By: Zoe Ellington
Entering “Aria of the Unheard” at Sol de Paris is like stepping into a moonlit space, where images appear softly, lit not by direct light but by a gentle, subtle glow. The exhibition’s approach offers what we might call “moonlight aesthetics”—a way of seeing defined by indirectness, mystery, and quiet refusal. Contemporary visual culture often favors brightness and clarity, where meaning is expected to be immediately apparent. Yet, these nineteen artists cultivate shadowed mysteries and gentle silences, encouraging audiences to engage from the edges rather than through clear narratives. The exhibition turns the gallery into a space for thoughtful reflection, inviting viewers to pause, reconsider, and perhaps rethink their relationship with visual information.
This careful use of mystery is an important curatorial choice. As Édouard Glissant famously argued, the “right to opacity” is a fundamental concept—an assertion of identity and meaning against the demand for clarity. In this exhibition, mystery becomes a form of quiet resistance. Rather than making bold, confrontational statements, the works come together like a chorus of gentle yet distinct voices. The curatorial approach favors subtle interference and vibrant dialogue among the pieces, gently challenging the viewer’s instinct to clarify or categorize. In a broader context, this methodology questions conventional ways of producing knowledge, inviting us to embrace uncertainty and mystery as valuable and creative forces in our understanding of contemporary art and society.
Photo Courtesy: Xindi Sun, Lilla Baltagi & Yifan Jing
Installation View: Xindi Sun, “Touchable Letter” (2024) / Lilla Baltagi, “La violoncelliste/the cellist” (2025) / Yifan Jing, “The Dancer on the Train” (2024)
Audrey Ni Ruorong’s digital collage, “Is It 1,” demonstrates this fragmented and ambiguous approach. Going against straightforward storytelling, Ni unearths narrative through layers of fragmented residues and visual dissonances, creating a space where meaning emerges from uncertainty. Similarly, Yue Yu’s sculptures “your little horns between mine” and “( ( ,) ) between 8188 lips for 400 years” delve into themes of absence and echo. Yu skillfully works with materials like caramel and glazed stoneware, allowing them to melt and vanish, leaving behind only traces or echoes. Both artists prompt us to consider: what endures after physical forms dissolve? Their works quietly underscore memory, emotion, and the passage of time, resisting full revelation while highlighting the profound impacts of proximity and loss. Caijing Kuang’s monoprint “Break Free” reflects this tension: fragile yet resilient figures twist through dense textures, capturing the moment when pent-up feelings seek release. Jichi Zhang’s twin-channel video presents quick, tense actions with a plastic pipe and a tree—connections formed and then abandoned, like tests that never find resolution. Yifan Jing’s short animation features a solitary rider repeating small gestures on a train that never arrives, using rhythm as a subtle anchor when belonging feels uncertain. Each artist trusts quietness, not loudness, to convey weight. The tactile materiality invites a sensory connection that extends beyond conventional visual understanding, fostering intimate dialogues with viewers.
In another but related vein, Luna Xue and Ruiqi Peng explore personal histories and emotional landscapes through quiet, visual testimonies. Luna Xue’s powerful digital painting “What Was Taken – Triptych of Silence” addresses the trauma of sexual violence. Rather than relying on overt declarations, the piece uses quiet strength to honor survivors’ resilience and the complex process of reclaiming voice and power from silence. Adding another layer, Ruiqi Peng’s photographic series “Lost Moments” delicately captures forgotten urban spaces—corners where solitude and contemplation meet. Peng’s thoughtful images highlight fleeting moments of loss and departure, urging viewers to see the deep emotional narratives hidden within everyday invisibility. Xindi Sun takes this concept of muted testimony further; her layered work “Touchable Letter” hides handwritten accounts of educational absence beneath veiled vellum, requiring viewers to lift each sheet to sense the weight of withheld speech. These artists express grief and endurance without spectacle, conveying emotional depth through carefully restrained visual languages. Their chosen quietness becomes a powerful statement, inviting careful listening and deeper emotional connection.
Photo Courtesy: Jichi Zhang
Jichi Zhang, “Pipe” (2023)
The exhibition’s exploration of time and ecology continues with Yeer Zhang’s video piece “51°33’48.04″N, 0°9’39.67″W,” which captures the slow decay of a dead oak tree, patiently observing its ecological transformation. Zhang’s perspective encourages viewers to reconsider death as part of the ongoing cycles of nature—a gradual change rather than a definitive end. Echoing this sense of time, Xinyi Liu’s photographic series “Elegy,” printed on silver plates, captures fleeting moments through long exposures. The works become quiet monuments to impermanence, emphasizing how even transient actions leave lasting impressions. Nearby, Shenlu Liu’s fiber-optic lattice pulses with movement when viewers pass by, suggesting unseen energy fields that breathe alongside us. Lilla Baltagi’s spectral seated figure, draped in pale gauze and clutching a deep-blue mesh, seems to weave silence into form—another reminder that absence can be shaped into memory. Together, these works create a meditation on endurance, where rhythm—the pulse of sap, breath, or light—becomes a subtle yet steadfast form of resistance. They gently call attention to humanity’s connection with broader ecological systems, urging a more sensitive and thoughtful awareness of our environment.
In total, these works come together to form a cohesive yet gently fragmented expression of quiet resistance. The artists intentionally avoid direct illumination, choosing instead to work within shadows and subtle vibrations. Rather than diminishing clarity, their embrace of opacity becomes an act of care—an invitation to engage in deeper, slower, and more reflective ways of seeing. In an era defined by constant brightness and extreme visibility, “Aria of the Unheard” invites cultural institutions and audiences alike to reconsider the ethics of visibility. The exhibition subtly poses a critical question: Can contemporary spaces dim their lights enough to allow silence to speak? Ultimately, the exhibition demonstrates how art can offer an alternative to the prevailing visual paradigms, advocating for a quieter, more introspective, and deeply resonant experience of the world.
