Ye Qin Zhu
Based in Brooklyn, NY and New Haven, CT, Ye Qin Zhu is an interdisciplinary artist with a wide-ranging practice that encompasses painting, public art, and social practice. This year, Zhu has had a solo exhibition at Moskowitz Bayse Gallery in LA, was in group shows at Harper’s Gallery and James Fuentes in NYC, designed a billboard at Kingsgate Project space in London, UK, and erected two large-scale public art installations; one in Strafford, New Hampshire, and the other in Governors Island, New York. Zhu is currently designing and creating the Memorial for Healthcare Workers for Yale-New Haven Hospital and is on the team that spearheaded the New Haven COVID-19 Memorial, working with the city’s Department of Cultural Affairs, community and organization leaders, and residents. At the heart of Zhu’s work is his painting practice. In the studio is where he dives deep to derive his core values, an important one of which is to find healing. From there he bridges the discipline of painting to all the other forms.
Zhu’s installation CONSTELLATION is currently on view at Governors Island.
Interview by Ricky Lee
Tell me about CONSTELLATION.
CONSTELLATION is a suite of six interactive sound sculptures spread throughout Governors Island. Inspired by asteroseismology—which shows that stars sound like ringing bells—the sculptures are covered with ceramic bells that wind, and visitors, ring!
The project was built by youth campers and staff at Beam Camp City. My design for CONSTELLATION invites youth to share their creativity in ways big and small. The ceramic bells are designed and made by hundreds, maybe even over a thousand youth from all 5 boroughs of NYC. The sculptures draw in passersby with their sounds. When visitors get up close, they are mesmerized by the constellation of all these unique bells, and they can participate by ringing a bell or shaking the structure, which rattles in the most whimsical way.
What is your working process?
CONSTELLATION was a collaborative process. I worked with Beam Camp City staff, the parks department, youth fellows and apprentices to whittle down my original proposal into what we see today: something that is fun and engaging for the staff and campers to make, and enticing for visitors to see and hear for each of the six unique pieces. The hope is for visitors to move through the entire island, following our constellation map on the QR code at the foot of each sculpture, and experience Governors Island through our carefully selected scenic locations and routes. Identifying the locations was so much fun! Shane, the Director of Public Programs at Governors Island drove us around on a golf cart to scope out the best sites for the sculptures.
For CONSTELLATION, or any public artworks I make, I use heavy-handed metaphors and symbols to impress onto the viewer an experience or visual language. Like a poem with a few non-linear but resonant words. Because this is a Beam Camp City project, youth get to take their personal projects home, but for a large-scale singular project, the thing to take home is the experience of it. I wanted the metaphors to be an important part of this experience. Constellations, for example, are cosmic metaphors for relationships and interconnectedness—a constellation is made up of stars in relation to every other star. The way we relate to learning, stories, experiences, and metaphors change over time as we grow. A work of art stays alive when it changes and grows with us.
How would you describe your aesthetic?
Civilization and nature clashing informs my aesthetic. Unlike the previous question, my process in the studio is usually intuitive. I let the paintings or sculptures chart their courses, and the works begin to take on a story of their own. My paintings are dense with materials, textures, and colors. I arrange and rearrange organic and inorganic matter, I allow them to simply “be” at times, and other times I transform them through destructive or constructive processes such as pulverizing materials in a blender or casting disparate parts in a mold. Themes of gardening feature heavily in my work. I grew up spending a lot of time in a vegetable garden in the cosmopolitan neighborhood of Sunset Park, Brooklyn. My parents were farmers born in Taishan, China, in villages not too far from Guangzhou city, when industry was taking root over four decades ago. I learned from my mother how to plant, cultivate, and harvest crops in our backyard. I tend to my art like a garden. Paintings get started, seeds get planted, some lay dormant, some take root, while others take years to mature. Some just never make it and become nutrients for other works. Gardening shows up aesthetically as accumulation—the works take on a life of their own, carrying on them images, objects, and stories that become the fruits of the pieces. Organic fibers like stems, roots, seed pods, and leaves get embalmed and glued next to microchips, plastic parts, and detritus. Everything takes the time and nutrients it needs. Like dense vegetation, my works often appear overflowing and become relief-like. I am also inspired by relief sculptures and paintings, especially those in Buddhist and Hindu temples. I love how ancient spiritual knowledge gets transferred through images and books, but also through space, as in the relief and belief systems of architecture, and of course through bodies. Ultimately, it is our bodies—individually and collectively—that carry the accumulation of culture.
For CONSTELLATION, I use similar motifs. Each of the six sculptures takes the shape of a small tree, about 12 feet in height. Each base is in the shape of a giant human sense organ. The stems shoot up from them like trunks, and webs of lines bloom from the stems like branches. The webs carry constellations of ceramic bells reminiscent of fruits. There are all these layers of accumulation, perception, embodiment, relations, the natural and social worlds, intertwining.
A Universe, your building project, is currently installed in Strafford, New Hampshire. What will viewers experience when they view this structure?
A Universe is a giant bottle gourd made of earth (cob and kaolin clay over a steel frame). You can enter at either of the two ends; inside, there are large feet, hands, and heads lining the walls, resembling a body turned outside in. When it rains, water streams into channels carved on its exterior walls and down to the 16 windows (8 on each side), where there are cups that fill up, tip, spill, hit notes, and make music.
Similar to CONSTELLATION, I designed A Universe to be a collaborative youth project, except that it’s in a sleep-away camp so youth spent over a month working on various creative projects including this dwelling. To me, the magic of camp is about world-building. What kind of world are we creating together? How do we imagine it and how do we build it? A Universe, which is an instrument dwelling in the shape of a giant bottle gourd, is about planting seeds. The kind of wonder I want to instill within the campers is of one’s own inner world. As an artist and teacher, I aim to inspire future leaders, creatives, builders and have fun while doing so. I also believe that it is not enough to just be a leader or builder, but that one needs to cultivate one’s inner self and clarity of ethics to fulfill the responsibilities demanded of these roles. The visual language of A Universe speaks to embodiment—as a subject, how do we relate to our interior and exterior worlds?
The shape of a bottle gourd is body-like, its belly has been used by cultures around the world to make dolls resembling human and animal figures. The furniture inside the gourd represents limbs that help us navigate our environments, but what happens when their senses are turned inwards? The question I’m asking the campers is, how do we cultivate the skills we need to navigate our internal landscapes, thoughts, emotions, and principles purposefully? Like the instruments sitting on the windows, between inside and out, the gourd’s inverted body asks its visitors to look at one’s own body as an instrument that resonates inwards and out. I want to emphasize to the campers the interconnectedness of our interior and exterior worlds. I believe that this awareness is the foundation for self-respect and respect for our environment since we are not separate from one another. When visitors step into the gourd, they are reminded to step into themselves, to inhabit themselves purposefully.
Your work is a lot about healing. Why and how do you explore this while creating?
Healing is always personal, so there is no one way to heal. More than that, what may be healing to one person may be wounding to another. There are things that one can do to nurture the healing process, like holding space and listening compassionately. This works for ourselves and for others because it gives one the freedom to be themselves and to explore every facet of the cause of pain in a safe space without judgment. In some way, many of my works take on this spiritual journey and become the material record of my healing processes. At the onset of the pandemic for example, when there was so much external turmoil going on, there was also internal turmoil stemming from family emergencies and finding stability. One way I dealt with this was by starting a new body of work to contain and transform this anxious and nearly debilitating energy into something hopeful. I made a series of paintings called Fragments, shown at Moskowitz Bayse Gallery in LA earlier this year. It was a body of 11 paintings, all occupying amorphous shapes that fit together because they were cut from a single sheet. On each painting were pools of materials and thousands of minuscule brushstrokes. I spent countless hours meditating on the anxious and painful energy that has swelled up and transformed some of that into shimmering colored tidepools of brushstrokes.
For CONSTELLATION and A Universe, these installations bring to life blueprints from my own healing processes. Like the “Lotus Sutra” in Mahayana Buddhism or healing gospels in Christianity, these texts and songs offer spiritual paths for salvation. Or Frantz Fanon’s Wretched of the Earth or Fariha Róisín’s How to Cure a Ghost, they are blueprints for liberation, among many things, which is an important kind of healing. In the two installations, embedded in their structures are blueprints for centering oneself. The gourd shape of A Universe, for example, is a metaphor for the body/vessel/instrument, and the rain that activates the instruments may symbolize the stormy weather in our everyday lives agitating our inner states. So when it storms, the sounds from the windows grow louder and cacophonous. But rather than growing flustered, the gourd body is asking us to listen and hear the beauty of its inner sounds/thoughts. Holding still and appreciating what’s going on inside me while I’m going through the storms in my life is honestly something that took me a long time to grasp and I’m still learning this. I think paying attention and listening to ourselves is an important skill to practice because it cultivates one’s strength of conviction and character in the face of difficulty. In the sense that rain is a metaphor for that which we can not control, silence is equally as important as the possibility of rain and sound. The structure is a blueprint for healing strategies. I think of A Universe as a space one can retreat to and tune into oneself. A space for centering oneself, and perhaps healing.
What projects do you have coming up?
It’s been a packed year. I haven’t spent much time in the studio. I am excited to be in my studio. I am working on a new series of paintings.