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Steph Huang




Prawns & Pigs, 2019 


Pig had been walking for a long time. This was in accordance with a judgment that no one could quite remember. Pig did not remember it, either. Nonetheless, he upheld it.
He had seen the sun set in every way one might imagine. He had seen somber sunsets over the sea. They were the color of flint and then they were the color of a long-abandoned bag of trash. Sometimes, if the land was flat, the sun seemed to crash right out of the sky. It struck the earth with a pathological, almost psychotic intensity. It smoldered and smoked. Pig was sure he would never see it again. Pig said, “The sun had made a foolish promise it could not keep.” He had read this somewhere. He had read about these kinds of promises and they were not at all uncommon.
There were times when the sunset took eternity. Even then, the sunset did not inspire him. Pig did not need inspiration. He had a calling, an undertaking. He had a sentence. Pig was sentenced to stay here. Pig’s sentence was to walk.

At the broad approach to a nearly motionless river, Pig saw another being moving in the water. The mouth of the river was foamy and still. It was the mouth of a dog with rabies that had been shot, Pig thought. And though the shooting had made everyone sad, they had all agreed it was the only thing that could be done. Their sadness, though, is why the river remained here, like this.

Pig lowered his head inside the river and opened his eyes to the cool, quiet water. Sitting on a large rock, he saw a smooth crescent-shaped figure. He saw legs. He saw eyes. The eyes looked back at him. She was Prawn and he pulled his head out of the water.

His was a solitary sentence. He would not be accused on traipsing or roaming, as one does with another. He would only walk and one walks alone. He yelled at Prawn. She did not understand him or she ignored him. Maybe she loathed him. After some time and thinking, she moved nearer to him.

Without any ceremony whatsoever Pig ate Prawn.

Pig expected something to happen. He expected death or transformation. He expected to be able to breathe underwater, so perhaps he could walk to new places, maybe even see a new type of sunset. He got nothing. He got old.

Pig continued to walk until he fell apart. It started with his ears, then his tail. Pig lost piece after piece of himself until he was nothing but a trotter.

The Story of Pig - Joshua Thomas Lieberman




The Ashtray Show West, 2019 


A black and white poster with a cinermatic image of cigarette burn holes on an old armchair is printed over with The Ashtray Show West in mottled white text. Ninety-two ashtrays are lined up on shelves spreading into the floor. Some are from personal collections or bespoke pieces, sentimental, symbolic, rude or idiosyncratic, displayed opposite a collection of delicate jewelry. Both ashtrays and jewelry are universally recognisable forms of adornment that connect to notions of monopoly, materiality and trade.

Invited by Julia Muggenburg, artists Steph Huang and Cullinan Richards itinerant exhibition- The Ashtray Show West - took place at Belmacz, Davies Street, Mayfair W1 in October 2018. This new show presented ninety-two objects as ashtrays and expands The Ashtray Show conceived by Cullinan Richards at 4Cose, Vyner Street E2 in 2017. The early dialogues for The Ashtray Show West began over a spring time lunch in Berlin 2018 whist collectively enjoying the action of smoking.


“We can move our hand across the table and we can move the ashtray. But we cannot move our hand through the tabletop, or across the spot on which the ashtray stands, without moving the ashtray. To putit differently, our possibilities of action are limited.”

From Material Objects by W.D. Joske

Ashtray have served as a local point for watching smoking plumes diffuse, looking into the distance, giancing at co-smokers and thinking little.  

Steph Huang and Cullinan Richards, London 2019

The Ashtray Show, 2018 






After Christmas, 2018




Artist Edition of 100 Artist Edition of 100 GBP 15