Dennis Tan’s practice turns on the quiet friction between presence and disappearance. Working through acts of attention more than construction, his works arise from what already exists — gestures that test how little needs to be done for something to take on meaning. Often modest and provisional, they hold within them a sensitivity to duration, loss, and the faint humour of persistence. Tan’s installations and objects neither dramatize nor declare; they linger, as if waiting for a memory to surface. Conceptually light, almost ironic in their vanishing economies, his works hold a tension between survival and transience — a testimony to what remains when things stop moving forward and begin to remember.