In Tang Yongxiang’s work, time does not flow - it accumulates. Each painting is born from a daily gesture repeated endlessly. The artist returns to the studio, reopens a canvas “paused” the day before, and moves across it with the same grid of cross-hatched brushstrokes, the same raw pigments, the same disciplined approach. It is a slow, almost stubborn process in which the painting advances not through sudden decisions but through tiny shifts, hesitations, and revisions that remain visible on the surface. This practice of “overpainting” turns the canvas into an organism that lives beyond the artist’s intention: an allegorical machine that continues to change, at least conceptually, even when the painter steps away. Tang’s images - everyday fragments without strong narrative meaning, such as a group of people, a tree, or a pair of feet - become fields of attention. They do not tell stories; they persist. They do not explain; they resist immediate clarity. In an age dominated by speed and automatic execution, Tang Yongxiang’s work reasserts the value of pausing - not as a stop, but as a different way of relating to the world, allowing meaning to surface slowly, without force.
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