4. Tutorial with Chrystel Lebas

During the Summer Show, I was always torn about whether or not to place an explanation of my work alongside it. Some audience members had given me feedback saying they needed an explanation. I often saw people walk over, glance at my piece, and then move on. But when I explained it to certain viewers, they suddenly understood and told me, "You should explain it." Since many people are unfamiliar with cyanotypes, they find it hard to understand the process behind my work.

I discussed these concerns with Chrystel, who told me that I don’t need to explain my work—those who are interested will form their own interpretations, and if everything is explained, it loses some of its meaning. While curating at Millbank, I also received suggestions from peers in curation that I could create a process video to explain the origin of the piece. I decided to try it out at Millbank and added an explanation on the last day of the exhibition to observe the effects and differences. I suddenly realized that this approach detracted from the experience—people focused on the explanatory content rather than the work itself, and I found myself limiting the audience’s understanding and imagination.

The suggestions from viewers and curators reflect their needs, and that’s perfectly valid. However, as artists, our goal is not to explain our work but to let it exert its own vitality and continue its story. In this way, leaving room for ambiguity can be powerful. It allows the artwork to take on a life beyond what we, as creators, initially imagined. By stepping back, we invite viewers to bring their own interpretations, questions, and reflections, making the experience more personal and resonant. When an artwork is open-ended, it can spark curiosity and engagement, inspiring viewers to spend more time with it, exploring its layers and even seeing things we might not have noticed ourselves.

I recently came across an interview with Xu Xiaohu, where she suggested that people should experience art without first consulting interpretative guides. She believes that engaging with art is similar to eating or drinking—you’ll naturally know if you like it or not. The same applies to art: sometimes, if a piece doesn’t resonate or seems hard to understand, we might feel like it's our fault. However, it’s really no different from tasting food. The focus should be on your own experience and feelings.

This perspective resonates deeply with me, emphasizing that art appreciation is an instinctive, personal journey. Just as we trust our senses to enjoy a meal, we should trust our feelings and intuition when encountering art. The real essence lies not in deciphering a “correct” meaning but in embracing our immediate responses. By allowing ourselves to engage with art freely, without overthinking, we can form genuine connections and enjoy the unique personal insights that arise naturally.

Reflecting on this,I really understand why Chrystel gave such a suggestion.She also shared with me how surprised she was when she went to the exhibition and saw a book with no text explanation but only pictures. I realized that the vitality of an artwork comes from the space it creates for others to project their thoughts and feelings onto it. The energy of the piece is not diminished by a lack of detailed explanation; rather, it’s enhanced by allowing the artwork to become a dialogue rather than a monologue. This exchange, where the viewer's perspective is as important as the artist's, is what I want my work to inspire. Ultimately, an artwork’s “life” continues in the minds and hearts of those who engage with it, shaping new meanings that extend far beyond my original intentions.

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