I invited Ti to collaborate with me at the Venice Biennale because of his manner and poise as a performer.
There was the inquisitive yet sure way that he handled things, moved them by foot, folded or tossed them about, initiated things and completed them.
It was as if these mostly commonplace things, accompanied by the odd personal talisman, were chosen because they were both close at hand andneeded to be kept there, in some unspoken accord. (Yet, all the while, keeping their separateness.) Nothing extraneous seemed to come into that orbit.
And there was his patience, the particular manner of his waiting. He timed movements like he spaced objects, carefully, with an elusive purpose.
I distinctly remember the anticipation he could generate out of so little, while never hiding his means (like a magician with nothing up his sleeve).
There were the surprises, and the gentle negations too, like dipping all those wallets into that large tin of white paint at Ocular Lab. And, how abruptly he could shatter the decorum, whether tumbling-crashing metal lockers to the floor at Gertrude Street or, after patiently waiting all day at his ICA artist bookfair table, laconically gloving his hands, and igniting his shrieking chainsaw.
Ti came to Venice and, in sight of the real horses of San Marco, sent reverberations out across the lagoon with his understated, affecting way.
Christian Capurro
Artist, Photographer and Filmmaker