In contrast to Tishan Hsu’s signature wall-mounted reliefs—lesioned, silicone-slicked surfaces that are sickly yet perversely chic—emergent mesh (2025) is encountered as something categorically other: less object than strobing, churning unease. A large, free-standing LED panel, curved at one end, stages an undulating, perpetually reconfiguring lattice: a skeletal armature that folds, expands, kinks, and rotates, while two simulated high-resolution textures—pig skin and grass—take turns sheathing its rungs. Never settling into organ or terrain, the imagery grinds on, alternating between acidic pink and necrotic green, cycling through lab, field, and diagram without resolving into one. The viewer is pinned in its flickering glare, subjected to a steady, low-grade disorientation: you can look away, but the revolving plexus lingers. The verso of the LED structure, with its clustered wiring and hardware, reads as an exposed nervous system—the work’s own agitated, overclocked brainstem.