Xiaotong Cai

41.82379°N, 71.38497°W

I, Xiaotong Cai, have known an abandoned bridge was lifted and stuck at 64-degree from 1976. I have walked and bent down towards it for over 60 times, each paralleling a journal entry. The visits and 27,351 words (up until May 5th) are the living proof: observation, encounters, correspondence, collectively and personally. It’s been nine months since it emerged in flux. Two flesh. A moving outsider and a still bridge. How can an Unused giant activate a human body? Who is the attractor and intervener?

Here, my solution is to conduct a series of small gestures. I say, interpreting without interpretation. A primitive voice reading sentence by sentence. I say, it must be scrupulous. Presence penetrating the organ. I insist, the only way to approach the bridge is the vision once you are there. You shall be present to the bridge as it is so clear to you, facing you, the Great Silence.

The logic is: walk-write-read-gather-walk, until the bridge is demolished. All writing must be triggered after being there. The next gathering during the 10-day graduate thesis show starts and grows in a durational reading, ending in a collaborative walk by signing agreements with the audience. Within two sites, a body is walking, returning and leaving. Where should a piece go?

To follow up what happens during and after this exhibition, read here.
If you want to walk there by yourself, it's at 41.82379°N, 71.38497°W. 

October 4, 2025, Saturday. Keep scratching off the rust on the train track after coming back from walking across the bridge for the first time. I collect and keep some of them.

April 18, 2026, Saturday. Matthew, the Swanman, is reading the property sign after crossing the street. He had left the bridge as soon as I arrived there. Last time I met him underneath the bridge was last November. The same type of sign can be easily found around the bridge.

November 8, 2025, Saturday. Open another sparkling water and sit on the bridge. Watching, drinking and moving less.

December 11, 2025, Thursday. Second gathering. I invite Richard and Sandor, two of the encounters on the bridge, to read my writing about a Swanman that I encountered underneath the bridge, before my cohort. 

January 22, 2026, Thursday. First visit after the blizzard in early 2026. Evidence becomes stronger. Stepping into the footprints left by someone makes the access to the gate easier. 

October 7, 2025, Tuesday. Laying on the rock nearby, watching over the bridge, falling asleep. It is a stressful day. I take a nap and try to think of nothing but only observing the clouds and the security camera.

April 18, 2026, Saturday. A line made out of stones laying underneath. Tide is low today. When it’s higher, the stone line will be swallowed. Song and I are guessing if it’s made by someone or not.

February 12, 2026, Thursday. Embedding my initial sketch for the thesis exhibition in the train tracks underneath the up-stuck structure. I picked up some branches as an exchange. I will return them and re-open the sketch once the exhibition ends.