The artistic language of Ruyi’s work boils down to basic geometries such as squares, circles, triangles or rectangles. Her work is a combination of simple forms and intricate details, represented with single, paired or grouped shapes. Her personal perception is approached and extended in a rational and controlled working methodology, together with the logic presented in this structure. All the works exhibited, from paintings to small installations scattered around in the space, express subjective intentions to filter, edit or synthesize information gained from reality, which is also the result of a series of motivations including an escalated venting of emotions and controlled use of language.
Ruyi has created her unique style when constructing paintings with structural geometries. They are contradictory but at the same time, struggling to reduce the conflict, in order to correct the different existence of the background and the object. Her work is constructed by stacking multiple layers of planes, as dramatic as stage settings. The transparency in colors makes the overlaying possible. The usual dark background sets off the bright objects in the foreground, or in other cases, lighter background is used to bring out the darker collage-looking object as a way to present the relationship between front and back. Painting to Ruyi is more like an experiment to set up a stage. The palette is affected by the original color and pattern of the grid paper, losing the basic color contrast and showing as analogous colors. Her work is both microcosmic and meticulous, deserving close appreciation. Plants in still life style or their variations are metaphors that become the main content in the center of the images, constructing their own limited volumes in a quiet and almost weak way, with the crossing points on the structural lines and the heterostructures growing out of the lines structurally supporting the images. Her works appear plain and mild due to their limited sizes. Every single piece presents obvious locality, describing only a fragment and condensed to its essence. A series of paintings will undoubtedly connect all the units and elements, highlighting the continuity of connotation in all her works.
In Ruyi’s work all geometries express a sense of order, rationality and balance, highlighting structure & reasoning and also emphasizing omission. The contraction of space and shapes is her tool to transfer from nature to geometry. In the current contemporary Chinese art scene, discretion and rationality is not a common thing, thus there’s not a large body of work expressing these qualities, but that’s the differentiator and value of Ruyi’s exploration.
Space As Still Life: Review on Zhang RuYi's Works
“We will all be disciplined by the world, yet we can choose the way how we are going to be disciplined.” - ZHANG Ruyi
ZHANG Ruyi's solo exhibition "Building Opposite Building" at Don Gallery has recently been concluded. The sculptures and site-specific exhibitions on show this time are grouded upon the artist's investigation of possible space throughout her paper-based practice over time, and then rely on an architectural perspective to further make up binary oppositions between buildings, pillars, doors and windows in the agency of house/domestic space. The artist puts her hand to transform typical forms and finite volumes of matters with the unflinching look and exquisite compression of still life.Installation view of ZHANG Ruyi's solo exhibition "Building Opposite Building" at Don Gallery (2016): As a sort of common material for building and decorating, ceramic tiles are often present to the washroom and the kitchen. Washroom is absolutely a private space which only belongs to a single person at a time, while kitchen is open, where more opportunities for communication and interaction can be evoked. By a generous laying of ceramic tiles integrated to some of the particular works in this exhibition, the artist calls attention to a nostalgic experience among the audience. However, its grid-shaped texture on the surface is vitally interrelated with the artist's graphic work in the early days. Greenhouse 5 (Mixed media on paper, 23×26cm, 2011): The foundation of constructing possible space in the artist's early graphic work is not the Western tradition of optical naturalism, but the planar structure of composition oriented to graphic symbols in Chinese landscape representation - taking diagonal lines from the sloping shoulders of a triangular motif of a mountain or a gabled roof in a direction perpendicular or parallel to the line of sight, to form parallelograms that can suggest recession in space. With the nature signified by the plant elements placed, cacti in the most cases, the "industrialized" landscape is produced.
In her recent practice, the artist mainly embraces concrete, an ordinary building material, as the predominant component of her sculptures and installations. As a rather typical kind of artifact in industrial society, the major constituent of concrete is cement, yet coming from sand, gravel and some other natural kinds. By the operation of transforming a natural kind into an artifact, the artist starts to question one's living existence in the material world, about how the external conditions of industrialization are brought together to have developed the orders of everyday. Hence, transformation is gradually becoming a primary part in the artist's authoring language, being applied in the reconciliation and entanglement between sculpture and architecture.Open or Close (Concrete, second-hand door and steel, dimensions variable), Superposition (Second-hand iron gate, dimensions variable), Building Opposite Building 1 (Concrete and iron wire, 19×10×15cm), “Mountain Sites: Views of Laoshan”, Sifang Art Museum, 2016: The artist draws inspiration from the local recycling station for construction waste in Nanjing and examines how the discarded materials for building and decorating are extruded and trussed up. A great quantity of second-hand wooden doors and iron gates are retrieved for derivative work, which are confined to the form of blocking and installed with the sophisticated linear expressions originating from her graphic work.
Yi-Fu Tuan declares that an artifact is an object made with skill, through knowledge and practice. As specialized tools, artifacts are often characterized as a certain kind of control in architectural scenarios, which can either push forward considerably desirable social ends, or stimulate thinking and promote self-consciousness.  Saying that concrete articulates a standard image for the institutionalization of formalism in brutalist architecture, the material in the artist's hands is rather free from such a status of fixation and contributes to a new narrative line, for the production of the homogeneous and self-exposing architectural entity - "social sculpture", whose mere purpose is to eliminate the awareness of segregation and specialization existing in the material world. When shaping architecture with the scale of sculpture, the artist has her sculpture landscaped with an architectural skin. In his short essay "Semiology and Urbanism" published in 1970, Roland Barthes reveals the problem of the discourse of the city whose language is nothing but a chain of metaphors functioning as its very erotic dimension.  The artist applies an iron wire to truss up a set of identical architectural volumes finished with a concrete pour to develop the vis-à-vis configurational and confrontational relations in-between, rendering "social sculpture" as an erotic object, which indicates the disqualification of building as architecture in the process of being disciplined as a given target for beholding with the discursive construction of Modernism. However, it is more important to realize that the behavioral intervention of "trussing" lay bare the conditions of subjectivity, substantiality and performativity in the settings of a Postmodern city.
Besides, as frequently recurring in this exhibition, cactus is a basic motif throughout the artist's various works. It is metaphorical to her own state of being. The root end of a cactus is fairly pliable, but its thorns are extremely strong. In her graphic work, the artist distorts and deforms the morphology of cacti on the well-arranged lines and grids, having them combined with different geometric forms to further develop the spatial scenes of mountains and other various lands. While for sculpture and installation, cacti no longer offer clues for the processing of a painterly language, yet conducting a dialogue between the natural kinds as ready made and the artifacts. The artist programs certain living existence for a cactus within the cracks of a set of artifacts, or directly transforms it into an artifact by means of casting, with pouring concrete. The intense passion for the motif and the material embodied in the artist's practice sometimes comes and sometimes goes, which is indeed her own way of communicating with the external world. By offering a truce with the objective reality through transformation, she gently introduces the repression and panic one is taking in the industrial age.
Ran Dian｜Narrator's Room
Five years have passed by since the Don Gallery moved to the Blackstone Apartments at 1331 Middle Fuxing Road. The stone building façade has darkened over the years, as have the floor tiles, with the patterns fading away. Across the street, the Shanghai Symphony Orchestra Hall has been built from scratch, increasingly becoming a popular destination. The gallery is located on the second floor, in an apartment. Except for the bathroom, the entire place is filled with natural light, with windows open in every room. The gallery interior is painted all-white, with a hardwood floor and the original moldings, antique and elegant. As a space adapted for gallery presentation, it seems to be an archetypical white-box. However, in some way, the spatial arrangement of each exhibition is constrained by the original floor plan of the apartment.
Surprisingly, the latest exhibition at Don Gallery breaks away from the limitations imposed by the space. In the original floor plan, upon arriving, one immediately enters an open, bright living room. With this exhibition, one is instead confronted by a wall, floor to ceiling, facing the entrance. It is covered with white tiles cut into small square shapes. This kind of tile is commonly used on exterior walls of concrete buildings from the 80s and 90s in China. At the top, a tiny gap is left between the wall and the ceiling. Because of that, when I open the door and enter the space, it feels like entering an outdoor space as opposed to an indoor one. The reversed sense of interior and exterior, as well as the white colour and chilled-feel concrete, continues throughout the exhibition. Supposedly one walks into a room, but indeed it is more like entering an alienated space; for instance, the recurring image of a cactus, which is a typical tropical plant, seems to be the sign of disorder in this space.
Zhang Ruyi has a profound preoccupation with the drawing of cacti on graph paper. It might require an obsessive personality for an artist to paint on densely-gridded paper in order to compose a multilayered two-dimensional work that resembles the quality of still life. In university, Zhang first studied printmaking, later on switching to mixed-media. She told me, “Printmaking is a highly logical, repetitive process.” This is not only reflected in her paintings, but also in the arrangement of the site for this exhibition (making the space clean and neat by stacking the bricks tight and straight, so that the grids on the concrete walls or concrete components are perfectly aligned, must be a time — and patience — consuming process, which probably involves some insult by the plasterers.) Ding Yi, a well-respected artist from Shanghai who has been making abstract paintings using crosses and grids since the late 1980s, observes that Zhang’s practice follows the principle of a rational balance. He comments, “The proposition of rigor and rationality is not a common trait shared among the practices of Chinese contemporary art. Consequently, it is rare to see such works. Perhaps this is the very meaning and value of [Zhang’s] persistence.”
Then again, it depends on how one defines rationality. Can simply using geometric elements and adopting the rules of order and repetition be seen as rational? (Or do these aspects become so literal that they no longer need to be identified in terms of form or ways of working, such as how the notion of grid is associated with Agnes Martin or Mondrian?) If rationality is an attitude toward life that is built upon rigorous, logical judgment, standing inside the exhibition at Don Gallery, I sense a trace of narration under the appearance of rationality, extensive and continuous, floating in the grids emerging in the white and excessive open spaces. It is akin to the narrator’s indifferent voice parallel to the shots of mundane and repetitive daily life in the movie The Seventh Continent (1989) by Austrian filmmaker Michael Haneke, one of Zhang’s favourite directors. If narration is to provide the scenes in film or drama with a voice, the emptiness inside the exhibition space is the narration of silence, also a way of generating spatial musicality.
Zhang Ruyi is a Shanghai girl, part of the Post-80s generation. Her reference to concrete buildings and white tiles reminds me of some early works by Su Chang (another Don Gallery artist who is also a Shanghai local and belongs to the same generation) especially, his lifelike models of miniature buildings. This specific aesthetic sensitivity, derived from the experience of the 80s and 90s — or one should say, the loss of aesthetic sensitivity in exchange for building designs that privilege practical functions and standardization — is represented in Su’s ultra-realistic sculptures. It constitutes a scale of imbalance, reminding us to re-visit the obsolete urban spaces that are at once familiar, but soon to be demolished. At Zhang’s exhibition site, the image of the building is both figurative and highly abstract, like the lines and the void in her paintings, dividing the tensions in the space.
Turning around from the entrance and moving to the right, leading into the second room, one encounters a concrete door, standing in the center of the door frame, perpendicular to the original one. Unless someone is exceptionally skinny, in order to enter this darker room, one has to walk sideways on either side of the door. In Zhang Ruyi’s eyes, concrete is a kind of material, many of its components coming from nature and nowadays widely used in “construction”, to fabricate social “sculptures”. It acts as a giant still life, connecting different senses of time and embracing the “softness” of the individual parts.
More radical than the reconfiguration of the living room, this door within the door further explores motifs found in her earlier works, “Things that I don't understand” (2011) and “CUT | OFF” (2014). With the former, by using concrete, Zhang blocked most of the doors and windows in an apartment in the Hongkou District; with the latter, she used concrete blocks to fill the volume occupied by the windows and doors. What the two pieces shared in common are the acts of blocking, occupying, and resisting pathways, windows, or doors as a way to re-configure a space, and the bodily conditions and perception of a space. In the second room, the confusion of interior and exterior continues: a public sink made of concrete, like the type we used to find in the lanes of Shikumen housing, is hung on the wall at a familiar height. It is not connected to a water pipe, instead, is filled to around half full with a lighter-coloured concrete that is already solidified. In front of the bay window (a form reminds one of the triptych of Medieval religious painting), there stands a waist-high plinth covered with small square tiles, on which there is a medium size fish tank. The fish tank — another element to add to the assemble of concrete, white tile, and cactus — is filled with water, at the bottom of which two concrete building models are facing one another, along with three dark coloured scavenger fish living in the condition of Slow Still. The spectator is given a living spectacle, a common view derived from mundane life. But when looking at the buildings in the water, one is hit by an inexplicable sense of suffocation. In Andrea Arnold’s film Fish Tank (2009), the latter becomes the metaphor of the young female protagonist trying to break out of a stifling reality. The metaphor’s universal imagery shifts the pace of the exhibition. Silence is now suspended, leaving the white lighting fixture in the tank to reverberate with the fluorescent tubes on the ceiling.
In the last room, there is one square column standing alone, covered with small square white tiles, although the top part is left untouched. Natural light floods in through the window on the left, in juxtaposition with the fluorescent tubes circling on the ceiling, persistently lit. Once again, the notions of interior and exterior are reversed, impeccably extending the sense of tension that penetrates the exhibition. At this point, I am confident to say that this is not the kind of exhibition that can be easily captured in reproduction. Rather it can only be experienced in situ. By reconfiguring the space, the site and the work are integrated and transformed into one entity, a mirrored reality of Zhang’s spatial paintings, or a three-dimensional mirror that confuses one with things seemingly ordinary but heterogeneous in substance. Her way of spatial intervention is to address the spatial dimension of the in-situ “sculptures” as objects, a contrast between object and space.
The gestures of measured comfort, bright darkness, and monochromatic chilliness control the emotions that in turn become enthusiastic and expressive. Similar to the question of whether to term the material cement or concrete, what unfolds in the construct of this spatial experience is a confrontation between substantial homogeneity and perceptive heterogeneity. The works are all fabricated into one common site constructed by the array of gestures mentioned above. The opposite building is in fact the opposite side, is the side, is you, is a variety of details of reality illustrated by material and space, is the excessive or insufficient light, is the line or grid, is a site of silence that no long exists in the Don Gallery, but in a place provoking you to be curious and to question. Then, visually, the grid composed by the white tiles are starting to detach from their physical body (the concrete wall or components), extending and superimposing onto the surfaces surrounding it. It seems that everything can be measured by this, or even designed by it. In this moment, the window in Don Gallery becomes another element not to be missed. I couldn’t help but lean against it and look out — comparing the chilly grid with Shanghai’s chilly fall weather, and connecting the lightweight sense of time constructed by the heaviness of concrete and the inflection of the space with the memories witnessed by the Blackstone Apartment and the hundreds of high rises in the area (mostly, these are made of concrete as well). As Zhang Ruyi titled this body of work Slow Still, perhaps it is for us to experience the speed and manipulation of time attributed to the stillness.
Flash Art｜Zhang RuYi: Building Opposite Building
Zhang Ruyi’s “Building Opposite Building” is the artist’s second solo exhibition at the Dong Gallery in Shanghai after the “Cut | Off” in 2014. The apartment exhibition space seems more intimate than ever, so much so that a visitor would recognize the space as the artist’s everyday dwelling: seemingly, the gallery is not an apartment-cum-gallery, but is indeed a site that is private and to the artist herself, hence the works almost naturally take up functions and roles in the space. The soap made of concrete (Soap, 2016) placed low in the first room signifies a possible “initiation ritual” - hand washing; the cactus clutched by two concrete slabs (Potted Plants, 2016) seems natural and intrinsic to the space; the fish tank in which lives a common place and some large concrete boards (Cleaning, 2016) is where the everyday life is “lively touch” required by an apartment life; the hose-less sink that is filled with ceramic tiles (Reflection, 2016) is to be used by the dwellers now and then; the extension cords made of concrete (Connection, 2016, and Electric Boat, 2016) and the structural Pillar (2016) that seemingly strengthens the space - one simply cannot do without these in his or her home. The site that used to belong to the realm of the every day and the private goes back to it.
However, if we were to forcefully relate this body of recent artworks by the artist to - instead of a certain artistic tradition - a modern life, we are to see that these are available for and only for a life that is non-modern, non-everyday. Useless soap, waterless sink, displeasing fish tank, powerless extension cords - together, these mean that there is a life to be maintained, a everyday setup that is at once accommodating and is to be appreciated. A definition of ready-made art: everyday objects that are to be included into the realm of art, to be rendered useless; but this is further strengthened by the intimacy between Zhang’s works and the site. As a whole, “Building Opposite Building” arranges a life that goes beyond the dichotomy between art and life. The political significance of the exhibition: it is either that the life has completely finished dealing with the problems of Capitalism of all forms, or that this life knows nothing about it. It is a life that is comparable with the worship of the concrete and the cement - both in a false manner promise “longevity”. But how modern is the religion of the concrete! It used to mean cheap yet firm hope towards future life, but the life the artist is demonstrating here - the form of which demonstration reminds one of the great Kitchen Debate, an attempt to directly define biopolitics via the personal, private space - needs no hope. This life is grey and inorganic. Confronting us is either the figure of the Goddess as described by Zhuang Zi, or a grey barbie doll that does not have organs.
Overall use of ceramic tiles on the apartment walls further amplifies the privateness of the space, and, like a web, manifestly frames the individual works. By largely and repeatedly covering the walls and surfaces with ceramic tiles, the works themselves are, literally, “domesticated”. Although the tiles do not distract the visitor, one can easily imagine that without the tiles that are forming the background of the works (although in Reflection or Pillar the ceramic tiles are part of the “object,” and are not part of the “background,” one still can argue that the tiles themselves are indeed the element that is framing, instead of an element that is framed. In other words, we are still speaking of internal frames here: internal frames as creating an illusion of exactly the lack of frames, the lack of the exteriority-interiority dichotomy. One might even have to imagine that it is the apartment that is in the works, but not the other way around) the works would be become brutal, even would become (perhaps unconsciously) directly brutalist. In this sense, the ceramic tiles change the gender of the works, cover, distort or subvert the movements of insertion, erection and breakthroughs. Eventually, the Peep that speaks of visibility, tangibility, privacy and climax becomes something else. The relation between the space and the still-life as other critics of the exhibition noted is of urgency and pertinence, but to me the “Building Opposite Building” resembles a portrait of a strange female figure.
ArtReview Asia｜The Alienation Of Everyday Life
The concrete uncanny in the sculpture and installations of a young Chinese artist tap into contemporary sensations of isolation, alienation and urban dysfunction.
“You’ve really enjoyed playing with the space in Don Gallery,” I sug- gest. I’m waiting for the water to boil to make co ee in the only two cups in Zhang Ruyi’s new studio. Don Gallery is on the second floor of Blackstone Apartments, an eclectic 1924 residential building located in the heart of Shanghai’s former French Concession. The space retains its domestic configuration and the exhibitions are housed in what was formerly the living room, two smaller rooms and the corridor that connects them all. Last November, these spaces were home to Zhang’s solo exhibition Building Opposite Building.
Zhang did not take these spaces as a given. Indeed, she blocked both entrances to one room: one in its entirety, using a cement door featuring a peephole through which people could observe the spines of a cactus, a persistent presence in her two- and three-dimensional works indicating strength, perseverance and a feeling of pain; the other divided into two narrow interspaces by a pair of cement doors, bound face to face with a cactus between them and jammed side- ways into the centre of the doorway. Visitors could still enter the room through the spaces left either side, but it was a commitment – removing any bags should they be too big, taking o any heavy over- coats and, if necessary, holding one’s breath and exercising one’s stomach muscles to resize one’s belly...
Two years previously, Zhang had conducted a similar assault on the space. For her solo exhibition Cut|O , the artist blocked one of the doors with a massive cuboid form (which went, wall-like, from one space through to the next) and all the windows with cement. The arrival of these huge, cold, wet- and industrial-smelling blocks within the apartment gave the impression of an alien presence and trans- formed the art space into the psychological space of a mysterious and closed-o individual; it was subtle and quiet, and every connection to the outer world, or society at large, appeared severed. Visitors were invited to observe and investigate the reality of this world on the prem- ise of a closure of communications.
A child of the 1980s, Zhang Ruyi was born and bred, and is based, in Shanghai. Her training at the Fine Art School of Shanghai University includes printmaking and plastic art using synthetic materials, which explains her persistent passion for organised, process-based repro- duction in her art. This, together with her interest in representing the psychology of space, drew her to sculpture. Yet for all that this seems like a logical progression, it was Zhang’s drawings that first brought her to the attention of a wider art audience.
Her signature works in this genre are drawn in pencil and water- colour on squared graph-paper and often take a cactus (represented in a three-dimensional space) as their subject. The works on paper are calm, minutely detailed and vivid; between the small, cold, math- ematical squares of the grid and the pencil lines you can almost feel the tingling sensation brought about by contact with the cactus spines. Although these works are warmly received by the art market, Zhang’s focus remains primarily on three-dimensional, space-based works or interventions.
Back to her most recent exhibition: there was one work that was particularly interesting, for the way in which it linked the artist’s two- and three-dimensional practice. Titled Potted Plants (2016), the work consists of a two-dimensional plane constructed of ceramic tiles fixed to a wall (as if to materialise the squared paper that serves as the base for her drawings), onto which, on the lefthand side, is bolted a plastic pot containing a tall, straight cactus. The plant is then sandwiched between two miniature concrete models of a residential towerblock, bound to it by string. Many works in this show, for example Slow Still and Pillar (both 2016), use the same pattern to place or bind two or multiple miniature cement models of a building or of an architec- tural or interior detail together, face to face. In this way Zhang builds up a conversation between the equal component parts of each work, but any real possibility for communication is questioned – because in each example, the front side (or the outward face) of all the compo- nents is covered.
Another standout work from the show is Cleaning (2016). Here, Zhang puts the cement miniature building parts in a fishtank (lit by a fluorescent tube and the natural light within the space), together with some common pleco, a tropical fish that likes to eat the algae that grows on the sculpture. Thus, the work has produced, on the one hand, a self-contained ecosystem and, on the other, a stage for a long- lasting, nonstop performance. The sculpture, if the term can be used to refer to this work as a whole, is not only the stage for the perfor- mance but also a performer within it.
In understanding Zhang’s art, the two Chinese characters that make up the word zhuāng xiū can be seen as a key. It means to install, construct, decorate and/or repair. Zhang belongs to what is called the post-80s generation (generally born during the first half of the 1980s), who have witnessed China’s rapid economic development since their childhood, and for whom the experience and imaginary of construc- tion, relocation, demolition, renovation and decoration have become a daily experience of their lives and formed an important part of their visual and mental memories. It is these collective memories and social meanings, particularly of interior construction using materials such as electronic plugs and sockets, ceramic tiles and prefabricated doors, that have become an important vocabulary in Zhang’s art. Cement, sometimes used by Zhang as a construction material (particularly in Cut|O ), is also a material for sculpture, reproducing ordinary build- ings in miniature, or lifesize parts of buildings and everyday objects: doors, sockets, a bath soap (introducing the existence of the human body and adding a sense of intimacy). In the woods surrounding the Cass Sculpture Foundation, in West Sussex, England, Zhang’s Pause (2016) introduces the artist’s reflection on the circumstances of mod- ern life and its environment by installing cement plug-sockets in the trees and on the ground at Goodwood’s New Barn Hill.
Zhang Ruyi is one of those artists who refuses simply to quote feminist discourse in their work.
However, the repeated presence of certain items in her works, such as the cactus and its prickly spines, the closed (instead of open) or dysfunctional doors, the blocked entries or windows, the sometimes half-used Safeguard bath soap, is revealing, metaphorically, of the artist’s individual feelings or sensations in the context of society: pain, strength, repression, frustration at a lack of communication, expensiveness, a sense of hyperconsumerism. These feelings of course are part of human nature as a whole, but the sensi- tive and enduring character of her works suggests that the way that Zhang perceives and expresses them is distinctly feminine.
And while these types of features could already be found in Zhang’s early works, in her recent practice, the expression of a unique individual has turned towards a description of a universal status. When I try to understand Zhang’s persistent interest in human feelings and their expression in physical space, I find, via the list of artists from which she takes inspiration – among them Doris Salcedo, Rachel Whiteread, Rebecca Horn and Ann Hamilton – a context that consists of female artists who have been exploring the similar fields through material and space-based works. When compared to these older artists, Zhang’s methodology includes reproduction, repetition and an interest in the fabrication process, in which human participa- tion is naturally hidden or di use. For that reason, a sense of the un- canny caused by the compression of the individual and the built world is finally revealed.
Art World｜Zhang Ruyi: Room Is Witness
Distant rooms, frozen shapes, evenly distributed grids, standardized visual style. It’s very easy to label Zhang Ruyi’s work as prudent and calm. She calls it her visual value, behind which there lies rational search in pure formality as well as sensitive response to the meaning of space and structure on the spiritual level. Repetition, extrusion, order and social attribute, the relationship of people and life, like ever flowing water and floating dust, is paused in the space, frozen into hard shapes. Physical response is molded into a habit by the shell of the room. Zhang Ruyi loves working with rooms, where sceneries, views, actions, touches, labors and choices, all the ideas and memories of the artist, owner, audience and visitors become silent and traceless. The room is the only witness.
Where is your studio at the moment? When did you start to use it? Do you spend most of your time there?
I moved into my current studio in 2016. Technically, it’s my first. It’s located in a residential neighborhood in Shanghai, not close to any art district. My previous work place was combined with my apartment, only 10 sq and change. The studio provides a place for me to create, observe and think, to develop my works in progress or start some creative possibilities. But I don’t stay in the studio everyday when I’m in Shanghai.
You studied print-making in college and majored in mixed media in grad school. What makes you shift your interest to space and media?
I think the interest in space and media has always been there. There’s no sudden shift. The process of print making involves repetition, order, tracing and multiple media, which influenced my way of observing and working. It was further enhanced in grad school. My instructor gave me plenty of freedom to create, which was important and precious.
You seem to use a lot of doors, windows, walls, bricks, sockets and everyday items in your work. Sometimes they are recreated with concrete. Sometimes the actual item. Does the inspiration come from your long time life experience or temporary observation of the space where you create your work? Do you have any special observation methods or focus point?
I think it’s both. Maybe experience takes a bit more. There are many sources of experience. How I grew up, what I became interested in, as well as inspirations from movies and music. For example, I’m a fan of Austrian director Michael Haneke, especially The Seventh Continent, which he wrote and directed himself. The story is about a well-off middle class family, who, facing unchanging daily life and reality, can only numbly react. In the end, life itself becomes the killer of this family, but life will never be trialed, will it? The whole movie doesn’t have a lot of dialogues. The change of people’s emotion and their encounters are told through the lens and items framed. I’m very conscious about the self-awareness and emotional change of individuals in their reality and material life. I tend to use the inner pull among people, people and things, people and spaces (especially living spaces), people and nature when they guide and entangle each other, to hide emotions behind objects and let the objects motivate everything.
Both your projects, “The Things That I Don’t Understand” in 2011 and “Building Opposite Building” in November 2016 at Don Gallery, involve massive transformation of the spaces. I think the sense of physical reaction in your work is more powerful than, or at least as important as, visual sense. In a seemingly standard room, by changing the position of corridors and objects, featuring minor items such as wires and sockets, you bring forward the tension among our physical reaction, daily habits and standardized environment. How do you think of the ratio or relationship between physical sense and visual sense in your work?
The pure physical elements are not a priority when I work. I don’t pay much attention to the physical body itself. But the change of material and interference of the space do result in, more or less, some sort of viewing experience. The visual sense is important during the presentation of the artwork. You have to see it first. Then read it. These two exhibitions share the same spirit. The first one was more direct, out of oneself and the uneasiness and hesitation to reality, taking the doors and windows as a start point, using building and industrial material, concrete to cut off, representing resistance and helplessness. Between “The Things That I Don’t Understand” and “Building Opposite Building”, I also had two other exhibitions “Cut | Off” and “Gap”, exploring the sense of volume in greater scale and the limitation of human emotions. “Buildings Opposite Buildings” presents not only the transformation to doors and windows, but a sadness flowing under the good wills, by tying up different buildings face to face. All from this exhibition were elements collected in real life, which are then consolidated and transformed. They seem to have a connection to us physically, but not really.
“The Things That I Don’t Understand” was established in the home of a Shanghai family, where you sealed the windows and doors with wood planks and concrete. You even did the construction yourself. On top of that, you had concrete balls all over the floor, making it hard to walk around. What prompted you to create and exhibit in a residential space? What does the title mean?
The title “The Things That I Don’t Understand” came from a song by Lo Ta-yu. The lyrics is about the mixed feeling of irony and helplessness when an individual is faced with the relationship between man and reality, which happened to resonate with my confusion. A friend rented that place for some event. I was invited to the set and decided to use the house itself as my raw material, which was an idea I had had for quite a while, only I didn’t get a chance to realized it till then. It took me about a week from prep to construction, including two days and a full night to construct and seal the windows and doors. All done by just my friend and myself. The works on the floor were completed at the art studio at Shanghai University. Visitors can walk through the front yard to the room. The moving of people and rolling of the concrete balls interact and interfere each other. Visitors were able to walk barefooted in the house because it was in summer, causing the occasional contact of rough heavy concrete and human skin. On the other wall, there were two sketches of plants made of concrete that I was unable to carry out back then. Seeking conversion in contradiction has been my interest all along. I had used concrete before “The Things That I Don’t Understand”. In my earlier work “Cardiac Needles”, I turned soft gauze into hard cold medical syringe. A conversion, where the syringes ended up injected into a concrete wall, stripping away vital sign representations and leaving behind absurd recollection of the “treatment”.
To me, concrete is a hybrid, not only because of its color or texture, but its ingredients as well. It is a mixture of powdered minerals, widely used as an important industrial building material. The entities they turn into has slowly become the still lives of modern civilizations, housing the softest and toughest parts of us. I value the energy of concrete as a material, as well as its connection to reality and its environment.
Do you enjoy this kind of hands on working experience? And why? Is there any similarity between these labor work like construction workers and those creative work with clear artistic intentions, such as painting? Did you make the concrete plants later?
I believe as an artist, you are in full creating and working mode all the time. It doesn’t make much difference to me which media I use because my 2-dimentional works are not about painting language. The repetitive lines, spaces, sense of order and plants (cactus) that are stiff as still life are all part of my expressive framework. The only difference with different media may lie in the execution. I’m only dealing with myself when working on 2D pieces, however I need to work with many different people for installation. The concrete plant series has been going on for a while. The mass of individual items isn’t too big. I’m focusing mainly on cactus. There’s a big contrast between their thorns on the outside and the softness on the inside. The slow transition between the two is also what attracts me, corresponding to the contrast and intersection of my life.
How long did you spend to set up “Buildings Opposite Buildings”, your individual exhibition at Don Gallery? Did you make any changes to your scheme?
It took me 10 days to set up the exhibition, a big portion of which needed to be made on set and required quite some time. The scheme didn’t change much after the rendering was confirmed. It was the concept that took more thought and effort for this exhibition. A lot of people started to know me from my 2-dimentional works and didn’t know much about my earlier installation and spatial projects. A lot of conditions need to be met when working on an installation. If not, an idea remains an idea. The experience of exhibiting “Cut | Off” in 2014, “Gap”, a project set up in a veggie market on Anshun Road in Shanghai, 3 pieces at Sifang Art Museum’s “Mountain Sites: Views of Laoshan” in 2016 and the outdoor sculptures for CASS Sculpture Foundation, and creating in different locations and spaces has really inspired me. I hope “Buildings Opposite Buildings” will be able to represent a summary of my past and present my ideas to the fullest extent.
Some of the sculptures of this exhibition were ordered and made from sculpting studios. Comparing it to working with your own hands, which do you prefer? Does delegation, letting some worker to build it, and approval by the artist seem to remove the emotional temperature in the product, making the object more ordinary, day-to-day and standardized.
I think it’s hard to tell which ones are made at the studio and which by myself. They are both methods to bring the concept to life. Let alone my preference between the two. Some part of the project is hard for me to make and has to be done at a studio. I won’t say the studio-made parts lacks the temperature brought along by workmanship. It all depends on what the piece is trying to say and the final result, not the efficiency or preference in the manufacturing.
How do you think of personal studios, creative sets and exhibition spaces? Are the boundaries unclear? Do they overlap? If they are different, what are the criteria to distinguish them?
A common understanding is they are three steps from internal to external during artistic creation. Sometimes the line is fuzzy. Sometimes they overlap. It really depends. Usually, the studio and working set are more private. From the creator’s point of view, they overlap, in terms of thoughts and concepts, but not in reality and space. If you want to understand an artist’s state at work, you need to communicate with the artist and visit his or her studio. There’s no absolute standard as to at which stage, from studio to the exhibition, the product is complete. As long as the artist thinks it’s done, it’s done.
Have you ever considered making a documentary to record the process when you work on these space transformation projects and including the documentary as part of the exhibition? If there is a documentary, will it drive the audience’s attention to the artist’s performance rather than the final state of the space?
I haven’t done any documentaries and I don’t think I will. I’d feel uncomfortable to have someone follow me around with a camera. I have taken a few photos when I worked to record some interesting process, but they won’t be exhibited. I’m not a performing artist.
Is it not easy to find a proper space, say your future works still tend to focus on working with integrate spaces? Will you consider travelling to look for spaces or residence in strange places? What was your latest residence project like?
Yes, indeed. It’s not like you can find whatever space you wish for. In my experience, it’s usually the spaces found me rather than I found them. Artistic creation takes a little bit luck and destiny. An exotic place will have its own culture which brings surprises to residence projects that you never expected. But I’d still observe and dig into people’s state in everyday life, as I did in my latest residence project in Glenfiddich distillery, Scotland. It’s a peaceful place, surrounded in mountains. However, the natural tranquility was not the theme of my work. The rocks, trees and wind there only belongs to that place. They only show in that environment and cannot be brought away by anyone. I was more interested in the people there. I went to the supermarket a lot, trying to seek possibilities in people’s day-to-day life.
What’s the relationship between your 2-dimentional work and your spatial and installation projects? Do you see painting as virtual spatial studies? Is it more of a spiritual activity to think about spaces and shapes and record with paintings, or is it more of a repetitive labor to fill a period of time of your life?
I wasn’t paying attention to painting language. There are overlaps between painting and installations. Both are collected, refined and summarized from real life, a conversation with ourselves with repetition. My way of work is pretty intuitive, paying attention to practice. Social reality elements also started to show in my works in the recent years. Compared to my earlier methods, which were more direct in reflecting personal feelings and material transformation, now I try to reconcile with conflicts in my works.
In your 3-dimentional works, you keep your color palette of the spaces to an industrial and collective architectural tone with florescent white and concrete grey. However, your 2-dimentional works have a much colorful and richer palette. What’s your intention behind that?
The materials carry their own texture. I didn’t deliberately plan it. Other than daylight for outdoor pieces, almost all my exhibitions are presented in the same lighting. In my paintings, I use repetitive lines to create spaces and calm-looking plants. The color palette wasn’t a priority. Blocks of colors formed from unplanned repetitive lines was not what I worked for. Shapes and spaces were always my concentration.
“Profile” Basel HongKong Art Fair | Discovery
“Profile” is a way of accepting the limited conditions of a room or any interior space, and overcoming them to make a drama of artifacts that re-engages with the lived environment and reconnects art with architecture. Zhang Ruyi had already grappled with the genre in her solo exhibition “Building Opposite Building” (2016) and extended it to various institutional contexts as significant in “The New Normal” (2017) at Ullens Center of Contemporary Art, Beijing, and “Walking On The Fade Out Lines” (2018) at Rockbund Art Museum, Shanghai. Coined with the idea of “decoration” in the vein, the decorative elements in “Profile” allude to the rational perfection of an industrial landscape and the precise formulation of a man-made nature, possessing the social property of cultivation that constitutes sufficient common ground between them to allow the recognition of a style by the artist as a constant gardener in the city.
“What and Where，” A door, typical for a Shanghai apartment, stands on end, sectioned into two parts with a zigzag crack in-between embodying the interpenetration of the interior and the exterior.
“No Light Here—6，” The painting shows the sophisticated texture formed by the superimposition of regular hand-drawn lines and other geometric motifs, the individual dots controlled by the gridding system.
“Only Now，” A piece of crushed demolition debris is tiled again with cactus thorns implanted onto its surface. The concrete lump coming from the transformation of the city and the cactus thorns resemble the nature as the mountains and the plants. The sculpture is in juxtaposition with the floor drain found in one’s shower cubicle. It means to be a dialogue between the public and the private. It includes the floorscape by the ceramic tiles and drain.
“Individual Plant－ 1,” A dysmorphic cacti made out of concrete is situated on a tiled pedestal, petrified as a plant specimen. The sculpture is carrying forward the artist’s thinking upon natural objects being disciplined by the environment in her early paper works.
ARTFORUM 500｜ZHANG RUYI "Bonsai"