Meet Xinyi Liu | Artist

We had the good fortune of connecting with Xinyi Liu and we’ve shared our conversation below.

Hi Xinyi, what are you inspired by?
I lapsed into unconsciousness after a car accident. The huge crash suddenly brought my soul out of my body. I could see lots of me floating in the air and looking down toward the car. The whole world generated a kind of strange and uncanny beauty. The trauma was like a phantom in my brain. I began to seek out a way of dealing with the thought of my impending mortality.

While I was in hospital, I felt my limbs were merely broken elements and parts for the doctors to repair and reconstruct. I thereby create works that metaphorically mimic the processes of treating wounds to heal. Like a doctor, I try to do surgeries for my wounded materials.

I work with Xuan (mulberry) paper, a kind of Asian traditional paper, which resonates with the thin and silky quality of human skin. I imprint the paper with my skin and hand pressure. Human skin injects the paper with unpredictable textures, traces, veins, and patterns unique to the individual. The colors reflect flesh, dead skin, scars, and scabs. The fragments trace the stitching of wounds. The healing involves time and changes.

I subtract and rip the papers. I wet and unfold the papers. I re-touch and re-experience the trauma. Through my own “medical” manipulation, they become my “second skin.” Finally, I recover the papers’ wounds by releasing and mounting them on canvas.

Let’s talk shop? Tell us more about your career, what can you share with our community?
I want to dedicate my shoutout to the rich techniques of my Asian heritage that have deeply influenced my practice. Incorporating traditional Chinese rubbing techniques, mulberry paper-making, and ancient painting restoration methods has allowed me to explore new creative possibilities. These traditions have taught me to appreciate the patience, precision, and respect for material that is passed down through generations.

I have transformed these traditional techniques into my own artistic language, embedding them in my work in ways that are often unrecognizable from their origins. This fusion lets me honor the past while pushing its boundaries into new, contemporary dialogues. These techniques are central to my journey, teaching me the value of patience, precision, and material integrity.

Any places to eat or things to do that you can share with our readers? If they have a friend visiting town, what are some spots they could take them to?
If my best friend were to visit, our journey wouldn’t follow a strict plan but rather a rhythm of discovery, letting the city reveal its secrets as we wander.

We’d begin with the sun rising over tranquil streets, where the air still carries the coolness of dawn. I’d take them to a hidden café, where the scent of freshly brewed coffee mingles with the soft chatter of early morning dreamers. We’d linger there, watching the city slowly wake up, sipping warmth from delicate cups as we talk about everything and nothing.

From there, we might drift through a maze of narrow streets, stumbling upon an art gallery we didn’t plan to find, or a local market bustling with colors and sounds. Perhaps we’d pause to listen to a street musician whose music flows like a conversation between the past and present. Lunch could be in a quiet courtyard, where the light filters through ancient trees and the food feels like a bridge between worlds.

Afternoons would invite us to explore the spaces where history and art intertwine—visiting a temple that hums with centuries of whispered prayers, or a gallery where every piece is a question left unanswered. But maybe we’d decide to escape the city altogether, driving to the edge of nature where the sky meets the horizon, breathing in the untamed beauty of mountains or sea.

As dusk falls, we’d seek out a rooftop or a quiet hill, watching the city transform under the fading light, a thousand lives unfolding below us. Dinner would be somewhere unexpected, where each dish tells a story of tradition and reinvention, and the conversation flows as easily as the wine.

Nights would be about wandering—through streets alive with neon glow, into hidden bars where poets and musicians weave their magic, or simply walking in silence under the moon, feeling the hum of the city’s heartbeat in our footsteps.

Each day would bleed into the next, not a plan but an unfolding—a week of shared discoveries, of art, nature, and connection. It wouldn’t be about ticking off places to see, but about allowing the city, and ourselves, to breathe, finding beauty in both the vibrant and the still, the known and the unexpected.

Who else deserves some credit and recognition?
My art is woven from the intimate threads of experience, where the mundane transforms into something deeply profound. One of my most personal works emerged during a forced quarantine in China, where time seemed to dissolve into stillness. I began preserving disposable wipes—facial wipes and makeup remover wipes that had touched my skin—and dyeing them, imprinting them with the traces of my body. Each piece became a delicate chronicle of time, touch, and the quiet moments of existence. These fragile materials, collected from my female friends and family, speak to the rhythms of femininity and domesticity.

What excites me is the conversation between fragility and resilience—the transient nature of these materials mirroring life itself. The integration of packaging bubbles and trash bags creates a metaphor for our world today, where beauty and waste coexist. The journey is one of stillness and struggle, but within that struggle, I’ve found a voice. I’ve learned that the ephemeral has its own power, and I hope the world sees in my work the poetry of fragility, the strength in the delicate, and the fleeting yet enduring essence of life.

Website: https://xinyixinyiliu.com/

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/xinyixinyiliu/