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Discover / Meet the Artist
Interview with Luying Dong
"For me, art is an instinctive, raw, and unfiltered way of communicating with the world."
Featuring
29.12.2024
Discover / Meet the Artist
Featuring
29.12.2024
Luying Dong crafts visual narratives that bridge ancestral traditions with contemporary expression. Raised in the rich cultural crossroads of Singapore with roots in China, Luying’s art delves into the tension between stillness and boldness, heritage and innovation. Each photograph captures moments of introspection and connection, offering a lens through which ancient stories are reimagined for modern audiences. Luying’s work is not just a reflection of culture but a dialogue with it, challenging viewers to explore their own connections to history and identity.
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How has your upbringing and cultural background influenced your artistic journey and creative expression?
Born and raised in Singapore to parents from China, I’ve had the unique experience of navigating the intersection of Eastern heritage and Western influences. This duality has deeply shaped my photography, offering a rich foundation of cultural experiences and perspectives that guide the way I approach my work. Chinese culture, with its deep-rooted traditions and ancient wisdom, has always fascinated me. These stories and customs—spanning thousands of years—carry values and insights that resonate even in today’s world. However, what I find particularly compelling is how traditional Chinese beliefs often celebrate stillness, subtlety, and quiet moments as a form of art. In contrast, Western perspectives often promote bold, explosive, and dramatic expressions as being more intriguing or impactful. This juxtaposition has significantly influenced my creative journey.
For me, the challenge lies in finding a balance between these two approaches. Growing up in Singapore, a multicultural society, has taught me to appreciate and explore both. While the Chinese perspective emphasizes patience and reflection, Western influences encourage pushing boundaries and taking risks. This tension plays out in my work as I seek to create visuals that honor the quiet beauty of tradition while embracing the energy and audacity of modern storytelling. One example of this is my effort to reintroduce forgotten narratives into a contemporary context. Through my photography, I aim to preserve the essence of ancient stories and traditions, but in a way that sparks curiosity for today’s audience. By blending the subtlety of Eastern storytelling with the boldness of Western artistic expression, I hope to create works that resonate universally, encouraging viewers to reflect on the connections between past and present. My art is a reflection of my ongoing journey to reconcile these influences. It’s about bridging the gap between cultural preservation and modernization, between the stillness of tradition and the boldness of innovation. I strive to create a dialogue between these worlds, offering a space for audiences to explore the universal threads that bind us across time and cultures.
Explain the allure of art in your life. Why art, among all other mediums of expression?
I’ve always felt that words can be limiting. I distinctly remember how much I hated writing essays in high school and university, especially those assignments where we had to write 2,000 words explaining our artistic intentions or justifying the creative choices we made. It was frustrating because it felt like I was trying to force something inherently instinctive into a rigid format that simply didn’t suit it. The process of dissecting art into words often diminished the very essence of what made it meaningful to me. Writing about art felt less like explaining it and more like a struggle to justify something that, in its purest form, didn’t need justification.
Art, on the other hand, solves that problem for me. My artistic intentions don’t require an essay or explanation—they’re right there, on the exhibition wall. When you create something, you don’t always need to explain it to others; the work itself can speak for you. People can interpret it however they want, based on their own experiences and perspectives. The beauty of art lies in its openness to interpretation. It invites viewers to bring their own meaning to it, to see things from their unique point of view. In that sense, it becomes a shared experience between the artist and the audience, one that transcends words.
For me, art is an instinctive, raw, and unfiltered way of communicating with the world. It’s an expression of thought and feeling that bypasses the limitations of language. Where words can sometimes fail, art communicates directly. It speaks to something deeper within us—emotions, memories, and experiences that are hard to articulate with just language. It’s primal in that sense; it taps into a universal language that everyone can understand, whether they’re aware of it or not. This is why I find such freedom in creating art. When I pick up my camera or start working on a new project, I don’t feel the pressure to justify or explain what I’m doing. The images I create are a direct reflection of my thoughts and feelings, unfiltered and unspoken. They are open to interpretation, but they don’t require validation. I love that freedom to just create, to allow my work to exist and speak for itself.
Describe your artistic process from conception to completion. Could you walk us through the steps of your artistic process, starting from the initial idea to the finished piece? How do you develop your concepts, and what are the key stages in creating your final work?
My artistic process is deeply visual and often begins with a dream-like image or video that comes to mind. Unlike many artists who find inspiration through words, books, or external sources, my ideas often emerge from the experiences I’m having in the moment or from dreams I’ve had. I find dreams to be incredibly powerful—they provide a window into our subconscious, revealing the state of our minds in ways that we might not consciously understand. Dreams carry with them emotions, imagery, and even stories that we don’t always process, and I think that’s where a lot of my creative ideas come from. There’s something visceral about the way dreams shape and reflect the inner workings of our mind, and it’s often this quality that sparks my initial ideas. When an idea strikes, it’s not always fully formed. Often, I jot down fragmented thoughts or images that I can’t quite explain—almost like scattered pieces of a puzzle. These notes aren’t coherent at first, but they hold the essence of something bigger, and my process involves connecting these fragments into a cohesive concept. It’s like putting together a visual narrative from a series of half-formed ideas, trying to make sense of them as I go along. This is one of the most organic parts of my process: allowing the pieces to come together naturally without forcing them into a predefined structure.
In my recent project, “Series of Red”, the idea stemmed from my growing curiosity about spirituality, especially the ancient Chinese gods I’d heard about in stories as a child. The fascination wasn’t just about the gods themselves, but how they might be perceived or imagined in today’s world. I began to picture their facial expressions, the way they might stand or move, and how they might interact with humans in a way that felt authentic to me. I wanted to translate this personal interpretation of the divine into a photographic series that explored spirituality from my own perspective. Once I have a clearer sense of the vision, I begin the search for models who align with the image I have in mind. This step is very subjective to me as I need to find people who naturally embody the characteristics I want to capture—whether it’s a certain look, presence, or energy that fits with the conceptual idea. For this project, I wasn’t looking for conventional beauty; I was looking for something that conveyed strength, wisdom, or serenity, qualities that I associate with the divine. Once I’ve found the right people, the execution phase begins. This is when I bring the concept to life in the photography studio. It’s where the technical aspects—like composition, lighting, and framing—become essential in conveying the story I’m trying to tell. I focus on capturing not just the appearance of my subjects but the emotions and energy that they bring to the shoot. Every element, from the lighting to the pose, is designed to evoke a particular feeling or message. I strive to create a space where the models can truly inhabit the characters I’ve envisioned, and through this collaboration, the images begin to take shape. In essence, my artistic process is a mix of intuition and planning. It begins with an image or feeling that I don’t quite understand, and through research, exploration, and collaboration, I work to give it form. The result is a creation that feels authentic, personal, and meaningful to me.
Reflect on your favourite creation and the reasons behind your choice. Could you tell us about your favourite piece that you have created? What makes this piece particularly significant to you, and what was the inspiration or story behind it?
My recent photography project, “To My Dying Village in China”, is, without a doubt, my favorite creation so far. Unlike many of my previous works, which often involved heavy art direction and a focus on creativity, this project feels raw, primal, and deeply personal. It’s a piece that holds emotional weight and significance, something that speaks to me on a level beyond just the visual aspects of art. The inspiration for this project came from a visit to the village in China where my mother grew up—a place that has been a constant part of my life since childhood. I spent many years visiting this village, surrounded by familiar faces, landscapes, and the sense of history that filled the air. During a conversation with my aunt, who still lives there, I learned that the government was planning to shut down the village as part of a broader effort to industrialize and modernize the area. The plan was to relocate all the residents into apartments, erasing the village in the process. Hearing this news saddened me deeply. It wasn’t just about losing a physical place; it was about the memories, the people, and the traditions that had shaped my childhood.
This village represents a part of my personal history that I hold dear. It’s where I spent time with family, where the landscape and the people made a lasting impression on me. There are also burial sites where the ashes of past villagers are kept—spaces that connect the past and present in a meaningful way. The thought of all of this disappearing forever, swept away by the tide of modernization, left me with a sense of urgency. I wanted to preserve the essence of this place before it was lost. For this project, I chose a naturalistic, documentary-style approach. I didn’t want to over-direct or manipulate the scenes. Instead, I aimed to capture the authentic character of the village—the people, the land, and the traces of life that had been etched into its every corner. The focus was on documenting reality as it was, without embellishments or filters. I wanted the photographs to serve as a historical record, a tribute to a place that had shaped so much of my personal history and the stories of the people who lived there. “To My Dying Village in China” stands out to me because it is so much more than just an artistic endeavor. It’s a way to hold on to something precious that is fading away. The emotional significance of the project goes beyond the technical aspects of photography. It’s about preserving a memory, capturing a moment in time, and ensuring that a part of my heritage isn’t lost to time. There’s something deeply satisfying about knowing that these images will remain long after the village has changed or disappeared. They serve as a testament to the life and culture that once thrived there.
Do you believe art can be perceived as pretentious? If so, under what circumstances?
Yes, I do believe that art can sometimes be perceived as pretentious. There have certainly been moments where I’ve encountered works that struck me as overly complicated or difficult to grasp, leaving me with the feeling that they were trying too hard to be something they’re not. To be honest, I’ve found some pieces pretentious in my own experience. However, this is a deeply subjective matter. What might seem pretentious to me may hold profound meaning for someone else, and vice versa. That’s the beauty of art—it’s open to interpretation. Each viewer brings their own unique set of experiences, beliefs, and perspectives to the table, which inevitably shapes the way they engage with and understand a piece.
Art’s subjectivity is what makes it such a powerful medium of expression. It’s a form of communication that doesn’t have to be bound by a single definition or a set of rules. What resonates deeply with one person might not have the same effect on another, and this diversity of reactions is what makes art so dynamic and compelling. When I engage with a piece, I’m inevitably influenced by my own experiences, thoughts, and state of mind at the time. So, while I may find something pretentious, someone else might find it profound or moving. This interplay between the artist’s intention and the viewer’s interpretation is what gives art its life and relevance. That said, I do think that under certain circumstances, overly abstract concepts can cross over into pretentiousness. This happens especially when I feel like I can’t decipher the meaning behind a work, or when I have no clear understanding of what the artist is trying to convey. When the ideas presented are too abstract or disconnected from any recognizable form or emotion, it can sometimes come across as an attempt to appear deeper or more intellectual than necessary. In those moments, I find myself questioning whether the artist is actually trying to communicate something meaningful, or if the complexity is simply for the sake of complexity. I think this is a common reaction for many viewers, especially when they feel disconnected from a work. There’s a fine line between challenging the audience and alienating them.
That being said, I also don’t think it’s my place to define what is “bad” or “good” art. Art exists as a form of creative expression, and its value is inherently subjective. It’s meant to provoke thought, challenge ideas, and offer new perspectives, and because of that, there’s no single way to measure its worth. Art allows for a vast range of interpretations, and it’s these different viewpoints that make the artistic experience so fascinating. Just because a work doesn’t resonate with me doesn’t mean it isn’t valuable to someone else. In fact, I find the variety of reactions to art to be one of its most interesting and, at times, amusing aspects. It’s funny how one piece can evoke such strong emotions in different people—whether they love it, hate it, or find it confusing. Ultimately, art is a personal experience. It’s a conversation between the artist and the audience, and sometimes, that conversation is complicated, messy, and filled with varying opinions. That’s what makes art so powerful—it doesn’t have to be universally understood or appreciated. Its impact is deeply personal, and the diversity of reactions is what makes it so intriguing and important.
In what ways do you find art to be therapeutic, either for you as the creator or for your audience?
I find art to be therapeutic because it helps me understand myself better as a human being. Like many people, I have a lot of questions about life, my place in this world, and my purpose. These are questions everyone grapples with at some point. Through my work, the ideas I formulate and the visions I want to communicate, I gain a clearer understanding of what I value, what’s important to me, and what I dislike. Creating art feels like a personal therapy session where I explore my own behaviors, choices, and emotions. It’s a process of self-reflection, trying to understand why I do the things I do. Interestingly, many viewers of my work seem to pick up on aspects of who I am as a person, which I find pretty funny.
If you could become one of your creations or characters for a day, which would it be and why?
If I could become one of my creations or characters for a day, I would choose to be the Chinese goddess Nüwa. Nüwa is a fascinating figure from Chinese mythology, known for creating human beings from soil and giving them life. This character is featured in my Series of Red project, and she represents a powerful and ancient force of creation. The idea of embodying a being with such profound power and influence over human life is intriguing to me, as it would allow me to see the world from a completely different perspective. Nüwa’s role as the creator of humanity offers a unique viewpoint on the complexities of human existence. Imagine having the ability to form beings from raw elements like soil, to breathe life into them, and to witness the unfolding of their lives from the very beginning. It would be fascinating to experience what it feels like to create life, and to see the world through the eyes of a higher being who is responsible for all of humanity’s existence. What would it be like to witness the very essence of human nature and the infinite possibilities that come with it? This idea of creation, power, and responsibility is something I find deeply thought-provoking. It would also be incredibly interesting to explore the concept of divinity and how higher beings interact with the world. Are they truly as distant and detached as some believe, or are they more human than we think? Maybe gods, like Nüwa, experience emotions, struggles, and joys just like us. Or perhaps they are so far beyond our comprehension that they exist on an entirely different plane, untouched by the concerns that we face. I’d be curious to understand their daily lives, their thoughts, and their purpose from an experiential standpoint. What does it mean to be a god in a world full of humans, and how do they perceive the lives of those they’ve created?
Beyond understanding the role of a higher being, I also have a personal curiosity about the universe itself. Being Nüwa would allow me to step outside the constraints of our earthly existence and see the world in a way that is beyond human limitations. I would love to explore the universe, travel across galaxies, and experience the vastness of space. The ability to fly freely through the cosmos would give me a completely new perspective on life, on existence, and on the forces that shape everything around us. The idea of witnessing the birth of stars, the formation of distant planets, and the endless possibilities within the universe is something that excites me deeply. It’s not just about seeing the physical world but about understanding how everything connects, how everything operates on a level we can’t fully grasp from our limited human perspective.
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Luying Dong transforms the universal questions of identity, tradition, and existence into striking visual experiences. Through deeply personal yet universally resonant creations, Luying preserves fading histories while pushing the boundaries of artistic expression. The work invites reflection, disrupts convention, and opens new pathways for understanding the human experience. Luying’s art exists as a bridge—between past and present, earth and cosmos, the individual and the collective.