Yan Yan: Do Not Follow It

The work seems to break free from practical meaning to seek the beauty within fantasy. Perhaps it is reality that makes one feel increasingly insignificant, fragile, and vulnerable. I can only seek the feeling of being alive within the paintings. The layering of color blocks, their mutual compression, and the traces of flowing colors are like the resistance that has always existed deep within me—like dreaming of entering an unfamiliar corner, a vague forest, sometimes carrying intense emotions, narrating one's own happiness and sorrow. The drawing of lines resembles the passage of time, a vessel for emotions.

There is an inexplicable bitterness and loneliness in the lines, as if they are one's own body, wandering and confused within the painting.

Drawing useless lines.

In the studio, I continuously paint, scrape away, and start over, again and again, constructing the lines of the painting. It is like my own life—the lines articulating the meaning of my existence.

The free segmentation of the canvas, the flowing of colors.

On one hand, it is a relentless torment, consuming oneself, battling with the canvas and with oneself until the very end—constantly building up and dissolving.

The white lines, in fact, signify a gradual dissolution from existence to nothingness, or perhaps they are entirely meaningless.

The significance of humans as subjects—body, language, action, poetic essence.

Painting requires breaking the rules, not following them. Colors only reveal their charm when they relate to one another.

The relationship between the painting and the current space—is it contradictory, conflicting, or harmonious? This is the very charm of painting.

The relationship between painting and nature—unable to depict nature, only seeking the subtle, invisible connection between humans and nature.

The distant pavilion, always out of focus, shifting between far and near.