‘My decision to pursue art as a career took shape after I graduated and moved from Hangzhou to Beijing. Before that, I simply thought I enjoyed painting more than anything else.

‘I moved to Beijing after meeting my husband, who is also an artist. He showed me some studios. Being an Aries and impulsive by nature, I began to imagine what my life in Beijing might be like – and that was it.

‘At first, I felt disoriented. I lived near Beijing’s 798 Art District, close to a subway station under construction, surrounded by temporary, blue-roofed buildings. The city was in constant flux, caught between demolition and rebuilding. That sense of confusion became the starting point of my creative process. When I paint buildings, I’m really painting my emotions.

‘It took me a long time to adjust to Beijing. The climate was very dry; my skin cracked frequently, leaving me itchy and uncomfortable. The wide streets amplified the city’s strong winds, which made the large metal billboards resonate with a metallic hum. Often, as I walked through the city, I felt as though I was walking to its beat.

‘This discomfort led me to explore urban planning and the intersection of landscape and power. Paradoxically, the city also helped me find myself and shape my identity. It forced me to confront fundamental questions; the tension I felt became a source of energy – both personal and creative.

‘Once, I came back to Shanghai and got lost. There used to be a very big bath center next to my home, a place for families to relax at the weekend. When I went back that year, it had disappeared, so I couldn’t find my way around. The rapid transformation of the neighborhood disoriented me. It was a stark reminder of how quickly cities here are changing. In China’s central cities, buildings have an average lifespan of just 14 years. They are often torn down not because they are old, but to make way for new urban plans.

‘This accelerated transformation profoundly influences those who grow up in such cities. The way we see, think, and act is undoubtedly different from someone raised in, for example, a small French town. My work aims to capture this generational perspective and the impact of our environment.

‘My studio is now located in Songjiang, a suburb of Shanghai. I returned to the city at the end of 2019. My research on urban planning and architecture had entered a new phase, and I was really drawn to Shanghai’s rich history and cultural vibrancy. I knew it was the right time to come home.

‘The layered quality of oil paint allows me to convey the temporality of urban planning. For instance, I might paint an initial layer of a Beijing skyline and later overlay a Shanghai bank. In this way, my paintings also document my own movement through space.

‘My research often leads me to unexpected places. After reading interviews with architects from Tongji University, I discovered that, since the 1980s, many architects in China have been heavily influenced by the Japanese Metabolism movement. So, I began exploring the movement’s concepts. My aim isn’t to become an architect or theorist; I simply follow my curiosity. For example, during this research, I rented a car in Beijing and spent a month filming the city – especially its flyovers, which fascinate me.

‘Each of my projects has a point of origin. This year, I traveled through Southeast Asia and began focusing on tropical architecture and the sustainability challenges caused by high-rises in warm climates. I am currently working on a series depicting observation-deck buildings from the 1970s and 1980s in Singapore and Indonesia.

‘One of my key influences is Diego Rivera. His murals exploring the relationship between technology and humanity are fascinating – particularly those in Detroit, which envision a utopian future shaped by machines. Similarly, when researching Socialist Realist urban sculpture, I often reflect on a central question: how do different eras shape a new “human” and new forms of humanity?