A female soloist carries a glowing space blanket as she makes her way through the audience dispersed in a stage-converted warehouse room. Like calm waters, the sparkling covering flows out from the space, leaving a silhouette of sea foam on video recalling the elements she has left behind: a film screening, traditional Taiwanese costumes, rice powder, and a suitcase that turn Yeh Ming‑Hwa’s A Room by the Sea into a living archive of embodiment and storytelling.

In breaking up the traditional stage-spectator display, Yeh fills the space with physical objects, film and spoken word to confront her experience in western ballet training with the legacy of female figures in the history of east Asian dance. The narrative is mainly guided through video and voice, interrupted by dressing and undressing, traditional Yuanji dance stretches, and Taiwanese folk spins.

A Room by the Sea swims through an ocean of arriving, departing, and sensing how traditional dance forms sink into the body’s memory. A work still sailing on the surface, and seeking deeper waters.