It's difficult to point to one specific moment because I think there were many small experiences that gradually came together into one feeling. I've never been someone who's particularly good at expressing myself through words. Instead, I find it much easier to "speak" through drawing and making things with my hands.

I'm naturally quite introverted, and art has always felt like a gentle and personal way for me to express myself. It gave me a space where I could say things that I couldn't easily put into words. I think that's when I first realised how much I wanted to communicate through art. Since then, creating has gradually become a natural part of my everyday life.

To be honest, I still find it difficult to balance the two. I'm a very intuitive person, so I usually paint by instinct and take things one step at a time rather than following a fixed plan.

Sometimes that intuition takes me so far that I lose sight of what I wanted to express. When that happens, I pause, go back to my original idea, revisit my research, and organise my thoughts before continuing. My process is really about moving back and forth between intuition and reflection.

I usually deal with technical challenges by gathering lots of references and experimenting. I like to try different approaches until something clicks. The solution isn't always what I expected at first. In fact, some of my favourite outcomes have come from accidents or experiments that worked better than planned.

Not at all. I think once a work is finished, it can belong to both the artist and the audience. Art is meant to be experienced by people, so it's only natural that everyone will have their own understanding.

I actually enjoy hearing different perspectives. For me, making art is a way of expressing myself and giving my thoughts a voice. Once I choose to share my work with the public, I also accept that it will be viewed, interpreted, and discussed in different ways. Whether I agree with those interpretations or not is up to me, but I don't think there's only one "correct" way to understand a work.

I think I'm quite particular about developing my own visual language. But honestly, I just hope people can feel a sense of softness, calmness, and maybe even a little healing when they look at my work. I guess that's quite similar to my personality. I'm pretty quiet and soft.

I think studying in the UK has had a big influence on my practice. Compared with my previous experience studying art in China, I found the environment here much more open and experimental. I was encouraged to explore ideas freely and wasn't too worried about whether something was "right" or "wrong".

That gave me the confidence to develop my own visual language. For example, my series The Bloom of Boundaries I and II marked an important stage when I started creating more abstract, organic, and imagined life forms. I think those works really represent the direction my practice has grown into.

Maybe I'd create a large immersive installation that people could walk into or feel surrounded by. I'd use soft materials and anything else that makes people feel comfortable and relaxed.

I feel like life is really stressful for a lot of people now. I'm quite a laid-back person myself, and sometimes I find it difficult to live in such a fast-paced environment. So, if I had the chance, I'd love to create a space where people could slow down for a while, relax, and maybe leave feeling just a little bit lighter than when they came in.

I've actually thought about this myself, and I think the answer is much simpler than people might expect. During art school, especially for projects like my GSA degree show, using recognisable figures or everyday subjects was simply a more direct way for me to respond to the briefs and questions set by the course.

But abstraction has always been part of my practice. Even before coming to the UK, most of the work I made in my own time was already quite abstract and intuitive. I guess I'm the kind of artist who adapts my work depending on the context. Now that I'm creating more independently again, it feels like I've simply returned to what comes most naturally to me.
‍
As for the idea of the body, I don't think my understanding has changed that much. To me, a body has never had one fixed form. It's something tangible, soft, and organic. It is a presence that can hold emotions, memories, or meaning, regardless of whether it looks human or not.

Even if I'm responding to something more critical or uncomfortable, I still want the work to feel approachable rather than difficult to engage with.

So I think the colours come from both intuition and intention. On one hand, these are simply the colours I'm naturally drawn to. But I also think that instinct exists for a reason. Maybe, subconsciously, I've always wanted colour to create a softer way into the work. I hope the colours encourage people to slow down, feel at ease, and spend time with these imagined bodies without feeling that they need to immediately understand or define them.