Pleasure is Jer Dee’s act of laying everything bare. Made during a stretch of lacking intimacy — a quiet search for connection and touch — the show takes that absence and turns it inside out: a room full of figures mid-embrace, kissing, holding, reaching, caught in the gesture of being close to someone.

It is a deliberate stripping-away. Where his earlier work moved through dense color and vibrance, Pleasure reduces the palette to silver, lavender, and teal — a scheme drawn from the mother-of-pearl lacquerware of East Asian and Vietnamese traditions. The linework turns sparse, leaving only the details that matter and trusting the viewer to fill in the rest. The effect is a contradiction held in one breath: intimacy rendered cool, warmth rendered cold. A celebration and a mourning at once.

The show reached beyond the wall with an edition of printed abaca fans — Jer’s digital world pulled into the hand. On opening night, the fans glowed under black light as the crowd danced to sets by Papa Jawnz and Hideki: a room full of people holding his work as they held each other.