Chimney-produced clouds, man-made sky. Cough is composed into music, We listen, sickly. Let's play! the game of seeking coal, Found! Found, between floor tiles, Found, on steamed bun, in noodle sauce, in dumpling filling, Found, in nostril, bronchus, lung, brain, nails, Found, found, found.

Shanxi, China, is the unknown ground in the world. If people have heard of it, then they know it from the coal industry. As someone who spent his childhood in Shanxi, I feel as if the coal is in my veins, merged with my blood, becoming me. Until the age of 10, I thought of ‘air’ as a murky substance. To me, a sky without smog wouldn't be called the sky — the coal gave the air it’s substance. My hand would turn black if I stayed outside too long, and my hair would be sticky, because of the soot in the air.

My family lives near the coal mining site, and some of them are working in the industry. I talked to my grandfather, who was a mine manager, and my mom, whose childhood was closely related to coal. Using the erasability of charcoal, I layer multiple stories from across generations of my family, to reflect on how coal entered our lives and experiences. Charcoal reflects coal in terms of materiality, whilst creating a breathless and agitated visual effect through its coarse texture, reminds me of the soot in the air that was thick enough to see, and polluted enough to be called the sky.