Goldfish: The Emergence of Life and Death Through Staring
A Review of Sophy Qi's Video Installation

The first time I encountered Sophy Qi’s video installation Goldfish was at the Kurume Contemporary Art Museum in Japan. In the piece, two glass fish tanks stood quietly in a space resembling a pet store. Inside, red and gold goldfish swam and floated in the water—some already dead, either floating at the surface or sinking to the bottom of the tank. The entire work is presented from the perspective of a smartphone recording, with an unstable image yet strikingly honest—much like the pure, direct, and unfiltered gaze one might experience in a child’s world.

This is not just a video record; it is a way of seeing. Sophy Qi did not use any professional filming techniques, instead choosing to use the “essential smartphone” as a tool to extend the senses, allowing the act of watching to become part of daily life—a practice rooted in innocence. This “low-tech” feel is not a limitation but rather amplifies her sensitivity to the state of the moment: the shimmering fish scales, the stillness of the fish bodies, the slight ripples in the water, and the “death” that might be overlooked by the observer.

Death is the most prominent silent protagonist in this work. Unlike many other artworks that treat death as an abstract concept, Goldfish directly presents the coexistence of life and death as inevitable. In the same tank, some fish swim gracefully while others are still and silent. They have no choice but to exist—subject to the gaze of the observer, who may either ignore them or stare with curiosity. This mirrors the relationship between humans and life: most of the time, we stand at the edge of life as passive onlookers.

What Sophy Qi presents is an ethics of watching akin to that of a child. She does not judge, beautify, or embellish; instead, she records, stares, and remains curious. This kind of watching is not a cold observation but an instinctive “care,” much like a child who, upon seeing a fish die, does not try to understand the meaning of death but instead stops to look longer—trying to understand what happened.

Sophy Qi’s Goldfish is not driven by technique or narrative but by visual tactility and emotional permeation. As viewers watch, they gradually become immersed in a quiet yet unsettling rhythm—as if standing in a dream that doesn’t speak, yet where they can hear their own heartbeat. This work reminds us that watching is not about control but about presence; and art, at times, does not require grand language—only an honest gaze.