For Shaoyang Chen, art emerged from an insatiable curiosity—a hunger to explore subcultures beyond the immediate surroundings of Weifang, China. From traditional Chinese animation to the raw energy of punk and hip-hop, these influences were less about imitation and more about expansion, a way of seeing the world beyond borders. The battle against self-doubt, the push toward authenticity, and the refusal to create solely for external validation have shaped an artistic practice rooted in self-exploration.

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How has your upbringing or cultural heritage shaped the themes and techniques you explore in your art today?

Growing up in Weifang, a small city in China, I was always drawn to diverse cultures and subcultures—whatever I could find on the internet. In my childhood, I watched traditional Chinese cartoons, the same ones that Miyazaki adored. As a teenager, I became fascinated by anime, and a few years later, my curiosity led me to explore music from both the East and the West—rock, jazz, hip-hop, punk. Each discovery felt like a new door opening, expanding my understanding of the world.

How do you reignite creativity during those inevitable periods of self-doubt or stagnation?

Like many artists, I wrestle with imposter syndrome. It never really goes away, but over time, I’ve learned to be friends with it. Instead of letting self-doubt chip away at my confidence, I see it as a strange kind of reassurance—a force that pushes me to keep growing, to refine my craft, to be better than I was yesterday.

What do you think is the most meaningful role an artist plays in society today?

Artists, throughout history, have always served as a reminder of the human experience. In a world increasingly driven by technology, I believe that authentic art still holds the power to ground us—to remind us of who we were and who we are. 

In a world flooded with imagery, what responsibility do artists have to stand out and say something authentic?

In my opinion, I think artists should carry the responsibility of being authentic and keeping the integrity of their works. 

Describe a piece you’ve created that has held the most emotional weight for you. What makes it significant? 

One project that remains close to my heart is Change the World, Not My Name. I created customized souvenir keychains featuring ethnic names—names that are rarely found in American souvenir shops. The project resonated with many people whose names carry cultural heritage often overlooked by mainstream society. Many of them shared how their names, though deeply meaningful, had come with social and economic burdens. Because this project helped a group of people feel seen, I’m super proud of it.

How do you think art should be valued—emotionally, socially, or monetarily? Is there ever an objective measure?

Art is impossible to measure objectively—there’s no formula to define its worth. A hundred people will interpret Hamlet in a hundred different ways. I used to put a lot of weight on critics because they seemed to hold authority. But lately, I’ve been rethinking that. Art isn’t math; no single perspective can override another. Now, when I receive criticism, I try to understand where it’s coming from—if there’s something valuable to take from it, I will. But at the end of the day, being an artist is a deeply personal pursuit, and the most important measure of success is whether my work brings me fulfilment.

How do you approach criticism, whether from peers, critics, or audiences?

This is a hard question and I am still figuring this out. I used to believe in critics more because they usually hold more authority. However, recently I have been going through a change of mindset because I realized how subjective art is. It’s not math and there would never be one criticism that overrides the others. The way I process criticism now is to try to understand its perspective to see if there’s something I’d love to learn from. At the end of the day, being an artist is a passionate job and the only criteria I should work towards for its my own satisfaction and happiness.

Do you think art that is created for commercial success loses its integrity, or can it still hold meaning?

When art and commerce intersect, things can be complicated. Art created with commercial success in mind sometimes loses its depth and integrity—but not always. Many commercial projects are collaborative, shaped by both the artist and various stakeholders. Profit, after all, is driven by value, and value is often determined by mass appeal. But when we strip art back to its origins, it’s about self-expression and documentation. It’s personal. And sometimes, it does take a pair of trained eyes—an acquired taste—to fully appreciate it. Not everyone has that. And that’s okay.