Some works are built from impulse, others from discipline — but for Fanxi Sun, art emerges from slow-burning introspection. Time becomes a collaborator; emotion becomes material. Each project, whether film, theater, or installation, is shaped by a rigorous inner dialogue that doesn’t rush toward resolution. Fanxi crafts worlds where personal memory and structural inquiry coexist, held together by a language of image, sound, and space. What results is not a demand for understanding, but an invitation to feel, to reflect, to pause inside the complexity of experience.

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Can you take us through the evolution of an artwork, from that first spark of inspiration to the finished piece? & Do you feel a personal connection to your subject matter is essential? How has this connection shaped your work?

My projects originate from my reflections and feelings about the world around me—about relationships, people, and experiences. It often takes a long time for these feelings to brew until the moment I know exactly what kind of work I want to create—it feels as if the work comes to me, compelling me to make it happen. This brewing process involves writing, sometimes in brief phrases or single sentences, and other times in long, articulated paragraphs. Once I grasp the primary theme of an upcoming project, I start drafting its structure and its arc of development—whether it’s a script for a film, a play for a theater piece, or a sound note for a soundscape. During this stage, I may conduct research and reference academic theories to strengthen the foundation. From there, I move into production, knowing precisely the materials I want to capture or choreograph. Post-production follows, where I digitally or physically edit. I consider a project fully wrapped when I’ve edited it repeatedly to the point of exhaustion—when I no longer have the energy to make changes and know I’ve given it my all. I accept that no work will ever be perfect, which excites me to make my next piece even stronger. For me, a personal connection to the subject matter is the foundation of creation. All of my work is, in some way, a metaphor for relationships and events I have experienced or am currently living through. I transform these ideas into images, sound, and spaces. My personal connections to the world are the nutrients and blueprints of my art.

Can art be truly therapeutic? Have you experienced its healing power personally or seen it impact others?

Yes, artmaking is both therapeutic and empowering for me. When I decided to make the experimental short film The Introspection of Denied Agency, I was deeply troubled by a personal matter. Two opposing ideologies were clashing in my mind, and I no longer had a consistent sense of self. I envisioned using two performers to symbolically represent these two conflicting ways of thinking. With this concept in mind, I wrote the shot list and carried out the production with my team. In addition to the two female characters, the short film introduces a third narrative element shot on black-and-white 16mm film. While filming the digital footage, I imagined the 16mm sequences briefly inserting themselves throughout the piece, as the colored space represents perceived reality while the black-and-white space embodies a “master being” manipulating this reality. During post-production, I struggled to find the ideal ending. I kept asking myself, “What kind of statement am I making here?” After eliminating several options, it suddenly struck me that, as the filmmaker and the “master being” of the pictorial and sonic reality, I should step in front of the camera. This realization mirrored my real-life experience. I recognized that I had been unconsciously giving up my own agency—allowing external contradictions imposed on me to dictate my state of mind. The film’s meaning became clear: it was a process of documenting and diagnosing my psyche. The solution to my personal struggle also became obvious: I have the full power to reclaim control of my body and mind, rather than remaining trapped in the seemingly inescapable conflicts created by others. This project is the strongest example of how artmaking has become my “therapist.”

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

I wholeheartedly welcome criticism from everyone! It reveals a great deal about the critic–their viewpoints on specific subjects, their focal points, their relationship to me, and their understanding of the world. The list goes on. Good criticism is essential for elevating a work to the next level. I genuinely enjoy the company of those who can offer insightful, constructive critiques. Even bad criticism—which I define as unconstructive—fuels my determination to complete the work. It also makes good criticism feel even more valuable.

How important is it for viewers to understand the intended message of your work? Does ambiguity add value, or do you seek clarity in your expression?

How viewers interpret my work is entirely their freedom. They don’t need to understand my intended messages. I appreciate people’s unique perspectives and enjoy hearing their thoughts without explaining my intentions. My artmaking is precise—I have clear rules for directing, shooting, editing, and layering, and I know exactly what every decision means. I’m happy to discuss these choices with the viewers if they’re curious, but I never impose my interpretations on them. Over time, through critiques and conversations with different audiences, I have realized that my work naturally carries a degree of ambiguity, even when I don’t intentionally create it. This openness allows for a wider range of personal interpretations, which I find both surprising and rewarding.

Is art created for the artist, the audience, or somewhere in between?

Art is first created for the artist, who is always the work’s first audience. The artist then has the freedom to decide whether to share it with a wider audience. Some art is meant for the artist alone, some for a select few, and some for the broader public.

Have you considered teaching your artistic skills to others? What excites or challenges you about that?

Yes! I taught during my second year of grad school and the year following graduation. I covered introductory film and video, lighting, editing, and sound and image. I love teaching because I enjoy interacting with learners of all ages. It is exciting to share these artistic mediums and creative techniques with new students. They constantly surprise me and broaden my way of thinking. Every technical workshop, where I guide them in using equipment, is especially energizing—seeing them applying new skills to create beautiful and innovative images is one of the most rewarding parts of the teaching. A major challenge I have encountered is balancing teaching with my own art practice. Any teacher knows how exhausting it can be to prep, run a class, and handle grading or follow-ups. While teaching brings me joy, it can be difficult to shift my focus back to my own creative work after an intense period of instruction.

Are there any upcoming projects or dreams that you’re particularly excited about?

I am very excited about my next experimental theater project, Passing. It’s a theater-in-the-round piece that presents a slice of life from the Asian diaspora in the United States. Expanding on my expanded cinema/theater work To, From (2023), I aim to further explore interlocking stories and create a multilayering experience within a single space. I’m currently writing the play and gradually looking for an ideal venue for the final performance.

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In speaking about agency, ambiguity, and authorship, Fanxi Sun reveals a practice rooted in self-awareness and generosity—toward viewers, toward students, and toward the work itself. Whether shaping narratives through movement, montage, or live performance, their process resists easy conclusions. Instead, Fanxi offers a space where contradictions are examined, meaning is constructed with care, and art becomes not just a product, but a method of presence.