What key moments or experiences led you to become the research-based and mixed-media artist you are today?

Exploring different environments and cultures has shaped my practice. During university, a field course in Gansu Province brought me to the Dunhuang caves. I was struck by the centuries of layered ochres, reds and blues in the ancient murals, which retain a unique visual resonance even after centuries. On the same trip, I encountered the Danxia landforms—rock formations whose vivid mineral stripes were sculpted by wind, rain and erosion over millennia. Those colours, born of geology rather than pigment, inspired me to incorporate raw earth materials into my work.

Later in London, I found inspiration in the patina of historical architecture: weather-worn churches, crumbling brick facades and peeling frescoes. I realized that no single medium could capture that complexity, so I began layering, altering and recombining materials in ways that resonated with how I felt in those places. Both past and present surroundings continue to inform the form and concept of my work.

In your statement, you mentioned that your practice gestures towards the rhythm of time or nature as it is intuitively lived and felt. Could you elaborate on these theoretical and practical approaches and how they impact your visual language?

I think of time as overlapping rhythms—the ebb and flow of tides, or the way the sky shifts from dawn to dusk. In one series, I recorded the changing daylight in my home over several days. I photographed, sketched and filmed how sunshine faded across everyday objects and how shadows stretched and shifted. Choosing dyes and light-sensitive materials that literally respond to sunlight, I built up layers so that fading, stamping and exposure unfold naturally on the surface. This process balances intuition with structure, turning chronology into something you feel through colour, texture and pattern.

Your research process to develop a sustainable and circular colour system extrapolates different frames of research, from personal observations to studies of colour perception and sensory experience. Can you tell us more about this research process? 

Through courses on Chinese painting and egg tempera, I learned how minerals behave when ground, bound, and layered. Building on that, I’ve experimented with plant-based dyes and mineral pigment, while studying contemporary theories of colour perception. Much of this work is long-term and hands-on. I observe how pigments change over weeks or months depending on pH, light exposure or humidity. The goal is a palette that is both environmentally responsible and sensorially rich, with each pigment serving as a small archive of its origin and transformation.

How do these paints act as a form of collaboration with the river and land itself, and how does this collaboration influence the final artwork's meaning?

When I use river water as paint in my works, the environment literally writes itself into the piece. Variations in pH, mineral content and weather all shift the dye’s hue and texture in unpredictable ways. Sunlight and rainfall continue to alter those colours over time. This collaboration brings a deep sense of place into the work: the land contributes its chemistry, the river its flow. The resulting surface not only reflects the environment—it is partially authored by it, carrying traces of a specific moment in time.

What can you tell us about your project titled "Between Scene and Seen", where you worked with water samples taken in different weather conditions and times of the day from the River Thames?

“Between Scene and Seen” grew out of my walks along the Thames, observing how the river changes with light, rain and tide. I collected water samples on different days and in varying conditions, then used them for dyeing and cyanotype processes. As the water reacted with textiles, new landscapes emerged. Each work records not only an image but also the physical presence of water—as developer, pigment carrier and collaborator. The resulting images hover between abstraction and representation, inviting viewers to recognize how environments leave subtle imprints on both materials and perception.

In your practice, you work across textiles, drawings, and photographs. These diverse mediums complement each other, as they allow you to explore multifaceted perspectives and create a cohesive conceptual and visual narrative. How do you see these mediums interconnecting, and how do you apply them to craft a strong, unified artistic vision?

Each medium brings its own sensitivity: textiles hold texture and time; drawings capture the immediacy of thought and gesture, tracing the first impulse of an idea. Photography suspends a moment of light, framing something unpredictable. These mediums don’t operate in isolation but in conversation. A photograph’s composition might inform the rhythm of a stitched line, while a drawn sketch could inspire a dye pattern. By layering and weaving these elements together, I build a narrative that unfolds gradually, visual and tactile, it invites close looking and reveals a coherent dialogue among materials, images, and marks.

How do you reconcile the visual and material aspects of the intangible, uncovering the temporal discrepancies that arise from engaging with diverse time periods, locations, and surfaces?

I think my work is a mapping of temporal slippages—subtle shifts that occur when past and present, near and far, meet on a single surface. A hand-dyed textile may echo a tide’s rhythm, while a long-exposure print evokes a fleeting sunset. By choosing durational techniques—slow dye baths, extended exposures, pigments that fade—I let time leave visible traces. The work thus becomes both a record of its making and a reflection of the conditions—light, water, climate, in which it was created. Those layers of time, material and memory become integral to both the form and content.

Given your research-based and material-focused practice, how do you construct a coherent exhibition narrative that allows viewers to comprehend the research underpinning your work? Do you employ any specific techniques?

I will juxtapose a large dyed textile with a video document, allowing the viewer to move between the result and the process. To make complex research legible, I will weave in subtle documentation—fabric swatches drenched in Thames water, small test prints, handwritten notes—alongside fully resolved pieces, revealing the research without turning the space into an archive. I curate shifts in scale and texture: a large work might draw you in from afar, then lead viewers to a series of intimate stitches that require close reading. Without overwhelming viewers with text, I prefer to offer touchpoints that reveal process and invite curiosity: by seeing and feeling material traces, they piece together the research journey themselves.

What kind of dialogue or engagement do you hope to foster with viewers of your work?

I hope to spark a slower kind of looking—an embodied attentiveness that values nuance over instant clarity. My work invites people to notice subtle shifts: a colour change under shifting light, a texture revealed up close, a trace of landscape memory. If viewers bring their own experiences and pause to reflect, then a genuine conversation has begun.

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

In my practice, I explore sustainability as a way of working—using what’s already around me. When an artwork visibly carries its own ecological footprint—river water, mineral dyes—it invites viewers to reconsider consumption patterns and ecological impact. Art can model alternative ways of relating to materials and time. By embracing cyclical processes and using local or reclaimed resources, artists can highlight our interdependence with ecosystems and imagine more responsible artistic practices.

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

In a world that urges speed and certainty, I’d invite you to slow down and notice the subtleties all around: the shift of light through the day, the deepening of colour with weather, the unfolding of texture under touch. There is richness in the slow and the ambiguous—hidden discoveries that reveal themselves only with time and attention.

Find out more about the artist here.

Cover image:

Untitled by Lin Xiaoyi.

All images courtesy of Lin Xiaoyi.