Chun-Yu Bodies takes its name from a Chinese aesthetic, chunyu (纯欲/純欲): “angel face, devil body,” innocence and desire in the same figure. On the home page, this tension is openly stated through a wordplay on the homophone 春雨 (chunyu, “spring rain”): “春雨 — purity. It lasts until the next hand.” Purity, like rain, is something transitory: it lasts only as long as no one touches it.

Only on the home page does the body appear whole: a nude, complete model, presented to be studied from every angle, the only point in the archive where the body is still “chun,” intact. From there, the project branches into four anatomical categories (head, torso, arms and hands, legs and feet), and each of these pages starts already fragmented: four models per category, sixteen in total, in addition to the one on the home page.

Each piece can be opened in an editor and painted, modified, or cut directly on its surface: a mark that applies to the model’s texture and stays attached to it, not to the screen. Whoever draws can publish their own version, which becomes part of a shared, ever-growing archive: model after model, the archive fills with bodies already altered by other hands. And an already modified version can in turn be taken up and modified again, generating a chain of interventions whose entire history remains visible, traceable at every stage, from the original, “pure” model to every hand that has touched it over time.

Chun-Yu Bodies does not represent the chunyu aesthetic: it stages its end. The body stops being a single entity the moment it enters the archive, and its purity is consumed, like spring rain, by every successive hand that touches it.