Maintaining an activist's disposition, TheCube takes “sound culture” as one of its core focuses, re-examining the historical textures of Taiwan's modernization through listening rather than vision, where images and texts have long set the terms. From the ALTERing NATIVism (2014) exhibition to the ongoing Sound Meridians project (2019– ), developed in collaboration with Southeast Asian curators, TheCube's work consistently points to a central proposition: how might sound become a method through which contemporary art reckons with the real and complex conditions of modern experience?
In January 2026, Yihsuan Chiu visited TheCube and spoke with Jeph Lo. The interview was conducted in Mandarin Chinese and translated by Yihsuan.
Yihsuan
Jeph
"Sound culture," as one of our primary focuses, is a clear example. Contemporary art and historical narrative have long relied heavily on the visual and the textual—but many of the sensibilities and tensions within Taiwan's modernization cannot be adequately represented through visual images alone. When we choose to approach history through listening, we encounter a landscape of Taiwanese modernity that diverges markedly from the mainstream account. For us, sound is not a medium. It is a way of opening another dimension of critical possibility within an art world where the visual has always dominated.
Yihsuan
Jeph
The intention behind "Project Space" was therefore to pursue long-term, dynamic projects, allowing research, social practice, and ideas to accumulate and layer within a physical space over time. We sought to transform what would otherwise be scattered art events into everyday spatial practice, and to produce forms of difference here, in resistance to the standardized, institutionalized curatorial logic.
Looking back at how it began in 2010: Amy had received a grant from the National Culture and Arts Foundation for a series of socially engaged art projects, and we came across this old building in Gongguan, available at a low rate. Although the space was not big enough for a large group exhibition, we adopted a different strategy: breaking what could have been a show with a dozen artists into a year-and-a-half-long series, presenting one artist or collective at a time. This became TheCube's early Re-envisioning Society series, whose programs laid the groundwork for TheCube’s curatorial direction.
Upon the founding of TheCube, I left my work in the tech industry to co-run the space with Amy, bringing my interest in sound. In that sense, this place is a convergence of what the two of us cared about most.
Yihsuan
Jeph
Through the more inclusive framework of "sound culture," we are able to bring underground music, experimental music, field recording, and even the song censorship of Taiwan's martial law period and its attendant cultures of resistance all into the conversation. In other words, we use the interdisciplinary nature of "sound culture" to construct a set of cultural coordinates that belong to Taiwan. With this context, "underground music," for instance, is no longer just a subcultural genre—it can be understood as a sonic practice with genuine social energy and historical depth.
In 2014, we curated ALTERing NATIVism: Sound Cultures in Post-War Taiwan at Museum of National Taipei University of Education (MoNTUE) and Kaohsiung Museum of Fine Arts, presenting an extensive body of documents alongside artworks, allowing one to amplify another. When it first opened, there were some controversies: some critics felt the volume of documents reduced the artworks to a secondary role. But in retrospect, the framework and research we established have continued to inform and sustain discourse around Taiwanese sound culture, opening the possibilities for interpreting sound-based work. Interestingly, the exhibition format we were criticized for having "too many documents" has since become almost mainstream in contemporary art (laughs).
Yihsuan
Jeph
Completing ALTERing NATIVism brought a new question: beyond physical exhibitions, what other forms might sound curating take?
We noticed a significant gap in Taiwan's sound culture history. Due to decades of broadcast regulation, Taiwan lacks a tradition of radio art, even campus radio was regulated. In the history of Western sound art, broadcasting has been a crucial site of sonic experimentation—Pierre Schaeffer, the pioneer of musique concrète, was himself a French national radio engineer.
To fill that gap, we founded the online broadcast platform Talking Drums Radio, exploring radio as another form of sonic curating. The proposals we received were remarkably inventive—sonic improvisation, field recording, science fiction radio dramas, even an online gezaixi (歌仔戲). These programs were later archived as podcasts.
In short, our working rhythm is roughly one core project every two to three years, with various offshoots in between. The ideas, research outcomes, and artist networks accumulated through each process layer onto one another, forming the foundation for the next project and pushing us toward more forms of presentation.
Yihsuan
Jeph
When we produced ALTERing NATIVism in 2014, the scale was such that we faced serious financial losses and at one point considered closing. We were very fortunate—we received the Taishin Arts Award grand prize the next year, and that timely recognition allowed us to continue. Since then, we have gradually secured stable backing from private supporters and foundations.
Yihsuan
Jeph
For us, this is not simply an address. The area is historically layered and rich in stories. Within a radius of about one kilometer from here, you can find condensed traces of over a century of Taiwan's modernization.
The nearby Museum of Drinking Water was Taiwan's first modern water supply facility, built during the Japanese colonial period. National Taiwan University traces its origins to the imperial university founded in the same era. Then there is the Treasure Hill, which grew from illegal settlements built by refugees who followed the Nationalist army to Taiwan after the war, occupying land at the margins of legality during the Cold War years. And finally, the Shuiyuan Market, where we are located, represents the traditional wet market and night market as the most vivid fabric of everyday Taiwanese life.
In that sense, TheCube's location functions like a historical observatory. Within such a small radius, you can simultaneously see the overlapping strata of different regimes and eras—slices of modernization laid one atop another.
Yihsuan
Jeph
Our neighborhood, in other words, carries deep sound cultural DNA. In the past, when we applied for grants, the juries often asked: "How do you engage with your neighbors?" The implicit logic of such questions was that an art space is an "intruder" in a neighborhood, that we should feel apologetic for our incongruous presence and therefore compensate.
But we see it differently. Contemporary art is not a foreign body in this community. It is part of the historical layers of this area. The questions we care about and think through are rooted in the historical and social fabric of Gongguan. The locality is internal to our research and practice, not an add-on for practical purposes. I often joke that we have been here for fifteen years, while many surrounding shops and restaurants haven't lasted nearly as long. We're the “old neighbors” now.
That said, we do organize activities that open toward public space. We have a balcony facing the street where we've invited Lim Giong to DJ, playing music out toward the night market. We've done events like this many times, until the pandemic brought it to a stop. That particular texture of street life has been genuinely helpful: many foreign curators and artists who visit TheCube come away deeply impressed by the vivid life of the streets around. It offers them an immediate entry into Taiwan's cultural context.
Yihsuan
Jeph
Its core lay in artistic extremity, institutional critique, or highly personal self-expression. It pursued expressiveness over profit or mass appeal. This ran directly against the logic of the music industry.
Interestingly, in the immediate post-martial law period, cultural critics treated "subversion" as fashionable, and "underground music" was seen as the coolest of symbols. But in reality, Taiwan didn't yet have an underground scene of any real scale at that time. It was more a case of concepts arriving before the content, with only a handful of actual creators and performers on the ground.
As legal and speech restrictions were gradually loosened, bands playing original music began performing in bars and small cafés—previously, such venues had only permitted cover bands. It wasn't until the late 1990s that Taiwan developed an underground music community of genuine scope and substance. For us, that entire process of building something from nothing was a cultural movement in the fullest sense.
Yihsuan
Jeph
Yihsuan
Jeph
Freddy Lim of Chthonic, for example, who contended that calling oneself "underground" implied technical inadequacy and a passive acceptance of marginality. Freddy later became a politician, but at the time, he called on the community to embrace "indie music" instead.
Another symbolic turning point was the demise of Underworld in 2013, once a key venue. Its closure in some ways marked the disappearance of the last stronghold that was identified as "underground."
Yihsuan
Jeph
Against that backdrop, certain publications carried enormous influence—from Crystal Records' (水晶唱片) Rocker (搖滾客) to Hong Kong's Music Colony Bi-weekly (音樂殖民地). In the realm of sound art, the zine NOISE, founded by Wang Fujui in 1993, was very influential, with a reach extending even into mainland China. These highly concentrated information windows, while reflecting a scarcity of resources, also helped crystallize a shared auditory memory within the community of that era.
In my opinion, this fragmented mode of receiving information also shaped the broader intellectual and artistic worlds. What was in focus at any given moment often depended on where returning students had studied abroad: if a cohort of scholars came back from France, the whole scene was talking about French theory; if someone returned from New York, everyone started delving into New York currents of thought. Knowledge arrived not through any systematic introduction—rather it was a small number of key "windows" that determined the boundaries of Taiwan's imagination of the avant-garde at the time.
Yihsuan
Jeph
Looking back now at the scene of the nineties, you'd be astonished at what people dared to do with so little. By contemporary technical standards, they were playing terribly (laughs). But precisely because there was no easy path to imitation, in that state of limited information, their raw, self-made approach revealed an extreme form of freedom.
Yihsuan
Jeph
Yihsuan
Jeph
Much of the vitality of Taiwanese sound art today comes from the fact that the institutional mechanisms supporting this field have matured considerably since 2000. For instance, it has entered art schools as a formal discipline. Active advocates continue to promote this art form. Taiwan's relatively well-developed arts grant system has been a real help.
Another key reason for this flourishing is that in Taiwan, the imagination of sound art is closely tied to "technology art." This connection reflects Taiwan’s collective self-image as an "island of technology." Once sound art was absorbed into that institutional framework, it generated a powerful platform for exchange and a robust network of resources. Government funding has therefore been comparatively generous.
But these dimensions do not represent the entirety of Taiwanese sound art. A cohort of artists remains vigilant toward all of this.
Yihsuan
Jeph
We can make a cross-regional comparison: in Southeast Asia, particularly in the Philippines and Indonesia, I've observed that many sound artists gravitate toward building their own instruments. They hand-assemble automated sound devices from electronic components, circuit boards, and various salvaged materials: self-striking drum machines and noise-making contraptions. I suppose finding an electronics component shop on the street, or someone who can weld, work sheet metal, or fabricate mechanical percussion mechanisms, for these contexts, makes more sense than finding an imported laptop.
This comes right back to your point: the material conditions and industrial backgrounds shape the aesthetic form of that region.
Yihsuan
Jeph
In the Sound Meridians project, we invited curators from different parts of Southeast Asia to develop programs rooted in the specific contexts of their localities.
The reason we use "meridians" is that sound's influence on culture is often invisible to the eye, yet truly runs through it. It is like the meridian system in Chinese medicine: we know that stimulating a particular acupoint will produce a chain reaction in the body, yet in Western anatomy it is invisible. The energy and influence that sound generates within culture is the same: difficult to describe through orthodox academic methods, and yet genuinely present within the social body. What we want to do, through "counter-mapping," is to redraw these invisible but critical lines of energy.
Yihsuan
Jeph
We could of course have invited Japan or Korea, but Japan's influence on Taiwanese sound culture is sometimes too direct and obvious, as much of Taiwan's early sound art development was shaped by Japanoise. We felt that turning toward Southeast Asia, to excavate those less visible, still-unnamed connections, would be more interesting and more genuinely challenging. What we want to explore is how, from within similar geopolitical situations, Cold War backgrounds, and colonial histories, distinct yet mutually resonant sonic lineages have emerged.
It's worth noting that the Sound Meridians project is ongoing, still expanding.
Yihsuan
Jeph
If an exhibition is merely a temporary presentation that vanishes when it closes, it is as though it never existed. But if we believe that the curatorial process is itself generating new knowledge and new perspectives, then producing a reader becomes essential. The reader is the material vessel of discourse: it allows the research generated through curating, the ideas of the artists, and the social debates that have been set in motion to detach from their temporary spatial context and be transformed into a form of knowledge that can be transmitted and continued.
Yihsuan
Jeph
Concretely, accounting structures, management hierarchies, or the expectations governments and funders place on a project direction—all of these quietly produce a structural framework. Over time, that framework tends to exceed any individual's will. Whether you are a museum director or a curator, operating within it means learning to work alongside the mechanism, and that can gradually push curatorial content toward standardization. This is not a personal failing. It is a quality that institutions inevitably develop in order to keep a large system running.
What is precious about an independent space, by contrast, is the continued possibility of letting things grow organically, in a human way. We have the flexibility to respond quickly, and more importantly, we can give expression to our own character, our own positions, and those commitments and sensibilities that may not yet be recognized or accepted by the majority. That is the irreplaceable value of an independent space: it is a site where ideas can take root and retain the warmth of lived experience.
But all of this rests on one practical condition: we have to survive first. TheCube has been fortunate to make it through fifteen years, surviving one crisis after another, often by the skin of our teeth. How to continue carrying that independent spirit forward in the face of whatever comes next remains a constant challenge—one we must reckon with at every turn.
立方計劃空間位於台北公館商圈一棟老房的二樓，緊鄰傳統市場。入夜後，周圍街道變身成小吃攤林立的公館夜市。
立方由獨立策展人鄭慧華與研究者、寫作者羅悅全於2010年共同創辦，十五年來已成為台灣獨立藝術空間的重要座標。「計劃空間」之名，標示著它的運作方法與立場：這裡不以單檔展覽為單位運作，而是以長期、研究型的策展計畫為核心，讓每一個展演成為更大知識積累的一部分。
保持著行動者的姿態，立方以「聲響文化」為核心研究方向之一，從「聽覺」而非「視覺」重新梳理台灣現代化過程的歷史肌理。從2014年的《造音翻土》，到與東南亞策展人共同推動的《聲經絡》（2019至今），立方的工作始終指向同一個命題：聲響如何成為一種方法，使當代藝術得以回應真實而複雜的現代經驗。
2026年一月，邱薏璇拜訪立方計劃空間，與羅悅全進行對談。
薏璇
悅全
「聲響文化」作為我們主要著重的一個面向，就是一個明顯的例子。長期以來，當代藝術與歷史敘事高度依賴「視覺」和「文字」，但在台灣的現代化歷程中，有許多感性與騷動是無法單純地以視覺圖像來呈現的。當我們選擇從「聽覺」出發去回溯歷史，會看見一個與主流敘事截然不同的台灣現代化地景。對我們而言，選擇聲響，不僅是選擇一種媒材，更是為了在視覺主導的藝術世界裡，打開另一種感知的維度與批判的可能。
薏璇
悅全
因此，我們成立「計劃空間」的初衷，就是希望進行長期且動態的計畫，讓研究、社會實踐與理念能在這個實體空間中不斷累積、疊加。我們試圖將原本零碎的藝術展演轉化為一種日常生活的空間實踐，並在這裡生產出某種「差異」，以對抗標準化、制度化的策展邏輯。
回想2010 年最初成立的契機，Amy 當時申請到一筆國藝會的經費，進行一連串社會參與藝術的研究，正好我們有機會租用這間位於公館商圈、租金低廉的老建築。雖然這個空間的大小不足以容納一個大型聯展，但我們採取了不同的策略：將原本可能有十多位藝術家的展覽，拆解成耗時一年半、一次展出一個藝術家或團體的系列計畫，這就是立方成立初期的「重見/建社會」系列展。在這個計畫下舉辦的各式活動，奠定了立方後續的策展方向。
而我當時雖然在資訊業，但另一方面也長期投入台灣地下音樂的報導與評論。立方成立之初，我離開了原本的工作環境，與Amy一起投入空間的經營，這裡也因此加入了我感興趣的「聲響」元素。也就是說，這個場域完美結合了我們兩人共同關懷的事。
薏璇
悅全
透過「聲響文化」這個更具包容性的框架，我們得以將地下音樂、實驗音樂、田野錄音，乃至於台灣戒嚴史中的歌曲審查及其衍生的抵抗文化，全都納入討論的版圖。換句話說，我們是利用「聲響文化」的跨學科特質，去建構一套屬於台灣自己的文化座標。舉例而言，在這樣的框架下，「地下音樂」不再只是次文化的音樂類型，而可以被理解為一種具備社會能量與歷史厚度的聲響實踐。
2014年，我們在北師美術館與高雄美術館策劃了《造音翻土》，展出了大量文件與藝術家作品，試圖讓兩者的能量相互強化。展覽剛推出時確實引發了一些爭議，部分評論認為展覽中的大量文件讓藝術作品變成了配角。但從現在的回饋來看，我們當時建立的框架與研究整理，至今仍持續支持著台灣聲響文化的討論基礎，為詮釋聲音作品開發出更多元的視角。有趣的是，那時被批評「文件太多」的展出形式，在今日的當代藝術界反而已經成為一種常態主流了（笑）。
薏璇
悅全
完成《造音翻土》後，我們開始思考：除了實體展覽，聲響還有什麼樣的策展形式？
我們發現台灣聲響文化中存在一個巨大的空缺：由於長期以來的電波管制，台灣缺乏「廣播藝術」（Radio Art）的傳統，甚至連校園電台的發展也受限。若追溯西方聲音藝術史，你會發現廣播是極其重要的聲響實驗場域，例如「具象音樂」（Musique Concrète）的先驅皮耶·薛菲（Pierre Schaeffer），本身就是法國廣播電台的工程師。
為了填補這一塊歷史空缺，我們創辦了線上廣播平台「話鼓電台」，嘗試以廣播作為另一種「聲響策展」的形式。當時收到了許多極具創意的提案，包括聲響即興、田野錄音、科幻廣播劇，甚至是線上歌仔戲。這些節目後來都被收錄進 Podcast，轉化為一種聲音的檔案庫。
簡單來說，我們的工作節奏大約是每兩三年推動一個核心計畫，中間伴隨著各種衍生項目。這些過程中所累積的想法、研究成果與藝術家網絡，會不斷疊加，成為下一個計畫的基礎，並推動我們去嘗試更多元的呈現形式。
薏璇
悅全
2014 年策劃《造音翻土》時，因為規模龐大，我們面臨嚴重虧損，一度考慮過關門。但非常幸運地，隔年我們獲得了「台新藝術獎」的首獎，這筆及時雨的獎金讓我們得以延續。在此之後，除了持續獲得公部門的補助，我們也逐漸獲得了民間贊助者與基金會的信任，使他們願意提供穩定的支持。
薏璇
悅全
對我們而言，這不只是一個地址，這個區域在歷史脈絡上極其複雜且充滿故事，從這裡出發，方圓一公里內幾乎濃縮了台灣一百多年的現代化歷程。
舉幾個重點地標：鄰近的「自來水博物館」是日殖時期全台灣最早的現代供水設施；「台灣大學」的前身則是日殖時期的臺北帝國大學，象徵著現代化高等教育的開端；接著是「寶藏巖聚落」，那是戰後國民黨撤退來台，隨軍難民在法律邊緣佔地而建的棲身之所，見證了冷戰下的移民史；最後則是我們身處的「水源市場」，它所代表的傳統市場與夜市，正是台灣最鮮活的常民生活景觀。
所以，立方的所在地點，就像是一個歷史的觀測站。在這麼小的半徑內，你可以同時看見不同政權與時代交疊出的現代化切片。
薏璇
悅全
因此，立方所在的公館地區，本身就有著深厚的聲響文化基因。過去在申請空間補助的面試時，評審常問：「你們如何與鄰居互動？」這類提問的潛台詞是：藝術空間是庶民社區裡的「入侵者」，我們應該為自己突兀的存在感到抱歉，因此必須刻意設計「親民」的活動來補償。
但我們的看法不同：當代藝術並非這個社區的異物，而是這個區域歷史層次的一部分。我們所關心、思考的議題，本就植根於公館這個區域的歷史與社會脈絡。換言之，我們的在地性是內在於研究與實踐之中的，而非外加的公關點綴。我常開玩笑說，立方在這裡存活了十五年，周邊許多商店和餐廳大多無法支撐這麼長的時間，我們反而才是這裡的「老鄰居」。
不過，我們確實會舉辦一些朝向公共空間的活動。例如，我們有個正對街道的陽台，開幕時曾邀請林強在那裡擔任 DJ，對著夜市放音樂。這種結合常民景觀與實驗聲響的活動辦過好幾次，直到疫情期間才停止。這種獨特的生活感對我們很有幫助：許多國外策展人或藝術家造訪立方時，都對周邊那種生猛的氛圍留下深刻印象，這能讓他們迅速進入台灣的文化語境。
薏璇
悅全
當時「地下音樂」的核心在於藝術上的極致、對社會體制的控訴，或是高度個人化的自我表達，它追求表現性大於利潤或大眾化。這與當時追求產值、標準化的音樂產業邏輯背道而馳。
有趣的是，在剛解嚴的那段時期，文化評論者流行使用「顛覆」這個字和它的概念，「地下音樂」也被視為一種最酷炫的符號。然而事實上，當時台灣還沒有一個具備規模的地下場景，更像是「概念先行」，而實質上的創作者與表演者寥寥可數。
後來法律與言論管制逐步鬆綁，開始有創作樂團在酒吧或小咖啡廳演出（在此之前，這些地方只允許翻唱樂團的演出）。累積到90年代末期，台灣才出現具備規模與真正意義的地下音樂社群。對我們而言，這整個從無到有的累積過程，確實是一場貨真價實的文化運動。
薏璇
悅全
薏璇
悅全
當時最具代表性的論述來自閃靈的主唱 Freddy（他後來投入了政治活動）曾提出：自稱為「地下」，隱含著一種技術不精、自甘邊緣的消極態度。他呼籲社群轉而擁抱「獨立音樂」的概念。
另一個頗具象徵性的轉折點是「地下社會」這個空間的消亡。它曾是台北地下音樂的重要地標。然而，隨著商圈發展與在地居民產生衝突，「地下社會」最終在 2013 年被迫歇業。這在某種程度上象徵著最後一個自命為「地下」的堡壘被消滅了。
薏璇
悅全
我個人認為而這種碎片化的資訊接收方式，也同樣影響著整個知識圈與藝術圈。當時的流行焦點往往取決於留學生從哪裡學成歸國：如果剛好有一批學者從法國回來，整個圈子談論的就是法式理論；若有人從紐約歸來，大家就開始鑽研紐約的思潮。這種知識的傳遞並非系統性的全面引進，而是由少數關鍵的「窗口」決定了當時台灣對前衛的想像邊界。
薏璇
悅全
現在回頭去看九零年代的場景，你會驚訝於那些人怎麼敢玩成那樣。若以現在的技術標準來看，他們真的玩得很爛（笑）。但也正因為沒有容易的模仿路徑，在資訊有限的狀態下，他們土炮的表現反而展現出一種極致的自由。
薏璇
悅全
薏璇
悅全
現在台灣聲音藝術之所以能如此蓬勃，很大程度歸因於支持這個類型的機制在2000年後已日漸成熟。例如，它已正式進入美術學院成為一門學科，還有幾位活躍的行動者持續推動這類演出，而台灣堪稱完善的藝文補助系統也有相當的幫助。
另一個蓬勃的關鍵原因，我想是在於台灣對聲響藝術的想像往往與「科技藝術」緊密掛鉤。這與台灣整體社會對「科技之島」的集體認同與自我想像有關。當聲音藝術被納入這個體制框架後，便自然形成了一個強大的交流平台與資源網絡。相應地，政府在這一塊所投入的補助資源也會顯得相對豐沛。
但這些面向並非台灣聲音藝術的全部，仍有一派藝術家對此是保持警覺的。
薏璇
悅全
我們可以做一個跨地域的對比：在東南亞，特別是菲律賓與印尼，我觀察到許多聲音藝術家更傾向於「自製樂器」。他們不見得仰賴電腦，而是利用電子零件、電路板或是各種回收材料，手工組裝出自動化的聲音裝置，比如自動擊鼓機器或噪音機器。這背後的原因我想是與生活環境息息相關。我的推測是：在那些地區，要取得進口電子樂器成品或昂貴的頂級筆電或許門檻較高；但相對地，要在街頭巷尾找到電子零件行，或是找人幫忙焊接、鈑金、製作機械擊打裝置，相對上容易，而且成本低廉。
這正好回應了你的觀點：創作者所處的物質條件與產業背景，決定了他們手中握有的工具，進而形塑了最終呈現的美學形態。
薏璇
悅全
在《聲經絡》計畫中，我們邀請了東南亞不同地區的策展人，以其地方的特定脈絡為題進行策劃。雖然內容各異，但彼此能相互呼應，共同建構出一套以東南亞文化語境為基礎的共享文本。
之所以稱為「經絡」，是因為聲響對文化的影響往往是肉眼不可見的，卻又真實貫穿其中。就如同中醫的經絡系統，我們知道刺激某個穴道會引發身體的連鎖反應，但在西方解剖學中，它是看不見、甚至不被承認的存在。聲響在文化中所產生的能量與影響力亦然，很難用被正統的學院方法描述，但它確實存在於社會機體之中。我們正是想透過「反製圖」的方法，將這些隱形卻關鍵的能量線索重新繪製出來。
薏璇
悅全
當然，我們大可以選擇日本或韓國作為邀請對象，但日本對台灣聲響文化的影響有時過於直接且顯而易見，畢竟台灣早期的聲音藝術發展中，有極大一部分深受日本噪音（Japanoise）的影響。我們認為，若能轉向討論東南亞，去挖掘那些隱而不顯、尚未被主流論述充分定義的連結，反而更有趣，也更具備挑戰性。我們想探究的是那些在相似的地緣政治、冷戰背景與殖民經驗下，如何共振出各具特色卻又彼此感應的聲響脈絡。
順帶一提，「聲經絡」這項計畫仍在持續進行中，持續擴大中。
薏璇
悅全
正如我最初提到的，如果展覽只是短暫的呈現，結束後往往就隨之消失了。但如果我們認同策展的過程是在生產新的知識、新的視角，那麼出版讀本就顯得至關重要。讀本是論述的物質載體，它讓策展中的研究成果、藝術家的思想以及社會性的辯證，能夠從暫時性的空間中抽離出來，轉化為一種可被傳遞、被延續的知識力量。
薏璇
悅全
具體來說，大型機構內部的會計制度、管理層級，或是政府、出資者對於計畫方向的預設立場，都會在無形中形成結構性的框架。這種框架往往超越了人的獨立意志，無論是館長或策展人，身處其中都必須學習與這套機制共處，這有時會讓策展內容趨向標準化。這並非個人的問題，而是機構為了維持龐大體系運轉所必然產生的特質。
相較之下，獨立空間的珍貴之處在於，依然能以「人的方式」去讓事物有機地生長出來。我們擁有快速反應的靈活性，更重要的是，我們能毫無保留地展現出自身的性格、態度，以及那份可能在當下並不被大多數人所認同的理念和精神性。這就是獨立空間不可取代的價值：它是一個能讓理念落地，並保有生命溫度的實踐場域。
但這一切都有個現實的前提：我們得先活下去。立方很幸運地，在各種挑戰中有驚無險地走了十五年。然而，面對未來的變局，如何持續保有這份獨立的精神並延續下去，依然是我們隨時得面對的難關與課題。