Yijin Zhu

I used to build spaces using domestic materials—curtains, carpets, and folding screens. These works appeared quiet and restrained, characterized by a meticulously arranged order. Yet, I was acutely aware that this was not true stability, but rather a defensive mechanism—a way to maintain balance amidst uncertainty. In those works, space, body, and image remained blurred, suspended in an intermediate state, like an invisible sanctuary I had constructed for myself.

However, my recent residency in North Africa has caused this defensive boundary to soften.

In the fluid, chaotic, and vibrant daily life of the Tangier Medina, I found myself immersed in an intense social network: running children, street vendors, theater workers, and international travelers. This highly heterogeneous experience forced me to let go of my previous reliance on structured order and open myself to a more direct, fluid way of being.

In this process, my practice began to extend toward the city itself. I started searching for "traces of existence" in the shadows on the ground—those fleeting moments overlooked by the mainstream gaze. I began to observe and document these lights and shadows; they require no explanation, shifting freely with the rhythm of the sun, embodying a form of fugitive freedom. Simultaneously, I started painting on the city’s ancient, weathered walls. Using pale yellow pigment, I trace the existing cracks and broken surfaces, allowing the lines to extend and accumulate organically, creating a low-frequency resonance between the architecture material wounds and my own inner state.