"In a great fog you cannot see behind you, nor clearly ahead — doesn't that seem very like us now?" So Lo Chan Peng describes this vast canvas, three hundred *ho* in scale.

If the earlier series peeled reality layer by layer to approach the truth, "Wanderer in the Mist" faces a harder predicament: the wrapping has grown so thick that people can no longer even see that a truth lies beneath. The mist is this reality itself, thickened until it loses all depth — information and values so over-saturated that the true and the false can no longer be told apart; from the grandfather's generation to the child's, everyone wanders within it, unable to tell where they came from or where they are bound. He weaves figures of different cultures, dress and character into one enormous scene — conceived as a long work spanning seven or eight years and three solo exhibitions, with threads planted for the viewer to recognise, only later, the hidden kinship between his figures.

This is an epistemological threshold, between seeing and not seeing. The wanderer walks into the fog not to reach some terminus, but to keep, with stubborn faith, picking out a little direction in a world of near-zero visibility — which is precisely Lo's metaphor for his own work. And within his trajectory, "Wanderer in the Mist" is the last stretch of the outward gaze; once through this fog, he will turn inward, to peel the deeper, more metaphysical wrappings.