What key moments or experiences led you to become the illustrator and printmaker you are today?

Two years ago, my grandmother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. Deeply affected by her condition, I started a project about time and memory to explore our relationship. That was when I first discovered monotype printmaking. In trying to visualize emotion and memory, I found that monotype’s unpredictable, textured, and one-of-a-kind qualities mirrored the fragmented and fleeting nature of memory itself. My work is often emotionally driven, and this technique amplifies the emotional depth of my illustrations. From there, I became increasingly drawn to monotype and have continued to explore it as my primary medium.

In your statement, you mentioned being particularly inspired by random textures that you then use to tell stories. Can you share how a specific texture has influenced a piece you’ve created, and what story it helped tell? 

In Hello? Are You There?, the blurred figures and speckled textures in the upper-left and lower-left corners were unexpected results from overly diluted ink bleeding through the back of the paper. This “accident” ended up perfectly reinforcing the project’s focus on Alzheimer’s disease and distorted, fragmented memory. The chance texture added depth to the emotional tone and strengthened the storytelling of the image

In your work, you reflect emotional journeys through sadness and anger. How do you balance these heavier themes with moments of hope and resilience in your art? 

My process is highly intuitive and often sparked by emotional shock, especially from traumatic memories. Creating art becomes both a record and a release—it has helped me move through depression. After finishing a piece with heavy themes, I usually feel a sense of emotional relief. When I’m in a better mental state, I turn to themes of hope, calm, and freedom. Memory itself is nonlinear and fragmented; the coexistence of pain and healing in my work mirrors that duality, like two sides of a mirror.

As a printmaker, what unique techniques do you employ to achieve the textures and layers that define your work?

I often use a layering method I call “residual buildup”: I repeatedly print with the same copper plate without cleaning off the ink completely. Instead, I add new elements on top: using diluted ink, paper stencils, or tools like brushes, cloth, cotton swabs, or toothpicks to create fresh textures. This process leaves subtle echoes of previous layers visible in the next print. I might repeat this three or four times before adding a final main image. The resulting surface feels like layered memory, accumulative, imperfect, and emotionally charged.

Could you elaborate on your piece titled "Growing in Blue," in which you explore fragmented narratives? What guides your selection of emotional fragments for representation, and what insights do you gain from the process of rearranging them?

I select symbols that appear frequently in my memory and carry strong emotional weight: plants, human figures, and birds. Each symbolizes something different: plants stand for transformation and rebirth; human forms represent my sense of self and connection to others; birds imply escape and freedom. In fragmented storytelling, I explore how different arrangements of these elements shift the emotional and narrative direction. I often pause to assess whether the image is communicating clearly, whether it's balanced, or whether more collage elements are needed to complete the message. This rearrangement is not just visual, it’s a form of inner reorganization.

Throughout your body of work, the colour blue seems to have a key role in your visual language. Can you delve into the emotional layers associated with this colour in your work and how it affects the viewer's perception?

Blue in my work is sometimes calm and gentle, and sometimes carries undertones of sorrow or suppression. The emotional tone often depends on what’s depicted. When the image shows only objects like plants, the atmosphere feels distant and serene. But when human figures or faces appear, blue becomes a vessel for more personal, subjective emotions. The interaction between human forms and plants often reflects my psychological state within a memory. Some viewers sense the emotional turbulence hidden beneath the surface of blue, which is precisely the emotional depth I hope to convey.

In your project "Hello? Are you there?", you delve into themes of memory and connection. In what ways has this exploration shaped your artistic expression and your understanding of time?

In Hello? Are You There?, I explore what it means to be trapped in time: fragmented memories, abstract recollections, disconnected worlds, and how the future can haunt the present. Revisiting memories with my grandmother through this project, I realized how creating art helps me release emotional weight and ease psychological stress. These memories used to be triggering, but working with nonlinear narratives helped me process them and find emotional repair. To me, memory and time are not linear, they constantly reshape the present and are always active in our lives.

Your art touches on themes of inherited trauma and cultural experiences. How does your background influence your storytelling, and what messages do you hope to convey to your audience?

I grew up in a small mountain town in Southwest China, shaped by strong Buddhist and Daoist influences. In Buddhist thought, all things go through cycles of arising and ceasing. Plants, for me, represent impermanence and healing, they grow, wither, and regenerate. My parents’ generation rarely spoke about emotions or memory; they coped by staying busy, unconsciously passing unprocessed trauma to the next generation. Through art, I aim to break that silence, sometimes calmly, sometimes with anger. I want to create a space of emotional resonance, where viewers can see parts of themselves in fragmented images, and begin their own process of reflection and healing.

Art and artists play various roles in the fabric of contemporary society. How do you see artistic practices advancing sustainability and social consciousness?

An artist’s voice may seem small, but persistence matters. By continuing to speak, we make ourselves heard, and eventually, others join in. I believe art can heighten awareness, open space for empathy, and spark both emotional and social change.

What message or call to action would you like to share with our readers?

If you’re struggling with pain or trauma, I encourage you to create, speak, record, or ask for help. Whether your emotions come out as anger, sadness, or quiet reflection—give them a voice. You are stronger than you think, and your feelings deserve to be seen and understood.

Learn more about the artist here.

Cover image

Voice by Caijing Kuang.

All images courtesy of Caijing Kuang.