Since representing Hong Kong at the Venice Biennale in 2013, Lee Kit has spent over a decade recycling a suite of serene, ethereal, bafflingly bland motifs—sunsets, shadows, hands making vague gestures—in paintings and videos, always in muted pastel tones. The Hong Kong-born, Taiwan-based artist’s cryptic installations involve found objects, paintings, light, sound, and videos, arranged in just-so configurations that he calls “settings”—so elusive that commentators resort to terms such as “mood,” “atmosphere,” even “aura.” Lyrics, quotes, and Lee’s own writing sneak into corners of canvases or run in banners across videos, but the texts, albeit poetic, are often obscure. Most of it reads like innocuous streams of consciousness, until a stray expletive (e.g., “you fuck you,” stenciled in small, polite Roman font, or a repeated “Idiot,” in fading typography on a delicately creased canvas) leaps out like a whispered accusation—gently uttered, all the more vehement.