Ai Takeuchi Dgc Gallery -part 2- (2026)

The entrance is dominated by a series of large-format silver gelatin prints, hung not on walls but on tensile steel cables, allowing them to rotate slowly in the gallery’s HVAC currents. The subjects are blurred: a hand clutching a damp train strap; the back of a neck where hair meets skin in a fine, imperfect line; a reflection in a puddle that might be a face or might be a billboard for a missing cat.

This is the core of Takeuchi’s thesis in Part 2 : The absurd labor of maintaining identity in the digital age. We are constantly peeling away layers (social media personas, performative grief, curated joy) only to find another identical fruit beneath. The mandarin never runs out. The silence on the phone never speaks back. Crucially, Ai Takeuchi DGC Gallery -Part 2- cannot be fully understood without its digital twin. The gallery has released a bespoke app that, when pointed at any piece of physical art, triggers an “after-image” overlay. Point your phone at the scorched bed, and you see a heat-map of the person who slept there—their tossing and turning rendered as red and orange vectors. Point it at the mandarin peeler, and you hear the original recording of the 1995 sarin gas subway attack announcement, stripped of context, reduced to a ghostly hum. Ai Takeuchi DGC Gallery -Part 2-

The gallery is divided into three distinct “zones,” though Takeuchi rejects the term “room” as too permanent. She calls them Kuzure (崩れ)—“Collapses.” The entrance is dominated by a series of