Q1:
The exhibition revolves around the theme of the "bipolar ellipse," presenting life and death as a unified whole rather than opposing extremes. What inspired this perspective of yours? And how did you translate this concept into tangible expressions within your artworks?
A1:
The movement of the bipolar ellipse symbolizes the transformation between polar worlds. It can be seen as a manifestation of the yin-yang principle, where one pole transitions into the other—complementary and inseparable. This represents a generative motion of the world, not the opposition of creation and destruction, or material and spiritual.
Unlike the circle, which symbolizes wholeness, the dynamic forces generated by these dipoles lend the ellipse its instability. I believe this instability is fundamental to our existence. It is a significant topic in contemporary physics, as well as in philosophy.
This idea originates from the diagram drawn by Yuri, the protagonist of the modern novel Studies on Death. The same title was also the subject of my graduation project at music university—a theme that has long resonated deeply with me. Throughout my creative process, I experiment with various materials to explore this ever-changing, generative world. This exhibition showcases many of these experiments and their outcomes.
Q2:
Your works touch upon themes like life, existence, and the meaning of the cosmos—subjects often considered abstract and profound. How do you balance these philosophical reflections with audience perception during the creative process?
A2:
In my work, I continuously explore material imagination as a form of tangible reality. Science reveals realities that often seem like imagination—such as quantum mechanics or dark matter. Meanwhile, fictional physics imagines the unreal, sometimes foreshadowing scientific discoveries. This approach mirrors our modern world, where yesterday's fantasies become today's technologies.
In creating some of my pieces, I employ scientific principles to realize my imagination. When these works encounter viewers, they become embodiments of fictional physics. Imagination transforms into reality, and accepting it as a new world is the essence of fictional physics. You could say each exhibition is a realization of fictional physics.
At its core, both fictional physics and science are tools for exploring the unknown. Their convergence opens new pathways for discovery and creativity.
Q3:
As an interdisciplinary artist, how much time do you spend outside of direct art creation? How do multicultural and cross-disciplinary elements influence your artistic thinking and presentation?
A3:
My influences are highly diverse. I draw direct or indirect inspiration from literature, music, philosophy, architecture, fashion, mythology, natural sciences, anthropology, and more. But I would say poetry and music inspire me the most. In fact, I wonder if any other art form relates as closely to an artist's life and work as poetry does.
The imagination and emotions crafted by poetry are deeply personal, yet they also transcend eras and cultures. Music, on the other hand, is an event composed of sound—a time-based art that lets us experience the birth and demise of countless notes.
I listen to a wide range of music, from Bach's nearly divine abstractions to pop and electronic music. Especially when planning or creating new works, I often replay a single song repeatedly—not for its melody, but because music constructs another spacetime, transforming my studio into an unfamiliar realm.
Q4:
Your works incorporate many unique and complex materials, such as the luminescent substances derived from algae and explorations of decaying tree fibers in your latest pieces. What informs your selection of these materials and techniques? How do you process and highlight the distinctive qualities and allure of natural materials?
A4:
When I immerse myself in working with materials in the studio, I feel as though I become part of them. This may be a uniquely East Asian way of contemplating the relationship between humans and nature. In Eastern thought, to understand a tree, you must become the tree. Similarly, when working with materials, you lose yourself and merge with them. Painters or sculptors might share this sensation of unity with their medium.
The French philosopher Gaston Bachelard articulated "material imagination" through the four elements—fire, water, air, and earth. His writings, especially on introducing materiality into poetry and literature, have deeply fascinated me.
Q5:
In your distinctive creative process, have any writers or artists significantly influenced or inspired your current direction?
A5:
Theresa Hak Kyung Cha profoundly inspired me when I first arrived in Germany to study. Reading her work Dictee, I realized how easy it is to command others but how difficult it is to command oneself. This book holds great significance in postcolonial feminism. As an Asian student navigating European art, culture, and philosophy, it became a pivotal reference—giving meaning to my anxieties, thoughts, and even my identity.
At that time, I was able to move beyond the world of language and delve deeper into materiality and its essence. I would describe it as a substance that exists beneath language—a latent materiality.
Q6:
In the Chroma series, recent works seem to adopt animal-like forms, paying homage to poetry or mythology. Could you share the thoughts and intentions behind this? What inspired the newest piece?
A6:
It is actually a curve generated purely by a mathematical formula and rendered in physical form, though many interpret it as serpentine or draconic. You’re free to imagine these shapes, but I began with abstract knots—and that’s where the beauty of this work lies.
Q7:
Chroma IX holds mysteries. From afar, it appears as a large-scale installation, but upon closer inspection, it reveals itself as a flexible, shimmering kinetic piece. The mechanical "breathing" effect is astonishing—even the occasional drop of oil on the floor feels intentional. Your on-site remark about it resembling "bodily fluids" was striking. It’s as though everything is alive. Was this your intention?
A7:
I view my artworks as living entities—akin to the resurrected "actors" in Raymond Roussel’s surrealist novel Locus Solus, possessing what Karen Barad terms "intra-activity" and self-organizing bodies. I imagine the exhibition space as a reflection of our labyrinthine world—a decentralized realm where all things are entangled.
These installations result from months of rigorous experimentation with materials until they attain a semblance of life. My installations are rooted in my drawings. I often dream of strange creatures and objects in motion, which I then sketch. All my installations reference these drawings, some dating back over a decade—like a maze filled with lion flowers, snakes, and flaming fluids from an old dream.
This exhibition invites visitors into a material world where objects, creatures, and nature coexist equally—envisioning a flat ontology.
Q8:
Earlier works like Hello, World! involved interaction between artwork and viewer, while recent pieces like Inflating Sun and Chroma IX focus on interaction between artworks themselves—from human-object to object-object. How has your understanding of interactive forms evolved?
A8:
In my work, the material world is paramount—a space where things interact with their environment. When people engage with art, they often prioritize form, shape, or scale over materiality itself. Art history tends to emphasize social or cultural context rather than materials, even though materials define what forms are possible.
For instance, architectural forms vary drastically based on materials like ice or brick, not to mention environmental factors like weather. Materials are always connected to their surroundings, including gravity.
Q9:
Residual Display is structured like a "museum," offering glimpses into your creative experiments. Why this approach? How do you hope viewers interpret it?
A9:
Creating Residual Display allowed me to examine the origins of materials and the myriad inspirations behind my work: experimental results, sketches, natural specimens, and books. While technology, science, and ideas progress endlessly, natural materials—dried or discolored by environmental shifts—serve as conduits to myth, culture, and history.
This miniature museum comprises 12 cabinets, each with six drawers, organized into 10 categories: Terrestrial Elements, Liquefied Imaginations, Kinetic Pulses, Liquid Forces, Microfluidics, Mathematical Mechanics, Electronic Materiality, Celestial Elements, Imaginary Geographies, and Elemental Residues. I’m compiling these into booklets. It’s a cabinet of unrealized potential—a passageway for imagination, housing remnants of countless experiments and sparks of inspiration.
Q10:
Your works exude energy, dialogue, chaos, and a sense of fate. Yet in person, you appear methodical—almost like an ancient "Doctor Strange." Does this contrast stem from your personality or life experiences?
A10:
(Laughs) During my Venice exhibition, many viewers called me "Doctor Strange." While my thoughts may scatter, working with physical materials demands a state of static time—a meditative focus to comprehend and engage with the world. Without this, I couldn’t control or realize anything. This is where scientific methodology and artistic theory overlap.
While my personal inclinations influence my work, it’s the materials’ tendencies that truly drive the creative process.
Q11:
Music composition is one of the most abstract art forms. How has electronic music influenced you?
A11:
Music was my first language and remains a primary source of inspiration. Studying contemporary composition involves thinking about music through other disciplines—natural sciences like math, physics, and astronomy; humanities like philosophy and aesthetics; and fields like architecture and art.
Historical figures like Pythagoras in Greece and Confucius in China explored tuning systems, bridging music with broader knowledge. I collaborate more with scientists than artists, believing that multiple perspectives on a single subject—say, infinity—yield richer, unexpected depths.
This interdisciplinary practice allows me to move freely among materials, machinery, sound, and beyond.
Q12:
As you’ve reached midlife, has your cosmic outlook shifted? How does the artist intervene in these changes? After rejecting anthropocentrism, how do you personally relate to the cosmos?
A12:
Studying ancient Chinese paintings, I’m struck by artists’ profound understanding of nature. While Western education highlights figures like da Vinci, Chinese painters observed bamboo shoots to capture their essence in a single brushstroke—merging natural insight with artistry.
East Asia has long embraced an eco-centric worldview, unlike the West’s anthropocentrism. Modern philosophies emphasizing non-human agency echo classical Eastern thought. Though educated in the West, these roots remain ingrained in me.
Q13:
What experiences trigger your "affection" (creative impulse)? Is it materials, colors, encounters, or journeys and spaces?
A13:
"Affection" is vital in my work. When viewers engage with my fluid-based pieces, their bodily responses precede emotional reactions. The mechanical movements of my installations share spacetime with their bodies—it’s about experiential encounter, not interpretation.
Q14:
How was your collaboration with 798CUBE? We know its focus lies at the intersection of technology and art.
A14:
It was extraordinary. As an artist, encountering such unique architecture and envisioning my work within it was a rare privilege. The exhibition’s success owes much to CUBE’s passionate, professional team—aligning not just spatially but emotionally.
Q15:
Could you share a song and a poem with our readers, resonating with this grand exhibition in China?
A15:
Vanishing plays on loop through wall-mounted speakers—the sole sonic interior of the exhibition. A poetic fragment on the end wall offers a glimpse into my creative process and the quiet thoughts behind the works.
