In Peng Yi-Hang’s practice, photographic observation unfolds as an inquiry into boundaries—between visibility and concealment, intimacy and distance, order and spontaneity. Over the past fifteen years, Peng Yi-Hang has approached photography not merely as a means of representation but as a reflective medium, where images concern less what is seen than the act of seeing itself.
Created during Peng Yi-Hang’s time in Berlin, the series Meow consists of portraits of people wearing leopard patterns—strangers met on sidewalks, in markets, at subway stations, or outside cafés. Each photograph begins with a moment of recognition, an image interrupting the flow of daily life. Peng Yi-Hang approaches, explains his project, and asks for consent. What follows—sometimes a brief smile, sometimes an exchange of stories—becomes the foundation of the photograph.
The resulting portraits are striking in their clarity and restraint. Against the soft geometry of Berlin’s architecture, figures emerge with quiet dignity. The artist’s lens, held at eye level, creates a reciprocity of gaze: neither surveillance nor performance, but presence. The leopard print, scattered across jackets, scarves, and dresses, repeats like a rhythmic pulse through the series. It is both signal and camouflage—expressing individuality while resonating within the collective fabric of the city. Through this visual repetition, Peng Yi-Hang transforms pattern into metaphor, suggesting that identity may exist most vividly where differences converge.
Light in Meow performs almost as a character of its own. Unlike the directed illumination of Peng Yi-Hang’s earlier nocturnal works, here light is ambient, democratic, and inclusive. It touches every participant with the same tenderness. The palette expands beyond monochrome precision to include the warmth of skin, texture, and fabric. Yet the overall clarity remains: nothing is embellished, nothing dramatized. Each image holds a balance between openness and reserve, between approach and respect. This visual restraint defines the ethical dimension of Peng Yi-Hang’s practice—a quiet discipline of looking without possession.
The series also offers a portrait of Berlin itself. A city often described as cool and self-contained reveals, in Meow, its subtler pulse. Beneath the surface of individuality lies an undercurrent of warmth, humor, and trust. Some participants wear vintage garments inherited across generations; others adopt leopard print as a symbol of playfulness or defiance. Through these details, the work speaks of continuity and change, of how style and identity migrate through time, gender, and class. In Peng Yi-Hang’s Berlin, clothing becomes a shared language, a means for strangers to become briefly visible to one another.
At its core, Meow asks how visibility can nurture intimacy within urban anonymity. The photographs are not about fashion, nor the spectacle of difference, but about the fragile condition of meeting. The brief act of pausing, standing, and being seen transforms the street into a temporary site of acknowledgment. The images preserve not performance but presence—the warmth of a moment suspended before movement resumes. Photography here functions not as documentation but as a relationship: a practice of approaching the world with patience, curiosity, and respect. The camera becomes a mediator of distance, a means to observe without possession.
Ultimately, Meow proposes that photography can be an act of empathy. It reminds us that seeing is not passive but reciprocal—a form of contact, a way of acknowledging the lives that share our space. The wall between observer and observed, so present in Peng Yi-Hang’s earlier works, begins here to dissolve. What remains is the subtle vibration of encounter: the recognition that distance itself can connect. Through Meow, Peng Yi-Hang brings photography back to its most human form—the moment when looking becomes a meeting, and the city, for a brief second, breathes as one.
Text: Chun-Chi Wang