regional land gods and mountain gods, it then extends to the animist belief that all things are spiritual.

This piece revolves around the relationship between human beings and the land from a contemporary perspective, combining my own experiences and the process of following various groups into the mountains. While facing the mountains, how does one contemplate on the soul and gods, and how does one reify the process?

This project attempts to use mountains as a medium of thought and the land as an emotional object of reference, and from the perspective of the gods and nature, to consider plants, animals, geography, climate, even language and behavior as subjects that can be perceived and experienced. In the end, it returns to the worldview of the human environment and concentrates on discussion of the Anthropocene and reflection on the non-human.

I choose 3 small private stores in Taoyuan for this project. Global-store Project focuses on individual shops all over the world. I produce 2.5D photos (3D architectural models made by 2D photos) and posters, then promote those stores as if they were global companies from other regions and other countries. All results are recorded and shown on the website. Now in 2020, due to the Covid-19 pandemic, global activities almost stopped. As a result, stores in Taiwan are inevitably forced to develop domestically. Despite these circumstances, the individual shops in Taoyuan selected here are still doing just fine for their domestic business.

I choose local betel nut shops, small shops and small stalls; those are small local business that people are familiar with in Taoyuan. People seldom stop and give a try to understand the information they show, but the “scale, signboard, maintenance method” of those shops express “Taoyuan’s attitude and thoughts toward culture and economy.” We are always watching it.

I have visited Morocco, in my quest for communities of female weavers. My research on the intersecting fields of weaving and women networks gave me the chance to delve deeper into the wider spectrum of Moroccan history, culture, ethics and everyday practices. The Amazigh (natives) symbols woven on Moroccan rugs are complex encoded narratives which attracted and held my attention. The weaving of life stories as encoded in these rugs appealed to me with their layered complexity and resurgent narratives. My visit to the Cooperative Tawnza in Ait Hamza, has evolved into a strong personal connection with the local women crafters. The experience of seeing women weave and knot personal and collective narratives was stimulating. 

The starting point of the Rugs of Life project are the motifs traditionally woven on rugs; the main goal of the project is to reframe these motifs into a new typology of weaving motifs. Basic traditional symbols as found in folklore are initially deconstructed according to John Conway’s Game of Life algorithm. Subsequently, the traditional pattern is transcribed into a cellular automaton environment wherein simple rules introduce ever increasing complexity over the specific timeframes of algorithmic generations. In this manner, the traditional symbols found woven on rugs are converted to organic entities and each generation is merely a function of the preceding one. The personal and collective stories encoded in these motifs and patterns now take on a life in a seemingly completely different context; yet, it is within this context that these stories are woven into the fabric of the story of an emerging collective of female weavers, a collective of weavers who are now being assisted by digital technology in propagating and disseminating their craft and knowledge.

The rules applied in the cellular automaton environment are not a one-off as they are applied repeatedly in the propagation of new generations and transmutations of these traditional patterns.

The new generative motifs are then compiled into a glossary that is distributed among the Cooperative Tawnza. Local artisans are called to use the new deconstructed motifs to create a new composition on the rug instinctively, based on their decades-long experience and craft. The traditional rug weaving is in this way reconfigured into a contemporary design which combines an algorithmically generative pattern evolution, a storehouse of cultural knowledge and human craftsmanship of the highest level. The stories encoded in these new patterns are the prime example of machine intelligence, human storytelling and physical labour collaborating in the creation of a new way of not only understanding but also being in the world. The new designs provided with the aesthetic understanding of traditional heritage and abundant cultural resources thus pave the way for a cultural and social practice based on cooperation across cultures that is both renewable and resilient. The work ultimately investigates how the stories of human, environment and machine are intricately woven together.

My performative painting practice explores the fluid interactions between the gestural brushstroke, the picture frame, the architectural space, and the body movement. I search to extend the fluidity, bone method (骨法) and ch’iyun (氣韻, spirit resonance) of running script and chirashi-gaki calligraphy to brushstrokes created by the body moving in an architectural space. I use intuitive and spontaneous gestures to create a calligraphic narrative, inspired largely by dance improvisation, action painting and gestural abstraction.

I allow the figures, landscapes and abstract compositions to emerge from the matrix of gestural brushstrokes by covering the non-essential brushstrokes with layers of paint, creating a somewhat narrative scene. The lines between abstraction and figuration are blurred, allowing the viewer to create a narrative that lies in between their conscious and unconscious worlds.

Why is there a need for a painting to be presented within the boundaries of a frame? I am constantly questioning the conflicting and cohabiting relationship between the panoramic image, the frame, and an image that escapes its frame. I am interested in a type of painting that can allow the viewer to wander throughout the space, like the way our eyes wander when we are walking in a forest.