Part 8: Speaking to the World

Theme: Visibility & Sincere Expression

1 — What do you think of social media? Is it a support or a burden for artists?

In today’s world, as artists and creators, we have to acknowledge the existence of social media. The era of completely ignoring it is gone.

I think social media is a great tool—it gives everyone the chance to show their work. But the key is how we perceive and use it.

Some artists use social media as a content-creation platform, constantly posting tutorials or process videos. There’s nothing wrong with that, but my focus will always be on the work itself. When I use social media, I document my process lightly, create clean visuals—photos or short videos that present the work well—and then share them on Instagram.

This circles back to something we discussed earlier: as creators, we have two responsibilities. When you’re creating, you should devote yourself fully, focusing on making honest, meaningful work. Once the work is done, you need to think like a steward or manager: how will the work be seen? Taking good photos, posting consistently—these are part of the job, part of the role.

I understand that many people feel resistance or fear toward social media. I used to feel that way too. But eventually, I realized that overthinking it doesn’t help creation at all. So I shifted my mindset: now I treat social media as a window to display my work, focusing on presenting the best of it and using these platforms to connect with a wider world.

2 — Have you ever experienced “posting anxiety”?

Yes, absolutely—and it lasted a long time.

When the pandemic first started, my life moved almost completely online. I felt like I had to use Instagram, even though I resisted it internally. But I still forced myself to post.

At first, my followers were all real-life friends. Even though I was posting as an artist, they followed me because they knew me in person. I realized they weren’t judging me—they were rooting for me. That made me understand: far fewer people are watching or critiquing you than you think.

I told myself this was something I needed to practice. Just like training a muscle, posting requires gradual effort. I couldn’t wait until I felt “good enough”—maybe that moment would never arrive. So I tried posting at a steady pace, even if it was just once a week, to build the habit.

During that time, I stopped paying attention to likes and started viewing Instagram as a way to connect with friends and peers. Through it, I’ve met artists in London, New York, and elsewhere—we encourage one another and celebrate each other’s work.

Making art is already hard enough. Having an online community that genuinely supports one another feels like a blessing. After going through that period of anxiety, I eventually found a rhythm and mindset that feels comfortable to me.

3 — How do you find a “visibility method” that feels comfortable?

This is a wonderfully interesting question. The core is: you must feel comfortable.

In a conversation with Zhao Fangzhi, an alum from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, he mentioned an idea: to do social media “lazily”—in quotes. Meaning: don’t burn all your energy at once. Lower the cost of participation.

For example, on Xiaohongshu, I mostly use text. The platform’s short written format and clean layouts suit how I naturally express myself. I tried making short videos, but they were time-consuming, the results unsatisfying, and I felt awkward the whole time. So I paused. Maybe short videos are important long-term, but I don’t need to force myself into “hard mode” right now. I start with what feels simplest.

On Instagram, I use Stories. It’s quick, immediate, low-pressure. And social platforms let you control visibility settings, which gives me a sense of safety.

For me, cultivating the desire to share comes from shifting the focus from self-display to value.
When I create a piece I’m proud of, I think: perhaps others might enjoy seeing this too.
When I gain insights into studio life or art-making, I ask: could this help someone else on their creative path?

It’s about balancing self-expression with generosity. Social media requires showing yourself, but no one likes a narcissist. The Chinese internet has a phrase—“the feeling of being a real, living person” (活人感). I love that. Real humans have mood swings, messy hair, spontaneous moments. You don’t have to carry a heavy burden. Just live your life, share pieces of it naturally. If meaningful connections happen because of it, all the better.

Ultimately, a comfortable visibility style is one that:
— doesn’t drain your time and energy
— doesn’t distort your focus
— but also doesn’t spam or overwhelm others

It’s a balance that takes continuous adjustment.

4 — What is your view on “personal branding”?

I think personal branding is very important—and will become even more important.

Our society is no longer like our parents’ generation. They might stay in one job for life; we switch jobs frequently. Career paths today are fluid. With technological shifts, the types of work available to each person are more diverse. The waves of layoffs in tech also made me reflect:
When we lose the title of Google, Apple, Amazon, or Meta—who are we?
When we’re no longer an engineer, consultant, data scientist, or designer, how do we define ourselves?

That’s why I see personal branding as something positive. It guides us toward who we want to become. I treat it as something worth cultivating.

But I must emphasize:
Personal brand ≠ curated persona.
A persona can be fake, constructed.
A personal brand should amplify the qualities that are genuinely yours, connecting authentically with people who share similar questions, aspirations, and frequencies.

To me, personal branding is a way of building real relationships—through what we absorb and what we express.

5 — Are there artists or brands whose approach you admire? Why?

I admire brands that don’t just sell products, but convey a lifestyle or set of values.
For example:
Le Labo carefully chooses neighborhood locations, cultivating a sense of community.
Brompton connects its bikes with urban cycling culture.
Neiwai emphasizes comfort and ease.

These brands go beyond the product and ask: What kind of life does our user want?

The same applies to artists. Sometimes I like an artist because the work moves me; sometimes because their life story or presence captivates me.

I admire Marlene Dumas—her big, wild hair, her unapologetic attitude. Her paintings—dying bodies, girls, lips, coffins, flowers—are filled with bravery. Her brushstrokes are bold and decisive, never timid. Her command over paint and material electrifies me.

I also deeply admire Sophie Calle. She photographs and writes, and her work has a performative, experimental quality. In The Hotel, she worked at a hotel in Venice and entered rooms while guests were out, observing and photographing their belongings. In The Blind, she asked blind individuals about the last image they remember and recreated those scenes alongside their portraits. Once, after encountering the same man twice, she decided to follow his silhouette across countries. Some think she’s crazy, but I admire her independence, eccentricity, and courage.

Sometimes I like an artist because the work reveals a force of personality; sometimes because their life itself is a form of art.

6 — If you were to introduce yourself to the world, what would you want people to see first?

I want people to see someone who really tries to live—someone who lives with care and intention.

Someone who cherishes her time, her intelligence, and the people around her.

I want people to see someone full of ideas, someone who wants to help, someone who seeks light and is capable of emitting light too.