Interviewee: Xue Ying
Interviewer and Editor: Yang Meiju
It was during the coldest days of last winter, just before the Lunar New Year, that I met Xue Ying at her residency in Aranya Jinshanling. Despite the deep winter chill of -20°C, the mountains revealed a mesmerizing transformation at a micro-frequency. Over two days, we felt summoned by a mystical force toward the peaks, embarking on a "crusade of language" during walks, late nights, and sun-drenched mornings. Time seemed both fleeting and abundant, our conversation stretching long yet feeling urgent—a continuation, perhaps, of countless exchanges, whether brief or profound, and more so a comprehensive confession following a prolonged period of mutual observation and affirmation.
In 2022, at Click Ten Gallery, I first encountered Xue’s work—series like Crazy Wife and That we don't eat until your father's at the table—and was immediately struck by the sharpness and intensity of her expression, executed with a paradoxical lightness. Beyond the work, I was drawn to her self-positioning: she articulated her feminist stance behind her practice without reservation. As it turned out, this was her first major showing， this debut exhibition also served as the departure point where her feminist theory transitioned into active practice. Standing before those works, I recognized her defining trait: honesty.
My subsequent interest in Xue stemmed from a natural curiosity as a fellow feminist (from Shandong) and a "wait-and-see" attitude: I wanted to witness what an artist who refuses to remain silent encounters in this industry and the world at large.
Her journey confirmed my anxieties—hostility, resistance, and hidden reefs—yet she remained undeterred, moving with more power and speed than I had imagined.
By November 2025 in Shanghai, she presented two distinct bodies of work: Annoying Love at West Bund Art & Design and The World Managed to Teach Us How to Sing Our Song at SuheHaus. Despite their disparate materialities, both exhibitions shared a profound serenity, a departure from the confrontational nature of her work three years prior. We marveled at her ability to integrate multi-threaded creative paths while celebrating her newfound breadth and freedom.
Amidst the forces of exclusion, Xue has been filtering and identifying her "fellow travelers". I observed her internalizing feminism not just as a discipline, but as a daily ritual: reading voraciously, hiring female assistants, attending Professor Zhang Nian’s lectures at Tongji University, and launching podcasts to discuss gender.
For Xue, feminism is no longer a shouted slogan or a lingering whisper; it has become a perspective, a way of life, and a nourishing breath of fresh air. As she firmly states: she could stop making art, but she will never abandon feminism, for it is the very way she chooses to live.
Naming and Identifying
ARTDBL: Your early works, like the Crazy Wife series, were exceptionally sharp and aggressive. What did those works mean to you at that time?
Xue Ying: Crazy Wife is indeed a very important work for me and a concentrated presentation of my thoughts at that stage. The inspiration was my mother.
As a child, I realized we only ate fresh meals when my father returned. Her answer to my questioning was simple: "Because your father earns the money. When you start earning, I’ll cook for you".
This sentence left a profound mark on me. For a long time, she detested the sheer tedium and weight of cooking, and from a young age, I found myself contemplating what all of this truly signified within her world. Even though she maintained her own career and generated her own income through stocks and investments, she still harbored this internalized notion: that the breadwinning man deserved fresh meals, while she—and by extension, I—did not. There is something surreal and baffling about the culture in Shandong, where women are so readily marginalized, yet everyone accepts it as rational and normal. Of course, this might seem like a trivial anecdote, but it is more than enough to expose the deep-seated gender predicament within a family.
For too long, the domestic and public spheres have been rigidly bifurcated—the domestic as emotional and private, the public as political and serious. But human experience is fluid, and experiences and feelings can permeate each other. Good things can come in, and toxic things can also seep in.
Under the rigid binary separation of the public and private spheres, emotionality, privacy, and feminine sensibilities are relegated to a frail, passive, and incommunicable position. Alternatively, when female labor is discussed, there is an attempt to 'validate' the woman’s standing through economic quantification. Yet, this calculation still relies on a patriarchal formula; to measure in this way only traps women further within that very logic, ensuring they remain truly invisible. It is the emotional, the fluid, and the shifting parts that provide true nourishment—the parts that can never be fully framed or confined by patriarchal logic.
ARTDBL: Was the creation of Crazy Wife an act of naming and identification?
Xue Ying: I wanted to present a woman like my mother—someone "neurotic" or even "crazy" in the kitchen, refusing the societal expectation of the "good woman". But my mother refused to adhere to that script. She was remarkably passionate, extroverted, and resilient—and yet, she loathed the kitchen and child-rearing with every fiber of her being.
The private is political. Even within domestic labor, women mobilize vast reserves of knowledge and affect to make decisions and judgments. The individual is an embodied existence; the position of the woman has never been one of weakness or passivity. Compared to men, many women find greater joy and fulfillment in caretaking and devotion. However, when this devotion is weaponized against them—transformed into a metric for exploitation or a disciplinary mechanism for regulation—it inevitably incites rage.
I loathe the rhetoric of 'I support feminism; I will protect women.' This perspective is inherently arrogant and remains miles away from truly perceiving a woman’s reality. Genuine visibility means accepting the 'cruel,' 'greedy,' and 'aggressive' facets of women. She has her reasons—perhaps shaped by lived experience, or perhaps it is simply her nature. Just as men are never required to justify their existence, a woman should not always have to explain herself.
The reception of the Crazy Wife series was polarized. Those who resonated with it found it visceral, deeply empathizing with that specifically feminine, repressed fury. Those who disliked it were predominantly men. They often couldn't articulate a specific reason; they simply felt 'uncomfortable'. This discomfort proves that the work struck a nerve, confronting them with something intimate, direct, and inconvenient that they refuse to face.
Control and Intrusion
ARTDBL: Strictly speaking, was your first "real" work the teapot series exploring mother-daughter relations?
Xue Ying: Yes, that was my graduate thesis project, also was my first formally exhibited work, my first truly significant piece. At the beginning of my practice, I relied heavily on intuition; I didn't always know exactly what I was doing, often only realizing the work’s significance through the act of making.
I spent a long time on that teapot, starting in 2018 and only presenting it for my graduation in 2019, making several trips to Jingdezhen. There, I found the logic of production—stifled by the legacy of imperial kilns—to be rigid and assembly-line-oriented, a far cry from the creative potential I had imagined for ceramic clay. This immediately brought to mind the history of control and violation I had experienced—control within the family, the rigid discipline of school—and these empathetic echoes were naturally channeled into my observation and feeling of the material. Consequently, the form of the teapot—with the spout and handle situated inside the body—creates a sense of enclosure. It speaks to my relationship with my mother: that symbiotic yet claustrophobic complexity, rendered with a touch of realism.
From my graduate studies through the early stages of my career, I have been weaving these lived experiences of control, intrusion, and violation into my work; I have an acute, somatic realization of these rigid, top-down rules. Recently, however, this sense of confrontation has lessened. My perspective on external rules has shifted; the things that once harmed me have shrunk, while my world has expanded, and the work naturally moves forward.
Belonging and Constraint
ARTDBL: Last November in Shanghai, you presented two simultaneous exhibitions: Annoying Love at West Bund Art & Design, and The World Managed to Teach us How to Sing Our Song at SUHE HAUS. The material palettes were diverse, and the visual signatures appeared strikingly different.
Xue Ying: That’s true. Although they ran concurrently, their distinct environments and venues meant they manifested very differently—many were surprised to learn they were the work of the same artist. To me, they represent a unified manifestation of my current state. In The World Managed to Teach us How to Sing Our Song, my reflections on "what truly constitutes home and daily life" expanded into architectural space, exploring gendered conditions within those environments and the softness or fluidity of boundaries.
These materials are deeply rooted in my upbringing and current surroundings. The men in my family are all involved in the steel industry: my father manages large-scale industrial profiles, and my brother and uncles are welders, steelworkers, and miners. I possess an innate familiarity with construction and industrial plants. Even now, the facility where I work is not a specialized "sculpture studio" but a hardware factory focused on window and door processing. My concerns and reflections necessitate working with materials from daily life, expressing the tension between physical reality and perceived reality. Creating a fantasy world detached from reality holds no interest for me.
ARTDBL: What is the significance of the "furniture with spikes" in The World Managed to Teach Us How to Sing Our Song?
Xue Ying: That series made me realize that, for me, the creative process is the work itself; I often only discover my intent through the act of making. Grinding each spike requires facing a high-speed industrial grinder, pressing the full weight of my body against each steel rod to frictionally shape it. This intimate measurement of danger reminds me that, in our lived experience, the distance between the body and peril is often much closer than we imagine.
In the factory, there are massive metal cutting beds with rows of upward-facing sharp points, designed to elevate the steel plates so that debris can fall through. I was shocked to see workers walking directly over those razor-sharp points in their shoes. Seeing that image instantly triggered a memory of a Christmas spent at a British classmate’s home; his grandmother had a collection of Victorian silverware arranged with incredible tightness—each piece exquisite, yet packed so closely together. Both her home and her inner world possessed a sense of tension masked by outward decorum and gentleness. I have always been hypersensitive to this constant tension existing between objects and between people.
Originally, I intended to create a small table or stool imbued with this tension to serve as a plinth for other works. However, the process of grinding the spikes allowed me to see further possibilities across objects, architecture, boundaries, and the intersection of the public and the private; the material language became self-sustaining. By arranging them in space, they evoke various forms: a small cage, a cot, an instrument of torture, or the "hostile spikes" common in European public spaces designed to repel pigeons and the homeless. My concern lies in how space actively excludes or situates the "Other".
Collectivity and Symbiosis
ARTDBL: The kitchen remains a central site in your work. How has your perspective on it changed?
Xue Ying: Yes, the exhibition Annoying Love at West Bund Art & Design is a continuation of my exploration of the kitchen space, taking it a step further. While my previous works related to the kitchen carried a great deal of feminine rage and aggression, this time I am focusing on the creativity and wisdom of women within that space. In other people's kitchens, I often see aluminum pots that have been used for years; they are covered in scratches, yet tenderly maintained by their owners—usually women. This care for cookware is fundamentally different from the way silver vessels are kept on a pedestal, locked away. Within this humble sentiment lies a persistent concern for the "inner," which I believe is vital.
In my grandmother's generation, aluminum was a common material for pots, though it is now being phased out of modern kitchens due to its instability. When the elderly speak of rural life, they describe collecting soda cans to melt down and cast into a pot on the spot; if the pot broke, it could be melted down again to become something else. Neither the material nor its attributes are immutable; the boundaries and form of a pot are fluid. Initially, I intended to purchase pure aluminum for this project, but after facing difficulties in finding a factory, I decided to reverse the process. Instead of following the logic of production—where material becomes a utensil—I returned the utensil back to its state as material. Through heating, hammering, and striking—since food-grade pure aluminum is softer than common alloys—the pots underwent a transformation. After repeated hammering, some pieces began to resemble compressed scrap metal, while others looked like kitchen foil. On some surfaces, I engraved patterns of vintage lace; others reached a state of almost fractured boundaries. The process itself is the work.
In the work Smell: Dry, I used pots belonging to myself and my friends, heating them on a stove to leave traces of time and thermal energy on fabric. Even with identical heating times and flame intensities, the way different pots absorb and release heat varies drastically. Sometimes it leaves only a faint scorch mark; other times, it burns right through the cloth. The kitchen is a battlefield, sacred and not to be underestimated. It operates nothing like "legitimate" or "rational" knowledge. Working in a kitchen means understanding how to navigate these complex forms of knowledge and energy—a task as difficult as managing the boundaries between the self and the other. This is a form of wisdom that has been vastly undervalued.
ARTDBL: What would you like to explore in your future creations?
Xue Ying: I want to engage in more collective creation centered around "the work of the hands." While "handicraft" often implies a pursuit of technical skill and "labor" carries a specific sociological connotation, "the work of the hands" involves the tactile sense of the hand, bodily perception, and thought collaborating as one. At the same time, the kitchen remains an expansive territory for me; it contains the cycles of life and death, the connection between the internal and external, female creativity and wisdom, and human relationships. It is a site worth digging into indefinitely. I also want to experiment with more communal ways of creating, as relationships with others always allow me to see so much more.
Priavte and Public
ARTDBL: How did you enter contemporary art and gradually find your direction?
Xue Ying: I actually applied for my master’s in contemporary art using my fashion design portfolio from my undergraduate studies. I’ve always loved sewing, but for some reason, my grades in fashion were consistently poor—often receiving C or a B- at best, which was quite a blow to my self-esteem and motivation. Yet, the garments themselves were well-received; for instance, they were selected for award competitions. The issue was that the school's grading criteria for fashion prioritized procedural logic—every step had to be strictly documented. One couldn't simply follow personal intuition or start from an abstract concept, which led to very low scores for my process documentation.Eventually, my tutor remarked that my work felt more like Fine Art and encouraged me to apply for that major.
My graduate program was called Contemporary Art Practice, where I studied performance art and the public sphere; those were the two happiest years of my academic life. Working with Nigel Rolfe, I learned a great deal from his emphasis on and respect for privacy and vulnerability, while also recognizing a potent sense of commonality. In my second year, my studies in the Public Sphere focused heavily on the micropolitics of emotion between individuals. Mel Jordan utilized methods like "protest" and "minifesto" to counter the "public"—an approach that was profoundly bottom-up and carried a deeply private sense of politics. Both periods of study provided vital inspirations that I still consider avant-garde today.
ARTDBL: At what point did you realize you were a "feminist"? And when did you begin to incorporate it into your creative system?
Xue Ying: For me, these two moments occurred simultaneously; there is no clear boundary between them. In fact, when I first began my practice, I never even considered "feminism" as a category. I simply assumed that an artist should naturally be a feminist—if you cannot perceive the complex predicaments of others and yourself, what exactly are you creating?
I began quite instinctively from the perspective of "Home". Since childhood, I have contemplated human relationships—why people stay together, why they part—and "home" is the most labyrinthine and obscure arena of human relations. It has provided me with both the greatest pain and the most inspiration, forming the core of my personal psychological growth.
From a young age, I observed many people suffering in their family relationships, which were a far cry from the "filial piety and harmony" emphasized in Confucian culture. To this day, my father still feels that his mother—my grandmother—favored his elder brother, which he perceived as an injustice. He suffers because of this, feeling that the responsibility and love he provided far outweighed his brother's, yet went unacknowledged. This must also be affecting his deeper understanding of other things. This confusion surrounding love haunts every age group and every generation; some simply choose self-deception, clinging to the weakS justification that "we must be together because we share a bloodline".
Therefore, from the very beginning of my creative journey, I wanted to understand what "home" or "love" truly means to us, how we yearn for love, and what other possibilities exist for relationships. It wasn't until my graduate studies that I began reading feminist theory, which helped me understand the difficulties of my own growth and the predicaments of myself and other women. For me, feminism is a way of seeing oneself and the world—a methodology distinct from the mainstream structures of rational knowledge.
Constraint and Release
ARTDBL: Moving from feminist theory to artistic practice—how was that transition realized?
Xue Ying: It was only after returning to China that I truly defined myself as a feminist and integrated it into the core of my practice. During my studies, I read extensively—texts by Professor Zhang Nian, as well as works focused on intersectional Black feminism and third-world feminism. While these were deeply moving, they lacked the "friction" of real-world experience. Upon returning, I faced significant culture shock; I transitioned from a relatively ideal and healthy academic environment into the complexities of the art market and social life, experiencing firsthand the specific biases and obstacles women encounter. Simultaneously, because of my working methodology—focusing on the difficult yet pervasive aspects of the female predicament—my work tends to bruise certain male egos. In a professional context, I have also encountered deliberate suppression stemming from a resentment toward feminism.
ARTDBL: From the beginning until now, has your perspective as an artist practicing feminism changed?
Xue Ying: Looking back, my choice was certainly rooted in a kind of honesty, but it was also quite naive. Because I could not pretend or gloss over the myriad problems existing in the world, I felt it was only right to confront them directly—at the very least, I could not allow these issues to remain invisible. I have maintained this approach from my first solo project in 2022 until today. The experiences of these past few years have indeed shown me that the professional limitations imposed on an artist for discussing feminism—stemming from prejudice and misunderstanding—are substantial. Nevertheless, I still believe there is room for these rigid structures to give way.
ARTDBL: You’ve mentioned the " constraint " of being a feminist artist. What are they?
Xue Ying: Of course, there are specific professional constraints—for instance, the assumption that one should only be included in "female artist" group shows, or navigating a stagnant environment with a limited discourse. There is also the frequent need to manage fragile male egos that are easily offended in the workplace (hehe).
We once discussed why the previous generation of female artists resisted the "female artist" label. As my experience in the industry grows, I’ve come to view their choice as a form of resistance—albeit a passive and largely futile one. Both art history and today’s industry are governed by a set of rules and an order written through a dominant masculine discourse, a framework that is inherently ill-suited for women to express their full depth.
Women are unique; this uniqueness dictates a different way of mobilizing our sensory perceptions. From menstruation to childbirth, there is an inherent natural order operating within us. The hardships of social life have cultivated a specific feminine sensitivity; our perception and acceptance of pain help us more easily construct a collective feminine experience and understand the complexities of each other's situations. It would be a pity not to embrace this. Working in a field dominated by masculine discourse does not mean one must inherit that decayed, rigid, and regressive logic. I still place my hope in finding one's own way of "playing"—and in that process of play, creating our own rules.
Fresh Air
ARTDBL: Given the circumstances, do you frequently feel uncertain about whether you can continue?
Xue Ying: I am in a state of constant doubt—not about feminism itself, but about whether this industry can truly accept it. It is undeniably difficult; every step is a struggle. Perhaps my experience is unique, but nothing has ever felt particularly smooth. There are very concrete challenges at the level of survival, and support is extremely limited. There is self-doubt as well; the persistence of one’s convictions is never achieved overnight—it’s often a process of taking three steps forward and two steps back. Fortunately, looking at the bigger picture, progress is being made.
ARTDBL: Could these hardships eventually lead you to sever ties with feminism one day?
Xue Ying: I cannot imagine deliberately excluding a feminine perspective from my work. To me, feminism is not an identity, a label, or a matter of "picking a side"; it is the recognition and acceptance of my own life experience. It is like breathing—the "fresh air" of feminism is essential and beneficial for maintaining health and vitality. I simply cannot conceive of creating art while intentionally detaching myself from my gender.
I inherited a profound, unyielding resilience from my mother; even in the face of extreme circumstances and challenges, I feel an innate confidence that I can endure. The strength and tenacity she displayed when navigating a vast, indifferent medical system following a car accident is something I have never witnessed in any man. A curator later said to me, 'As a mother myself, I can tell you—frankly, she wasn't living for herself.
I was never the type of person who dreamt of being an artist from childhood. I harbor no illusions about the title 'artist,' nor do I carry its baggage. My understanding of and entry into art did not follow a traditional path; I refuse to be held hostage by the identity of 'the artist,' nor do I feel the need to insert myself into an art history written by men. As a close friend of mine often says: creation is the work of a lifetime. What matters is the act of creation itself.
Work for 500 More Years
ARTDBL: So, you haven't been intimidated?
Xue Ying: In the past, I used to constantly look inward for the cause, wondering if I should remain more silent when my work was at its sharpest, simply to survive in this industry. Yet, even when I did so, I still encountered numerous obstacles; I was still targeted and marginalized. I felt profoundly despondent, at a loss for what to do next.
Then, a friend's words woke me up: "It’s because you are doing feminism, and that inherently makes some people uncomfortable." She added, "When you feel fragile or powerless, just remind yourself—you aren't here to be an 'artist'; you are a feminist." Those words were incredibly empowering. Hearing them, I felt like I could keep going for another five hundred years.
ARTDBL: I see; so for you, it’s not that contemporary art needs to "incorporate" feminism, but rather that feminism is the expansive container that encompasses the artistic process.
Xue Ying: Art is a field of high-intensity sensory perception and imaginative activity. However, the industry space I currently inhabit is far too narrow; its dialogue, development opportunities, and support systems are extremely limited, often tainted by utility and vanity. Vanity is truly the poison of creation.
In contrast, feminism is a much more vital field that exists beyond these established frameworks. It touches upon every facet of freedom, life, perception, imagination, and creativity; it concerns the predicament and dignity of every individual. Its history may flicker between light and shadow, but it has never truly disappeared.
I believe true creation should be driven by this conviction. My sensitivity and capacity to perceive pain have allowed me to explore the intricate, intertwined complexities of women’s situations. Creation, then, is the act of identifying that emotional intensity and granting it a sense of belonging. In artistic creation, at the very least, pain and passion ought to coexist.
ARTDBL: I’m curious—do you ever have moments where you feel like an "incomplete" or "imperfect" feminist?
Xue Ying: I don’t believe the term "incomplete feminist" should even exist. Feminism is not a rigid ideology, nor does it have a "standardized audit." One’s commitment to feminism should never become a restriction on oneself or others.
That said, there are moments when I dislike myself—when I find myself uttering placating words out of a fear of malice, or choosing silence to avoid conflict, or struggling with body acceptance. But as I become aware of these raw, honest reactions, I find them interesting. I am willing to keep questioning them, treating them as objects of inquiry to better understand women and our conditions.
What I want to understand is the kinetic process of women growing, failing, and reflecting within this complex world. I’m not the type of person who learns a lesson after falling into a pit once; I might fall into the same pit three or five times. But what I want to interrogate is: Why did I fall into this pit? What does this pit represent to me? What am I trying to defend by repeatedly returning to it? Can I try a new route to climb out this time? Like artistic creation, feminism is a lifelong process. It’s better to simply walk out of those "houses" where there is no seat for women, and instead, craft our own "speculative toys"—playing within the vitality of creativity and imagination.
