I move between worlds, where performance meets image, where body meets memory, where silence speaks before language arrives. My practice works across choreography, moving image, installation, and performance art, but the questions remain continuous from one medium to another. I am interested in how a body holds philosophy, how an image carries residue, and how form can make pressure visible without reducing it to explanation.

 

My work is influenced by Daoist and Tibetan Buddhist cosmologies and informed by psychology, philosophy, socio-political thought, and posthuman inquiry. They shape how I understand relation, transformation, impermanence, and the unstable boundary between the visible and the withheld. I work with them as living structures of thought, as ways of perceiving time, causality, suffering, interdependence, and the ethics of being with others.

 

In the ongoing conflict of realization between uncertainty, inherited hierarchies, and a sustained admiration for ancestral philosophical systems, I strive to preserve and reactivate forms of knowledge that are often overlooked, flattened, or displaced. I am not interested in preservation as static return. I am interested in transmission under changed conditions. Much of my work begins from this tension: how wisdom carried across generations enters the present without becoming cliché, spectacle, or simplified identity.

 

Educated across multiple art forms, I began in dance under a highly disciplined training system in China, and later expanded into choreography, moving image, installation, and editorial forms. That trajectory matters. It means that my practice is not organized around one medium as a fixed home. Dance remains a root structure, but not a boundary. I continue to work through the live, time-based intensity of performance, while also moving toward image, object, material, and spatial construction when the work asks for another form of pressure, distance, or scale.

 

I stand as a tree, rooted in performing arts, shaped by years of corporeal discipline, and extending into visual art, writing, and research. This image remains useful to me because it describes the way the practice grows. The roots are technical, historical, and embodied. The trunk is compositional. The branches move outward into different media, but they remain fed by the same ground. From this structure, I approach art as a way to articulate shared vulnerability, uneven power, historical residue, and the fragile conditions through which human beings continue to make meaning.

 

My creative process bridges research and intuition. I do not separate intellectual inquiry from sensation, nor conceptual structure from material experimentation. I build through accumulation, rupture, return, and revision. A work may begin with a philosophical text, a ritual logic, a movement residue, a political wound, an image that refuses to leave, or a material that seems to know more than I do at first. Through choreography, screendance, and installation, I construct sensorial environments in which movement becomes a vessel and image becomes a mirror, spaces where the audience is invited to enter, dwell, and be altered by the terms of attention the work sets. I treat art not as product, but as process, ritual, and inquiry.

 

Much of my work reimagines the body as a site of knowledge, an instrument of transmission, carrying ancestral resonance and the invisible burdens of history. The body in my work is never only personal. It is also historical, cultural, political, and metaphysical. It carries training, injury, ideology, longing, shame, memory, and inherited forms of survival. Because of that, I am less interested in the body as pure expression than in the body as evidence, residue, threshold, and method. Through this lens, choreography becomes more than arrangement. It becomes a way of organizing relation, of testing what can be carried, transformed, or released.

 

I am drawn to thresholds. Between East and West. Between philosophy and technique. Between ritual and abstraction. Between the intimate and the public. Between what can be translated and what should remain partially opaque. My work often begins with unfamiliarity, but not for the sake of estrangement alone. I want viewers to stay with what is not immediately theirs, long enough for another kind of familiarity to emerge, one that is embodied rather than merely understood. Patterns, motifs, images, and movement structures are often used as entry points, but they are never the final destination. They open a passage between the work and its context, between surface encounter and deeper recognition.

 

I am drawn to sites of rupture, political, ecological, and spiritual. Rather than depicting them literally, I build abstract, often immersive landscapes that invite reflection more than resolution. I return often to collapse, violence, grief, transformation, and the instability of selfhood, not because I am interested in despair as atmosphere, but because rupture reveals structure. It shows what a body has been asked to carry. It shows what a culture suppresses. It shows how beauty can coexist with dread, and how form can make contradiction bearable without dissolving it. My works often decenter the human figure as sovereign subject, tracing instead the interdependence of body, matter, object, image, ecology, and time.

 

In this sense, my practice is also an argument against narrow hierarchies of knowledge. I aim to bring traditional Eastern philosophical and corporeal systems into active dialogue with contemporary forms, not as opposites to Western methodologies, but as rigorous ways of thinking that can alter how contemporary art itself is made, read, and inhabited. I am committed to preserving overlooked wisdom systems, but also to testing them, translating them, and allowing them to act on the present.

 

At its core, my practice asks: What does it mean to belong when everything is in motion? How do we carry ancestral knowledge in a world that demands forgetting? How does a body remain porous without disappearing? How can art hold contradiction without rushing to resolve it? My work does not seek to resolve these tensions. It seeks to compose them. It allows beauty and discomfort to coexist, and asks viewers to remain inside that coexistence long enough for something more difficult, and perhaps more honest, to become perceptible.

 

Each work is a vessel for reflection, connection, and transformation. Not a lesson, and not an answer. A quiet invitation to remember what we did not know we had forgotten.