UCCA Beijing Closed Today,
UCCA Dune Open Today, 9:30-19:30 (Final entry: 19:00)
UCCA Clay Closed Today,
Audio Guide
As critics often note, Carsten Höller holds a PhD in agricultural science. However, his artistic practice is for the most part unscientific. What he does retain from his educational background is an interest in the experimental form. His experiential artworks, often presented without detailed explanations, transform viewers into subjects of an artistic experiment. Confronted with perplexing scenes, they are challenged to work through their confusion and reassess how they view art—and the world at large. The exhibition space thus becomes a “Laboratory of Doubt,” a term that originates from a 1999 artwork in which Höller labelled a Mercedes-Benz with the phrase and equipped it with loudspeakers, intending to spread doubt through the streets of Antwerp (before he could do so, the vehicle’s tires were stolen).
Upon arrival, visitors to the exhibition are provided with a color-coded sticker pointing to one of two entrances to UCCA’s Great Hall. They must then choose whether or not to comply with this suggestion, a decision that may immediately cause them to doubt whether they’ve chosen the “right” path. The artworks themselves raise a number of confounding questions: Are additional compartments hidden within Sliding Doors Square (2026), and how might they be accessed? What is in the pills that fall out of the two versions of Pill Clock (2026)? Do the toothpastes offered to visitors who book an overnight stay on Two Roaming Beds (Grey) (2015) alter dreams as advertised? Within this arena, what is a random occurrence, and what is an intentional artistic choice? Höller declines to provide clear-cut answers, instead encouraging viewers to face their doubts, reach their own conclusions—or not—and reflect on how this experience may lead to another way of experiencing what surrounds us.
Upon arrival, visitors to the exhibition are provided with a color-coded sticker pointing to one of two entrances to UCCA’s Great Hall. They must then choose whether or not to comply with this suggestion, a decision that may immediately cause them to doubt whether they’ve chosen the “right” path. The artworks themselves raise a number of confounding questions: Are additional compartments hidden within Sliding Doors Square (2026), and how might they be accessed? What is in the pills that fall out of the two versions of Pill Clock (2026)? Do the toothpastes offered to visitors who book an overnight stay on Two Roaming Beds (Grey) (2015) alter dreams as advertised? Within this arena, what is a random occurrence, and what is an intentional artistic choice? Höller declines to provide clear-cut answers, instead encouraging viewers to face their doubts, reach their own conclusions—or not—and reflect on how this experience may lead to another way of experiencing what surrounds us.
In “Two,” artworks double up, whether by existing in two versions, or repeating elements within a single piece. By placing these works within a unique binary exhibition structure, Carsten Höller constructs an engagingly perplexing, uncanny artistic experience.
Reprising an approach utilized in his 2015 London exhibition “Decision,” the artist presents visitors with two entrances to the main exhibition space. Each path leads to more or less the same set of artworks, displayed in color on one side of the space, and black and white on the other. In this “Laboratory of Doubt,” viewers are left to wonder which version of a given work is “definitive”—or if this distinction even matters. Encountering many pieces twice, one has the opportunity to more closely study them, investigating what distinguishes their different iterations. As forms repeat, the artist’s choice of color has the power to alter a work’s tone from minimalist and austere to playful and welcoming.
Sometimes, repetition is internalized within artworks, like the geometric patterns featured in the “Divisions” series of paintings, or the mirrored glass that makes up Sliding Doors Square (2026). In Twins (2015-2018), a two-channel video work, sets of twins from around the world make contradictory statements in their respective languages, creating an unsolvable logical conundrum. In these works, Höller positions repetition as both comforting and disturbing—it can foster familiarity, or bring forth inexplicable scenarios, evoking the unsettling experience of encountering one’s own double.
Reprising an approach utilized in his 2015 London exhibition “Decision,” the artist presents visitors with two entrances to the main exhibition space. Each path leads to more or less the same set of artworks, displayed in color on one side of the space, and black and white on the other. In this “Laboratory of Doubt,” viewers are left to wonder which version of a given work is “definitive”—or if this distinction even matters. Encountering many pieces twice, one has the opportunity to more closely study them, investigating what distinguishes their different iterations. As forms repeat, the artist’s choice of color has the power to alter a work’s tone from minimalist and austere to playful and welcoming.
Sometimes, repetition is internalized within artworks, like the geometric patterns featured in the “Divisions” series of paintings, or the mirrored glass that makes up Sliding Doors Square (2026). In Twins (2015-2018), a two-channel video work, sets of twins from around the world make contradictory statements in their respective languages, creating an unsolvable logical conundrum. In these works, Höller positions repetition as both comforting and disturbing—it can foster familiarity, or bring forth inexplicable scenarios, evoking the unsettling experience of encountering one’s own double.
Carsten Höller’s “Two” is conceived of as a communal experience. This is most apparent in interactive works involving multiple participants but applies equally to other pieces. Viewers are not left alone when it comes to interpreting the exhibition—faced with doubts regarding the art in front of them, they may strike up a conversation with a fellow visitor, or simply observe how others move through the space. Höller generates a new social context within the museum, a strategy that spans his practice and has led to him being associated with “relational aesthetics,” a concept proposed by curator Nicolas Bourriaud in the late 1990s.
The collective comes to the fore before viewers even enter the exhibition proper. Located in UCCA’s
Open Gallery, Beijing Dots (2026) is a “reward and punishment” game in which visitors may overlap
motion-sensitive spotlights to change their colors. Approach it as a single player, without competition or camaraderie, and the game will not function properly. Similarly, inside the Great Hall, it is possible to walk through the halls of Sliding Doors Square (2026) alone, but that means that the mirrored walls will not suddenly reveal a stranger’s body coming from the other side—or that one might get temporarily stuck in Sluice (2026), a collaboration between Höller and Valia Fetisov. Two versions of Light Wall (2026 and 2000/2026), meanwhile, use flickering lights and hypnotic clicking sounds to recreate the communal experience of altered states of the mind, as in collective euphoria. Two Roaming Beds (Grey) (2015), on the other hand, offer an intriguing counterpoint. Visitors may book an overnight stay for one or two guests, separating themselves from others and getting the museum to themselves. This reveals another duality within the exhibition: it may be experienced in two ways, either alone/as a pair or together with others.
The collective comes to the fore before viewers even enter the exhibition proper. Located in UCCA’s
Open Gallery, Beijing Dots (2026) is a “reward and punishment” game in which visitors may overlap
motion-sensitive spotlights to change their colors. Approach it as a single player, without competition or camaraderie, and the game will not function properly. Similarly, inside the Great Hall, it is possible to walk through the halls of Sliding Doors Square (2026) alone, but that means that the mirrored walls will not suddenly reveal a stranger’s body coming from the other side—or that one might get temporarily stuck in Sluice (2026), a collaboration between Höller and Valia Fetisov. Two versions of Light Wall (2026 and 2000/2026), meanwhile, use flickering lights and hypnotic clicking sounds to recreate the communal experience of altered states of the mind, as in collective euphoria. Two Roaming Beds (Grey) (2015), on the other hand, offer an intriguing counterpoint. Visitors may book an overnight stay for one or two guests, separating themselves from others and getting the museum to themselves. This reveals another duality within the exhibition: it may be experienced in two ways, either alone/as a pair or together with others.
Throughout Carsten Höller’s practice, one encounters works that evoke amusement rides and playground equipment—from the 27-meter-high Test Site slides installed in the Turbine Hall of Tate Modern in 2006, to pieces featured in this exhibition, including Tilted Carousel (Five Colours) (2026), Tilted Carousel (Two Whites) (2026), and Dice (Chinese Marble) (2026). With their familiar, sometimes humorous forms, these works invite engagement even as they destabilize everyday experiences and subvert expectations. For example, slowed down to a snail’s pace, the two swing carousels might seem closer to monotonous traps than exciting amusement rides. By altering scale, speed, direction, or units of measurement, Höller disrupts habitual comprehension and challenges how we navigate reality.
In Homo Ludens, Dutch cultural historian Johan Huizinga described play as a fundamental condition of culture. For Huizinga, play is a free activity that operates outside the routines of everyday life. It takes place within its own spatial and temporal boundaries and follows its own rules. Höller’s works create a similar condition. They invite participants into experiences that combine pleasure, uncertainty, and disorientation, offering a temporary departure from the logics of pragmatism, utility, and efficiency.
By bringing elements of the amusement park into the exhibition, Höller transforms the museum from a manifestation of cultural authority and site of contemplation into a space for experimentation, doubt, and the exploration of alternative ways of sensing and inhabiting the world. In the artist’s words, “the real material I’m working with is peoples’ experience.” And, as he has also stated, “doubt is beautiful.
In Homo Ludens, Dutch cultural historian Johan Huizinga described play as a fundamental condition of culture. For Huizinga, play is a free activity that operates outside the routines of everyday life. It takes place within its own spatial and temporal boundaries and follows its own rules. Höller’s works create a similar condition. They invite participants into experiences that combine pleasure, uncertainty, and disorientation, offering a temporary departure from the logics of pragmatism, utility, and efficiency.
By bringing elements of the amusement park into the exhibition, Höller transforms the museum from a manifestation of cultural authority and site of contemplation into a space for experimentation, doubt, and the exploration of alternative ways of sensing and inhabiting the world. In the artist’s words, “the real material I’m working with is peoples’ experience.” And, as he has also stated, “doubt is beautiful.
“Two” features several unconventional clocks. By representing time in an atypical manner, Höller invites viewers to experience the exhibition as a space removed from the regimented, productivity oriented rhythms of daily life. If time can be recorded differently, what else might we reimagine in art and life? And what is time anyhow?
On the black-and-white side of the Great Hall, Sexagesimal Clock (2026) takes the standard base-60 system for measuring time and defamiliarizes it by depicting time through neon rings, rather than digits or hour and minute hands. On the opposite side of the space, Decimal Clock (Salmon Rose and Novial Gold) (2021) is similar in appearance, though its neon lights pulse in color—and its timekeeping will probably be incomprehensible to most viewers. Here, time is being measured in increments of ten, a system that was briefly implemented during the French Revolution. This political lineage offers a reminder that the frameworks we use to classify reality are not carved in stone; they may be altered, generating new perspectives and social forms along the way.
Elsewhere, two versions of Pill Clock (both 2026) mark time by dropping pills onto the museum floor every three seconds, a duration that approximates “the feeling of presence.” In the context of Smell of My Father (2017) and Smell of My Mother (2017), which diffuse synthetic recreations of the scent of the artist’s parents across the exhibition, the pills that pile up on the floor become accumulated presence time, a heap of time units now gone. Höller makes us feel the impossibility of understanding time.
On the black-and-white side of the Great Hall, Sexagesimal Clock (2026) takes the standard base-60 system for measuring time and defamiliarizes it by depicting time through neon rings, rather than digits or hour and minute hands. On the opposite side of the space, Decimal Clock (Salmon Rose and Novial Gold) (2021) is similar in appearance, though its neon lights pulse in color—and its timekeeping will probably be incomprehensible to most viewers. Here, time is being measured in increments of ten, a system that was briefly implemented during the French Revolution. This political lineage offers a reminder that the frameworks we use to classify reality are not carved in stone; they may be altered, generating new perspectives and social forms along the way.
Elsewhere, two versions of Pill Clock (both 2026) mark time by dropping pills onto the museum floor every three seconds, a duration that approximates “the feeling of presence.” In the context of Smell of My Father (2017) and Smell of My Mother (2017), which diffuse synthetic recreations of the scent of the artist’s parents across the exhibition, the pills that pile up on the floor become accumulated presence time, a heap of time units now gone. Höller makes us feel the impossibility of understanding time.
Mushrooms are of interest to Carsten Höller on multiple levels—he calls them “monuments of incomprehensibility.” Once thought to be plants, mushrooms (the fruiting body of fungi) are actually biologically closer to animals. Scientists have shown that they are able to communicate through mycelium, the root-like underground networks that support them. Mushrooms’ myriad culinary uses also fascinate the artist, who previously ran Brutalisten, a Stockholm restaurant focused on single ingredient dishes. However, the fly agaric mushroom, which reappears across Höller’s practice, is not edible: it is poisonous and hallucinogenic. Researchers have suggested, to some controversy, that these mushrooms from the genus Amanita shaped Western Christmas traditions and ancient Vedic religious practices in Eurasia, theories which Höller explored in his 2010 exhibition “Soma.”
Here, the monumental sculpture Giant Triple Mushroom (2024) combines the fly agaric’s distinctive red and white cap with elements of two distinctly different mushrooms: the long net stinkhorn, a popular ingredient in Chinese soups, and the dove-coloured Tricholoma, which is also edible. At around three meters tall, the piece brings a sense of majesty to these mushrooms, emphasizing that fungi remain mysterious. Two versions of Spinning Amanita (2025 and 2026) place life-size fly agaric models on top of solar-powered motors, generating hypnotic patterns and paying tribute to the mushroom’s cultural significance. Color and black and white editions of the video Fly on Amanita (2025 and 2026) reference how these mushrooms are thought to have been traditionally used as insecticide, showing a housefly apparently becoming intoxicated after feeding on a mixture of fly agaric, milk, and sugar. Fittingly for Höller, this work poses a number of questions: What effect, exactly, does fly agaric have on the insect? Do mushrooms possess traits and abilities that go beyond the current limits of human understanding?
Here, the monumental sculpture Giant Triple Mushroom (2024) combines the fly agaric’s distinctive red and white cap with elements of two distinctly different mushrooms: the long net stinkhorn, a popular ingredient in Chinese soups, and the dove-coloured Tricholoma, which is also edible. At around three meters tall, the piece brings a sense of majesty to these mushrooms, emphasizing that fungi remain mysterious. Two versions of Spinning Amanita (2025 and 2026) place life-size fly agaric models on top of solar-powered motors, generating hypnotic patterns and paying tribute to the mushroom’s cultural significance. Color and black and white editions of the video Fly on Amanita (2025 and 2026) reference how these mushrooms are thought to have been traditionally used as insecticide, showing a housefly apparently becoming intoxicated after feeding on a mixture of fly agaric, milk, and sugar. Fittingly for Höller, this work poses a number of questions: What effect, exactly, does fly agaric have on the insect? Do mushrooms possess traits and abilities that go beyond the current limits of human understanding?
Laboratory of Doubt
As critics often note, Carsten Höller holds a PhD in agricultural science. However, his artistic practice is for the most part unscientific. What he does retain from his educational background is an interest in the experimental form. His experiential artworks, often presented without detailed explanations, transform viewers into subjects of an artistic experiment. Confronted with perplexing scenes, they are challenged to work through their confusion and reassess how they view art—and the world at large. The exhibition space thus becomes a “Laboratory of Doubt,” a term that originates from a 1999 artwork in which Höller labelled a Mercedes-Benz with the phrase and equipped it with loudspeakers, intending to spread doubt through the streets of Antwerp (before he could do so, the vehicle’s tires were stolen).
Upon arrival, visitors to the exhibition are provided with a color-coded sticker pointing to one of two entrances to UCCA’s Great Hall. They must then choose whether or not to comply with this suggestion, a decision that may immediately cause them to doubt whether they’ve chosen the “right” path. The artworks themselves raise a number of confounding questions: Are additional compartments hidden within Sliding Doors Square (2026), and how might they be accessed? What is in the pills that fall out of the two versions of Pill Clock (2026)? Do the toothpastes offered to visitors who book an overnight stay on Two Roaming Beds (Grey) (2015) alter dreams as advertised? Within this arena, what is a random occurrence, and what is an intentional artistic choice? Höller declines to provide clear-cut answers, instead encouraging viewers to face their doubts, reach their own conclusions—or not—and reflect on how this experience may lead to another way of experiencing what surrounds us.
Upon arrival, visitors to the exhibition are provided with a color-coded sticker pointing to one of two entrances to UCCA’s Great Hall. They must then choose whether or not to comply with this suggestion, a decision that may immediately cause them to doubt whether they’ve chosen the “right” path. The artworks themselves raise a number of confounding questions: Are additional compartments hidden within Sliding Doors Square (2026), and how might they be accessed? What is in the pills that fall out of the two versions of Pill Clock (2026)? Do the toothpastes offered to visitors who book an overnight stay on Two Roaming Beds (Grey) (2015) alter dreams as advertised? Within this arena, what is a random occurrence, and what is an intentional artistic choice? Höller declines to provide clear-cut answers, instead encouraging viewers to face their doubts, reach their own conclusions—or not—and reflect on how this experience may lead to another way of experiencing what surrounds us.
Repetition
In “Two,” artworks double up, whether by existing in two versions, or repeating elements within a single piece. By placing these works within a unique binary exhibition structure, Carsten Höller constructs an engagingly perplexing, uncanny artistic experience.
Reprising an approach utilized in his 2015 London exhibition “Decision,” the artist presents visitors with two entrances to the main exhibition space. Each path leads to more or less the same set of artworks, displayed in color on one side of the space, and black and white on the other. In this “Laboratory of Doubt,” viewers are left to wonder which version of a given work is “definitive”—or if this distinction even matters. Encountering many pieces twice, one has the opportunity to more closely study them, investigating what distinguishes their different iterations. As forms repeat, the artist’s choice of color has the power to alter a work’s tone from minimalist and austere to playful and welcoming.
Sometimes, repetition is internalized within artworks, like the geometric patterns featured in the “Divisions” series of paintings, or the mirrored glass that makes up Sliding Doors Square (2026). In Twins (2015-2018), a two-channel video work, sets of twins from around the world make contradictory statements in their respective languages, creating an unsolvable logical conundrum. In these works, Höller positions repetition as both comforting and disturbing—it can foster familiarity, or bring forth inexplicable scenarios, evoking the unsettling experience of encountering one’s own double.
Reprising an approach utilized in his 2015 London exhibition “Decision,” the artist presents visitors with two entrances to the main exhibition space. Each path leads to more or less the same set of artworks, displayed in color on one side of the space, and black and white on the other. In this “Laboratory of Doubt,” viewers are left to wonder which version of a given work is “definitive”—or if this distinction even matters. Encountering many pieces twice, one has the opportunity to more closely study them, investigating what distinguishes their different iterations. As forms repeat, the artist’s choice of color has the power to alter a work’s tone from minimalist and austere to playful and welcoming.
Sometimes, repetition is internalized within artworks, like the geometric patterns featured in the “Divisions” series of paintings, or the mirrored glass that makes up Sliding Doors Square (2026). In Twins (2015-2018), a two-channel video work, sets of twins from around the world make contradictory statements in their respective languages, creating an unsolvable logical conundrum. In these works, Höller positions repetition as both comforting and disturbing—it can foster familiarity, or bring forth inexplicable scenarios, evoking the unsettling experience of encountering one’s own double.
Collective Viewing
Carsten Höller’s “Two” is conceived of as a communal experience. This is most apparent in interactive works involving multiple participants but applies equally to other pieces. Viewers are not left alone when it comes to interpreting the exhibition—faced with doubts regarding the art in front of them, they may strike up a conversation with a fellow visitor, or simply observe how others move through the space. Höller generates a new social context within the museum, a strategy that spans his practice and has led to him being associated with “relational aesthetics,” a concept proposed by curator Nicolas Bourriaud in the late 1990s.
The collective comes to the fore before viewers even enter the exhibition proper. Located in UCCA’s
Open Gallery, Beijing Dots (2026) is a “reward and punishment” game in which visitors may overlap
motion-sensitive spotlights to change their colors. Approach it as a single player, without competition or camaraderie, and the game will not function properly. Similarly, inside the Great Hall, it is possible to walk through the halls of Sliding Doors Square (2026) alone, but that means that the mirrored walls will not suddenly reveal a stranger’s body coming from the other side—or that one might get temporarily stuck in Sluice (2026), a collaboration between Höller and Valia Fetisov. Two versions of Light Wall (2026 and 2000/2026), meanwhile, use flickering lights and hypnotic clicking sounds to recreate the communal experience of altered states of the mind, as in collective euphoria. Two Roaming Beds (Grey) (2015), on the other hand, offer an intriguing counterpoint. Visitors may book an overnight stay for one or two guests, separating themselves from others and getting the museum to themselves. This reveals another duality within the exhibition: it may be experienced in two ways, either alone/as a pair or together with others.
The collective comes to the fore before viewers even enter the exhibition proper. Located in UCCA’s
Open Gallery, Beijing Dots (2026) is a “reward and punishment” game in which visitors may overlap
motion-sensitive spotlights to change their colors. Approach it as a single player, without competition or camaraderie, and the game will not function properly. Similarly, inside the Great Hall, it is possible to walk through the halls of Sliding Doors Square (2026) alone, but that means that the mirrored walls will not suddenly reveal a stranger’s body coming from the other side—or that one might get temporarily stuck in Sluice (2026), a collaboration between Höller and Valia Fetisov. Two versions of Light Wall (2026 and 2000/2026), meanwhile, use flickering lights and hypnotic clicking sounds to recreate the communal experience of altered states of the mind, as in collective euphoria. Two Roaming Beds (Grey) (2015), on the other hand, offer an intriguing counterpoint. Visitors may book an overnight stay for one or two guests, separating themselves from others and getting the museum to themselves. This reveals another duality within the exhibition: it may be experienced in two ways, either alone/as a pair or together with others.
Play
Throughout Carsten Höller’s practice, one encounters works that evoke amusement rides and playground equipment—from the 27-meter-high Test Site slides installed in the Turbine Hall of Tate Modern in 2006, to pieces featured in this exhibition, including Tilted Carousel (Five Colours) (2026), Tilted Carousel (Two Whites) (2026), and Dice (Chinese Marble) (2026). With their familiar, sometimes humorous forms, these works invite engagement even as they destabilize everyday experiences and subvert expectations. For example, slowed down to a snail’s pace, the two swing carousels might seem closer to monotonous traps than exciting amusement rides. By altering scale, speed, direction, or units of measurement, Höller disrupts habitual comprehension and challenges how we navigate reality.
In Homo Ludens, Dutch cultural historian Johan Huizinga described play as a fundamental condition of culture. For Huizinga, play is a free activity that operates outside the routines of everyday life. It takes place within its own spatial and temporal boundaries and follows its own rules. Höller’s works create a similar condition. They invite participants into experiences that combine pleasure, uncertainty, and disorientation, offering a temporary departure from the logics of pragmatism, utility, and efficiency.
By bringing elements of the amusement park into the exhibition, Höller transforms the museum from a manifestation of cultural authority and site of contemplation into a space for experimentation, doubt, and the exploration of alternative ways of sensing and inhabiting the world. In the artist’s words, “the real material I’m working with is peoples’ experience.” And, as he has also stated, “doubt is beautiful.
In Homo Ludens, Dutch cultural historian Johan Huizinga described play as a fundamental condition of culture. For Huizinga, play is a free activity that operates outside the routines of everyday life. It takes place within its own spatial and temporal boundaries and follows its own rules. Höller’s works create a similar condition. They invite participants into experiences that combine pleasure, uncertainty, and disorientation, offering a temporary departure from the logics of pragmatism, utility, and efficiency.
By bringing elements of the amusement park into the exhibition, Höller transforms the museum from a manifestation of cultural authority and site of contemplation into a space for experimentation, doubt, and the exploration of alternative ways of sensing and inhabiting the world. In the artist’s words, “the real material I’m working with is peoples’ experience.” And, as he has also stated, “doubt is beautiful.
Reimagining Time
“Two” features several unconventional clocks. By representing time in an atypical manner, Höller invites viewers to experience the exhibition as a space removed from the regimented, productivity oriented rhythms of daily life. If time can be recorded differently, what else might we reimagine in art and life? And what is time anyhow?
On the black-and-white side of the Great Hall, Sexagesimal Clock (2026) takes the standard base-60 system for measuring time and defamiliarizes it by depicting time through neon rings, rather than digits or hour and minute hands. On the opposite side of the space, Decimal Clock (Salmon Rose and Novial Gold) (2021) is similar in appearance, though its neon lights pulse in color—and its timekeeping will probably be incomprehensible to most viewers. Here, time is being measured in increments of ten, a system that was briefly implemented during the French Revolution. This political lineage offers a reminder that the frameworks we use to classify reality are not carved in stone; they may be altered, generating new perspectives and social forms along the way.
Elsewhere, two versions of Pill Clock (both 2026) mark time by dropping pills onto the museum floor every three seconds, a duration that approximates “the feeling of presence.” In the context of Smell of My Father (2017) and Smell of My Mother (2017), which diffuse synthetic recreations of the scent of the artist’s parents across the exhibition, the pills that pile up on the floor become accumulated presence time, a heap of time units now gone. Höller makes us feel the impossibility of understanding time.
On the black-and-white side of the Great Hall, Sexagesimal Clock (2026) takes the standard base-60 system for measuring time and defamiliarizes it by depicting time through neon rings, rather than digits or hour and minute hands. On the opposite side of the space, Decimal Clock (Salmon Rose and Novial Gold) (2021) is similar in appearance, though its neon lights pulse in color—and its timekeeping will probably be incomprehensible to most viewers. Here, time is being measured in increments of ten, a system that was briefly implemented during the French Revolution. This political lineage offers a reminder that the frameworks we use to classify reality are not carved in stone; they may be altered, generating new perspectives and social forms along the way.
Elsewhere, two versions of Pill Clock (both 2026) mark time by dropping pills onto the museum floor every three seconds, a duration that approximates “the feeling of presence.” In the context of Smell of My Father (2017) and Smell of My Mother (2017), which diffuse synthetic recreations of the scent of the artist’s parents across the exhibition, the pills that pile up on the floor become accumulated presence time, a heap of time units now gone. Höller makes us feel the impossibility of understanding time.
Mushrooms
Mushrooms are of interest to Carsten Höller on multiple levels—he calls them “monuments of incomprehensibility.” Once thought to be plants, mushrooms (the fruiting body of fungi) are actually biologically closer to animals. Scientists have shown that they are able to communicate through mycelium, the root-like underground networks that support them. Mushrooms’ myriad culinary uses also fascinate the artist, who previously ran Brutalisten, a Stockholm restaurant focused on single ingredient dishes. However, the fly agaric mushroom, which reappears across Höller’s practice, is not edible: it is poisonous and hallucinogenic. Researchers have suggested, to some controversy, that these mushrooms from the genus Amanita shaped Western Christmas traditions and ancient Vedic religious practices in Eurasia, theories which Höller explored in his 2010 exhibition “Soma.”
Here, the monumental sculpture Giant Triple Mushroom (2024) combines the fly agaric’s distinctive red and white cap with elements of two distinctly different mushrooms: the long net stinkhorn, a popular ingredient in Chinese soups, and the dove-coloured Tricholoma, which is also edible. At around three meters tall, the piece brings a sense of majesty to these mushrooms, emphasizing that fungi remain mysterious. Two versions of Spinning Amanita (2025 and 2026) place life-size fly agaric models on top of solar-powered motors, generating hypnotic patterns and paying tribute to the mushroom’s cultural significance. Color and black and white editions of the video Fly on Amanita (2025 and 2026) reference how these mushrooms are thought to have been traditionally used as insecticide, showing a housefly apparently becoming intoxicated after feeding on a mixture of fly agaric, milk, and sugar. Fittingly for Höller, this work poses a number of questions: What effect, exactly, does fly agaric have on the insect? Do mushrooms possess traits and abilities that go beyond the current limits of human understanding?
Here, the monumental sculpture Giant Triple Mushroom (2024) combines the fly agaric’s distinctive red and white cap with elements of two distinctly different mushrooms: the long net stinkhorn, a popular ingredient in Chinese soups, and the dove-coloured Tricholoma, which is also edible. At around three meters tall, the piece brings a sense of majesty to these mushrooms, emphasizing that fungi remain mysterious. Two versions of Spinning Amanita (2025 and 2026) place life-size fly agaric models on top of solar-powered motors, generating hypnotic patterns and paying tribute to the mushroom’s cultural significance. Color and black and white editions of the video Fly on Amanita (2025 and 2026) reference how these mushrooms are thought to have been traditionally used as insecticide, showing a housefly apparently becoming intoxicated after feeding on a mixture of fly agaric, milk, and sugar. Fittingly for Höller, this work poses a number of questions: What effect, exactly, does fly agaric have on the insect? Do mushrooms possess traits and abilities that go beyond the current limits of human understanding?
UCCA Beijing
Closed Today, 10:00-19:00
798, No. 4 Jiuxianqiao Lu, Beijing
Tel: +86 10 5780 0200
Fax: +86 10 5780 0200
UCCA Dune
Open Today, 9:30-19:30 (Final entry: 19:00)
Aranya Gold Coast, Beidaihe
Tel: +86 335 7522 652
UCCA Clay
Closed Today, 9:00-18:00
West Entrance, Creative & Cultural Ceramic Avenue, Dingshu Town, Yixing City, Wuxi City, Jiangsu Province
Tel: +86 0510 8767 9989
