Personal space, as French philosopher Bachelard described it in his book The Poetic of Space, isn’t only a geometric term of height, width and length, but also where we treasure our memories, intimacies and our souls. It is our first universe. But I-Ping Peng throws a question at us in her solo exhibition Women’s Rooms : “ Do you know less than 2% of Taiwanese women own a space of their own?” Peng visited more than 50 countries, stepped inside 200 personal rooms of women, and brought out their unobstrusive stories and personalities. Her exhibition comes in three parts: Global Women’s Rooms, Taiwanese Women’s Rooms, and My Room. Together it is a journey from the very alien to oneself.  

photo via: I-Ping Peng

In Global Women’s Rooms, I-Ping Peng satirically named one of her collection Rear Window, a heads up for men on the voyeuristic view of feminine domestic privacy. Spoiler alert: Peng hasn’t found anything Hitchcock had borne in mind. Far from it, actually. For the record, women’s private rooms have been linked with the idea of sex. Even a male tutor would avoid teaching in his female student’s bedroom, fearing that they might end up as the next  Abélard and Héloïse. But Peng showed us these 200 rooms of diverse women have only one thing in common: they do not serve as a luring and sexy imagery for men's desires. Peng spent more than 20 years, used more than one medium to sophisticatedly portray these women and crushed society’s stereotypes on feminine cultures.

But what interests me the most isn't the those who own privacy, but the other 98% who does not. Are there other places where women sans space privacy can nurture their personality and gain independence? If there are no solid walls and doors for privacy, can the spirit of private spaces live on ?

According to Bachelard, if personal space doesn’t exist between the walls, then it might as well be kept in other domestic components. Between prudent lines on floor plans are rooms with names: main bedroom, kitchen, living room. For that 98% of Taiwanese women, privacy is nameless, scattered and unrecognizable by rulers and compasses. Instead, drawers are filled with dusty secrets. My grandma, for example, retains her personal space by creating unique habits and rituals: only grandma understands how to organise the fridge properly, only she can find hidden recipes from an inconspicuous drawer. A cabinet opened is an entire cosmos, every habitual action or a simple routine is a password that opens another dimension of her existence.  

Beside French philosophy, the fashion industry has its own way of shaking the dull framework of female’s bedroom since the 17th century, long before Peng held her exhibition. Le manteau is a piece of clothing so common nowadays that no one bothers much, but it certainly is something to fuss about during the 17th century. Le manteau used to serve as loungewear for aristocrats, while haute couture is the proper outdoor outfit. After 1678, it inflamed the déshabillé trend as it was made more sophisticated and elegant for outdoors. Fashionable Parisiennes put on what was once private for public in pursuit of a sexier style, and it’s not hard to imagine what a bomb le manteau had been. What le manteau had brought isn’t simply another fashion breakthrough, but an empowerment for women to break down the wall between female public and domestic image. It pushed society’s slim imagination (sex) of women’s privacy out of sealed doors and made “sexy” an outspoken charisma. 

Peng’s voyeuristic journey explored how women imagine and create themselves in their personal spaces. She set aside our traditional “Rear Window” perspective and delved into the true meaning of personal space for women.  Only if we think outside the boundary of sex and the outskirts of rooms can we profoundly shape ourselves and build our own universe.