Coming from China, Tao Siqi’s uniquely seductive, fluorescent-lit and very sensual paintings stand out. The artist, who is based in Shanghai, pursues an open exploration of bodily sensation: pleasure, disgust, attraction and repulsion. After her debut at Frieze New York 2024 with Capsule Shanghai in the Focus section, her paintings started attracting the attention of international collectors.
Siqi is in her late twenties and unassuming—perhaps the opposite of what you might expect from her oftentimes provocative work. When Observer met the artist in her Shanghai studio, the vast range of references in her paintings outstripped her English vocabulary, but with the help of translators, we were able to dive deeper into the rich narrative and literary references embedded in the work. We talked with the painter about her primary sources of inspiration, her process and some of the places she feels her paintings are taking her.
Q: Yours is a meticulous and time-consuming practice—you add layers of new details and effects that eventually make your paintings tactile and luminous. Transference occurs as you delicately recreate specific sensations. How would you describe your focus as you paint?
I slowly build the surface, adding details that are not only visual but also tactile. I strive to capture more than just an image; I want to evoke a feeling, a memory or an emotion that resonates on a deeper level with the viewer. When I paint, I constantly think about how the interplay of light, color and texture will affect the viewer’s perception—how each brushstroke changes the canvas, making it more vivid and bright while subtly breaking away from the world’s reality, triggering emotional tension and unease.
The layering of colors and brushstrokes is not merely to enhance visual complexity; it is about creating a dialogue between what is seen and felt. It’s as if I am sculpting with paint, drawing out the intrinsic energy of the materials and allowing them to speak their language. As I progress, I become more aware of the emotions and sensations I want to convey. Each layer represents the physical and emotional act of painting, forming a delicate connection with the viewer as if they could reach out and touch the emotions and feelings embedded in the work. In this process, I am not just creating a visual experience but inviting the viewer into a deeper inner world where they can find fresh and hidden expertise.
Q: You explore these boundaries between the body and emotions, eroticism and the sublime. Skin is often the focus of your paintings and the sensations transferred through it. Why is this so central for you?
As an artist, I am drawn to skin because it embodies the intersection of our physical and emotional experiences. In my work, skin represents the boundary between the internal and external worlds. The concept of boundary first implies a barrier, protecting our inner world and resisting the persistent gaze of others. This objectifying gaze often brings experiences of pain or destruction (Thanatos). However, simultaneously, the boundary also represents a point of connection. As Merleau-Ponty pointed out, our perception of objects, space and the world is an embodied experience. Our body is our “medium for having a world,” and the skin is the primary interface for this interaction. Under this concept, skin manifests as a form of Eros, essentially a life-driving force of subjectivity. As Georges Bataille said, “Eroticism, it may be said, is assenting to life up to the point of death.” Therefore, the skin is where we simultaneously experience pleasure and pain, our most vulnerable yet vital organ. Under the tension of this duality, we can experience a sense of transcendence or what we might call the sublime.
Q: There’s something deeply cinematic in your close-ups, which suggest an erotic tension between attraction and repulsion, desire and objection. I know that you’re a voracious cinephile. Directors, such as Stanley Kubrick and David Lynch, deeply inspire your work. Can you tell us more about these references and how they influence your art?
David Lynch’s film Blue Velvet explores the intersection of “sex” with family trauma, fear, power and even the pleasure of jealousy. The multi-layered depiction of desire creates a rich emotional and psychological complexity. Its surrealist qualities, particularly the opening shots, with the highly saturated colors of blue skies and vibrant flowers contrasted with hidden darkness, embody the duality of innocence and pathology. This is also what I strive to achieve in my paintings—a multilayered meaning where beauty and horror coexist in an almost unsettling balance and where the pristine collides with the grotesque, much like the moist, squirming insects hidden beneath a beautiful lawn. This duality—the tension between beauty on the surface and underlying decay—makes me feel the unique emotional depth and power in Lynch’s films. Beneath the surface, there’s always another world, a hidden reality that can be discovered through careful observation. Lynch looks at life through extreme close-ups, which reminds me to focus on the minute details that reveal more profound truths—”saliva mixing with blood; tranquility is only a long shot.”
Furthermore, the film involves a lot of “voyeurism.” Just as a film invites viewers to peek from a safe place into hidden worlds, my paintings invite viewers to explore intimate and often taboo desires and unsettling themes. This act of “looking” and its power compel viewers to confront their perceptions and desires.
Through his extreme control of aesthetics and restrained cinematographic language, Stanley Kubrick showcases the subtle tension between attraction and repulsion, intimacy and alienation—core themes in my work as well. Eyes Wide Shut is a vital reference, delving into the often suppressed desires and fears lurking beneath the surface of an ostensibly perfect life. The film’s dreamlike quality, with the lingering gazes, cold-tone lighting and subtle, restrained performances, creates a sense of unreality, blurring the lines between fantasy and reality. I hope to evoke a similar sense of disconnection from reality in my work, where the boundary between consciousness and the subconscious becomes blurred. In A Clockwork Orange, Kubrick presents a dystopian world where desire is inseparable from violence. The protagonist, Alex, is driven by primal urges—not just sexual ones but also a hunger for power and control, which he expresses through brutal actions. The film explores the darkest aspects of humanity, portraying desire as something that, if left unchecked, leads to chaos and destruction. The film’s iconic use of bright, almost garish colors paired with classical music creates a surreal, disorienting, uncomfortable and incredibly captivating atmosphere. The contrast between the alluring surface and the disturbing undertone is what I aim to achieve when exploring human desires, where beauty often masks an unsettling reality.
Quentin Tarantino provides another source of inspiration for me. The way he blends violence with aesthetics and humor with cruelty is so elegant. For him, violence and beauty are not opposites but rather an intertwined aesthetic experience.
Kill Bill fuses Eastern and Western styles, using vibrant colors and sharp, almost poetic violence to highlight beauty and brutality, creating a visually stunning effect. What fascinates me in
Death Proof is Tarantino’s use of tension and suspense; he subverts the typical slasher film narrative. The protagonist, Mike, is obsessed with fear, which ultimately leads to his downfall, as the women he tries to dominate become the arbiters of his death. This shift in power dynamics lies at the heart of the film’s exploration of desire. I’m particularly interested in how desire can be both destructive and transformative—how it can be used to conquer but also to empower. In the film, desire is weaponized, and Tarantino uses close-up shots of feet, legs and other body parts to emphasize the fetishistic nature of Mike’s desires. The tension between the male gaze and female empowerment is palpable—the body can be both an object of desire and a site of resistance.
Q: Another significant reference for you is the writings of the French poet Charles Baudelaire and the atmosphere he created. In particular, I feel that some of your works share the decadent aesthetic that characterizes some of his most known poetry: “The fleurs du mal,” a collection of poems about eroticism, sin, immorality and desire but also death and suffering that were scandalous when initially published in 1857. Now they’re widely celebrated as one of the masterpieces of Romanticism. Can you tell us more about how Baudelaire influenced your paintings and the choice of subjects and narratives?
In Les Fleurs du Mal, the French word ‘mal‘ means evil, misfortune, or morbidity, but not horror. I often interpret it as ‘Flowers of Morbidity,’ which seeks traces of beauty in morbid imagery. The concept of morbidity itself is intriguing. In Discipline and Punish, Foucault elaborated on how society uses various institutions (such as schools, hospitals and prisons) to discipline individuals, making them conform to socially defined ‘normal’ standards. Behaviors or states that don’t meet these standards are labeled ‘morbid.’ Baudelaire’s work was scandalous because the imagery in his writing didn’t conform to social norms and was considered ‘immoral.’ However, sociological construction and aesthetic construction are two separate topics. Baudelaire greatly expanded the scope of beauty, which deeply moved me.
For instance, he wrote a poem called ‘Une Charogne’ (A Carcass), depicting his lover Jeanne Duval as a corpse. While seemingly shocking, I feel a sublime beauty in it—even when beauty fades, and the body is gone, they still love each other in eternity. (“Then, O my beauty! Say to the worms who will / Devour you with kisses, /That I have kept the form and the divine essence /Of my decomposed love!”)
The first section of Les Fleurs du Mal is titled “Spleen et Idéal” (Spleen and Ideal). The pervasive sense of ‘ennui’ (boredom) under modernity, along with the poet’s ideal of beauty, his depiction of the loss of innocence and desire and the tension between beauty and decay, have all deepened my understanding of the complexities of human emotion, passion and existence itself. This has inspired me to confront the dark and the forbidden in my work. I want to embrace these experiences and explore human nature’s intricate, often conflicting aspects, such as desire, vulnerability, pain and pleasure, even when cruel and unbearable. In my paintings, I strive to capture the raw intensity of human emotion, evoking the unease and obsession permeating his poetry and guiding the viewer into a complex world where emotions run deep and boundaries are blurred.
Furthermore, the recurring female figures in his poetry are often depicted as mysterious and alluring. These women may represent objects of desire while carrying deeper symbolic meanings, such as original sin or the temptation of the forbidden. His vivid descriptions of bodily sensations and experiences influence my work as I delve into how the body serves as a site of pleasure, pain and transformation. His language, charged with tension, alternating between long shots and close-ups, is not just a choice of perspective but a near face-to-face confrontation that engages all our sensory perceptions. In his poetry, every element is tangible yet presented in fragmented form, uncovering a raw and authentic reality.
Q: Your work is also characterized by this tension between your subjects’ seductiveness and vulnerability. This seems to apply to female sensuality, which is often suspended between these two poles but also expresses the multifaceted nature and perspective of desire. Can you expand on this point about your recent paintings?
In The Second Sex, Beauvoir mentioned that women are constructed as “the Other” with their main characteristics being contingency and corporeality. “In all civilizations and still today, she inspires horror in man: the horror of his carnal contingency that he projects on her.” In our cultural context, a woman’s body reminds us of reproduction, the womb and umbilical cord, the tearing and pain of childbirth and the decay of the flesh—these are the sources of its vulnerability. Simultaneously, as the gazer, the male/viewer, in an attempt to achieve his transcendence, always seeks to grasp the woman as “the Other” to absorb her as part of himself – this is the source of allure. Levinas’s metaphor in “Totality and Infinity” is particularly apt: he compares the “Other” to a woman’s face, always facing us, alluring us, yet forever eluding us.
My recent work Stigma (2024) depicts a nude woman covered in slime, teetering on the edge, with a blurred face and an unrecognizable identity. Emotionally, this can be interpreted as feeling overwhelmed by external influences—whether social, relational, or psychological. I used moist, warm and ambiguous colors to add a sensual and contradictory dimension to the painting. Erving Goffman points out that stigma is a profound mark that society imposes on individuals to marginalize and exclude them. Beauvoir discusses how women are often reduced to their bodies and seen as immanent rather than transcendent beings. In my paintings, I try to subvert this notion by imbuing these figures with external radiance or energy, suggesting that existence transcends mere physicality, and their self-image constantly resists the image others impose on them.
In another work of mine, Occupy (2024), a mighty hand prevents the body from being exposed and unfolded, with fingers pressing into the flesh, creating indentations. The woman in the painting is vulnerable. Her freedom is restricted, but simultaneously, she exuberates with tension. French philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre pointed out the persistent tension in love: on the one hand, love is an intersubjective exchange where lovers try to establish a relationship of mutual understanding and respect; on the other hand, they also try to control each other, objectify each other, make the other a part of themselves, thus falling into a persistent war. Sex is a complex confrontation about freedom, control and identity.
Q: I recently learned about “Chinese erotica,” which were little erotic illustrations inside elegant small boxes that circulated among wealthy families to educate young girls about sexuality. Those have long been and still are taboo in mainland China. What was your relationship with erotism growing up, and how would you describe the relationship of young women in today’s China with it?
In a society where discussions about sex are often shrouded in shadows, my understanding of eroticism is primarily shaped by what is left unsaid. Our cultural context makes many sex-related topics subtle and complex, which is precisely why eroticism holds a unique allure. This allure does not stem solely from its aesthetics or form of expression but from the implied, unspoken elements—the emotions and desires that are not expressed or are deliberately concealed.
The relationship between eroticism and young women in contemporary China is undergoing some changes. First, although certain restrictions still exist, accessing information has become more diversified. Secondly, I’ve observed that young women’s attitudes toward sex-related topics have become more open. They are more willing to discuss these topics and explore their gender identities and bodies. Another significant change is the introduction of a feminist perspective. More and more young women are beginning to view sex and eroticism from a feminist standpoint, emphasizing women’s agency and right to pleasure. However, it’s important to note that the conflict between tradition and modernity persists. Despite the increasingly open attitude, the sense of shame and taboo surrounding sex within the traditional culture has not entirely disappeared.
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