Being both a female and a citizen prompts me to explore inwardly to reveal the native identity of my background, my cross-cultural education and my ideology of gender. My current practice relates to female protest and anti-gaze, and responding to the injustice faced by women today, as well as their specific difficulties in the marriage system. This is developed from the variety within my identity. In my creation, my identity is no longer simply a person who has fallen in love. but also a citizen who is concerned about my status in my own country.
Currently the law does not permit homosexual marriage in my motherland, and in recent years it has strictly restricted publications including queer content and tried to marginalize these voices. So it’s my current consideration to clearly communicate my views on feminism and make it available to wider audiences. Because I don’t want us to be domesticated by the silence. Even more terrifying is, I worry that we are forced to be silent by our fear of the silence, and eventually become a part of the silence.
Inspired by the French feminist pioneer, Hélène Cixous, I took her idea of Women's Writing to visualization my idea of Women's Drawing. I established my visual language that includes tone of colour, body shaping, lighting, and atmosphere creation, to demonstrate a subtle, fickle longing to show off, combined with the reserved temperament of an oriental female. I also create a dual narrative system composed of positive images and negative text to achieve the symbiosis of utopia and dystopia in a narrative.
The survival dilemmas of women and queers is my subject. I have been censoring and modifying my position to sympathise with marginalized people and minority groups with humanitarian care and compassion. At the same time pursuing the questions of how do I want to be seen? how do I want to be exposed to my audience? And how do I want to present in the face of censorship?
Mating Under Surveillance
Fathers are always forbearant and silent; mothers are always quiet and obedient.
With the shared and sweetest glory, sunflowers turn their heads round and round never doubting the sun.
Cubs lost their teeth. Youngsters start to flinch. Graduates trapped in housing prices.
With only a one-way ticket in life, no one can afford to choose or to make a mistake.
The Bubble Song
We are shouting out at their shoulders, stamping on their bones and ashes.
But refuse to become the shoulders and ladders for our next generation.
To the Moon
We are like water grass. Our tiny self-esteem still roots in the mud bed, but our sterms float with the flow involuntarily.
The sweet sunshine rises as usual while the bitter moonlight licks our spines.
In the context of the sun as a writer, the development of this sun-centered ecosystem is called history.
The sun, as the founder of the light and everything, monopolizes the ultimate interpretation of the history.
While the moon is a bystander, an outsider, the other.
A footnote, a reflection, and a punctuation.
“Wait,” The sun said, "You were not born at that time, you cannot be a participant in history."
The sneering moon no longer obeyed: “How can a me without the right to write history write the present and the future?”
I love you for liberating my uterus and my fallopian tubes.
I love you for you don't buy my reproductive rights with marriage.
I love you for you don't treat my body as a farm.
I love you for you, and for me.
a tool for men to show off while a label for women to be humiliated；
a way for men to possess while a way for women to be conquered；
a magic to create while a power to destroy；
should have been a combination of two, but was monopolized by one.