Born and raised in Jiangxi, China, Jingyi Wu studied ceramics at the Tsinghua University and graduated in 2018. She then came to London to undertake a MA at the Royal College of Art.
She is determined to have her own studio in the near future where she will continue to explore materiality and narratives.
Art allows me to express implicitly at a comfortable distance without any limitation of mediums. My work often responds to gender, historical and local political issues, memories or fantasy. I am obsessed with the systematics in the making and retaining the possibility of continuous development of the work. My enthusiasm for museums and fairy tales influences me at the same time, therefore it allows me to present my work in a rational research manner with fragmented narratives.
This is an ongoing project starting with a speculation on the life of a stranger through her discarded letters. However, it has become a journey of self-reflection and consequently deepened my understanding of society, history and surrounding environments. Through my exploration in solitude, I have gradually accepted the fact of self-interest and slowly released my findings through my work. Winding obstacles and harmless lies are imbedded in the work for the viewer to experience an authentic replication off my journey. This fictional museum collects the research about myself.
Like peeling an onion,
I strip you off.
So time and distance,
Will never go back to the past.
Night is the day of dreams,
The soul strays freely in sleep,
There is no end.
In this expansive time,
Mind is wandering,
Traveling in ways that the bound body cannot.
Hard working,
Working hard to waste life,
Get used to the cycle,
Repeat the inextricable trajectory,
An endless game,
But no one left.
Not seen head-up,
Not recorded,
Easily forgotten,
Transparent family,
The transparent half.
I see colourful faces in shadows,
Colourful people dancing.
The red celebration paper buried the green bones,
We are walking,
On the road leading to this swamp.
The colour disperses colours,
A box contains a box,
One generation to another,
The story pretends to be a story,
The cycle is a template for everything.
Running in emotion,
Breathing in flame,
Freezing in cage of sight.
Red keeps our body warm,
We sing in silence,
And communicate with no words.
Thank you for being here,
It’s nice to talk to you.
This is an archive about a half-fiction research and collections in DIK Museum.
