In dialogue with Lingrou Xie
FVTVRIST Magazine // Issue 6
September 2026
Lingrou Xie, portrait,
© Courtesy of the artist
Your paintings look like double exposures, two moments on the same surface. Where did that come from?
I really like films and novels that contain multiple layers of time, where different narratives and clues intersect with one another. I think this has probably influenced me subconsciously. So when I began thinking about my own work, it felt natural to start from multiple moments rather than depicting a single, isolated instant.
In the beginning, I was mainly bringing my feelings toward photographs of myself and my family into the background of the paintings. A photograph already carries a specific moment in time, but when I look at it again and paint it, it enters into a new relationship with the present moment and with who I am now. So the present moment also becomes part of the painting.
For me, this kind of “double exposure” was not a form I decided on from the beginning. It gradually emerged through the process of painting and looking again. It is closer to the way I understand memory and time: different moments are not independent from one another, but constantly encounter, overlap, and redefine each other.
1/ Maube Haze, 2026
Oil on canvas mounted on panel
20h x 30w x 4d cm
Courtesy of the artist
2/ Breath, 2026
Oil on canvas mounted on panel
21h × 32w × 4d cm
Courtesy of the artist
There's a sense in the work that an image has been painted over rather than painted. Is that something that happens in the process, or something you're depicting?
I think the nature of things is complex, and so are human emotions and relationships. That is why I want to hide certain things within the image. For me, what we see is not necessarily the whole truth. We often see only one side of something, rather than everything that it contains.
So this layering is both something that happens naturally during the process of painting and something I consciously choose to preserve. I want different images and different emotions to exist within the same painting, overlapping and affecting one another. Some things are clear, while others are obscured or remain only as a vague trace.
I don't really want the painting to tell the viewer a complete or definite story. I think things are multifaceted, and emotions can be complicated, even contradictory. For me, layering is a way of preserving that complexity, allowing things that are not immediately visible to continue to exist within the image.
Returning like a slow tide, 2026
Oil on canvas
22h × 29w × 2.5d cm × 2 (unframed)
45.5h × 30w × 3d cm (framed)
Courtesy of the artist
The palette stays consistent across the work, ochres, deep blues, greens, all low-saturation. Where does it come from? Is there a source you keep returning to?
On one level, it comes from when I first began making this kind of work. I went back to my hometown and saw old photographs of my family. The colors in the photographs, together with the dust and traces left by time, created these rich but blurred tones, and I fell in love with them almost immediately.
I always find myself unconsciously following those colors from memory. It feels a little like feeling my way through the darkness: the landscape in front of me slowly begins to appear, but there is always a layer of mist over it.
It is also connected to the way I paint. I often use glazing, building the image layer by layer, and the colors gradually become grayer in the process. Sometimes I will then purify or intensify certain colors again, trying to move them closer to the color I had originally imagined in my mind.
There are frames inside your compositions, like windows onto something further back. What are they for?
At first, the small frame appeared almost unconsciously. It happened in a painting I made for my graduation project at university. At the time, I was working with the idea of autobiographical memory and its relationship to the evolution of our sense of self.
I began thinking about the relationship between my past and my present. Since I was only beginning to explore these ideas, I expressed them by bringing together photographs from my childhood, images related to my family, and other images that evoked certain feelings for me. The whole painting became very full, almost completely filled with memories. I felt there was no space left for the imagination.
So I made a very spontaneous decision to leave a small frame within the painting. It was empty, and I didn't even paint over it, leaving the original canvas visible.
Later, images began to appear inside this small frame: myself as a child, my family, close friends, and, more recently, many images and ideas related to women. Now, for me, this small frame is almost like a door to a parallel time or space. Although it is formally enclosed, it gives me a place where I can imagine and introduce all kinds of things. It continues to grow.
At the same time, it gives me a sense of certainty. I know that I am here.
But I think a kind of collective memory in contemporary Chinese painting also has to be formed through one personal memory after another.
You showed in Vitalisms at ICA Shanghai, which asked whether contemporary Chinese painting can work as a record of memory. Do you think of your work that way?
I think contemporary painting may be increasingly concerned with the “self” within a particular era. And this self inevitably contains personal memories, experiences, and one's own feelings toward the time in which one lives.
I don't consciously think of my work as a way of recording an era. For me, painting first comes from very personal experiences, from the way I understand life, memory, and the things around me.
But I think a kind of collective memory in contemporary Chinese painting also has to be formed through one personal memory after another. Each person experiences, accepts, understands, and records their time from their own position. These records may be very personal and may not begin with any conscious sense of history, but they still leave traces of the time in which we live.
Perhaps many years from now, when people look back at these works, they may find something shared within these seemingly personal memories, emotions, and experiences. They may become some of the clues through which we understand and write about this period of time.
Xi'an Academy of Fine Arts, then the Expressive Painting Studio in Beijing. What did each give you?
As an undergraduate, I studied in the Painting Department at Xi'an Academy of Fine Arts. Unlike departments that focus specifically on oil painting or traditional Chinese painting, the Painting Department allowed us to study different mediums. During my first and second years, I took foundational courses in oil painting, Chinese painting, watercolor, and printmaking.
Although these were introductory courses, they helped me discover what truly attracted me. In my third year, I chose oil painting for my graduation work.
During university, I also met a very good teacher. From him, I learned the importance of staying committed to making art. His passion influenced me a lot. Once, when I didn't know what I should paint, he told me, “You need to find yourself.” It was a very emotional thing to say, but I still think about it when I work now. No matter when, I feel that I need to know where I stand.
Then, during my graduate studies, the influence of Beijing was very direct. Beijing is a center of contemporary art in China, and I had always wanted to experience the city since I was an undergraduate. So I chose to continue my studies there.
I saw many exhibitions and encountered many works that I had previously only seen in books. The studio also organized study trips to Europe, where I saw many of those works in person. They were incredibly beautiful.
Apart from that, much of my time was devoted to independent study, with regular discussions and critiques with my teachers. I experienced Beijing through its distinct seasons, and every day I would ride my bicycle to the studio to paint.
Looking back, it was a very happy period of my life. I was experiencing things every day, and painting every day. During that time, I gradually began to bring my own memories into my work.
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Gazing I, 2025
Oil on canvas
90h × 120w × 3.8d cm
Courtesy of the artist
You're in Hangzhou, showing in Shanghai, Beijing, New York. Does the distance change anything?
I feel very fortunate to be able to show my work in different places, where people from different places can see it and the works can experience different spaces. That experience also feeds back into my own practice.
The atmosphere of each place can influence some of the decisions I make while painting. I've always felt that a sense of distance is important. Projects in different places bring a certain freshness and new energy, and inspiration can emerge from that process of thinking and imagining.
What are you working on now?
This year, I am preparing for my solo exhibition at Nan Ke Gallery in Shanghai in September.
In each painting, the women may have their eyes closed, open, or turned to the side. I have been thinking about my relationship with them. When I paint them, am I also painting myself? I look at them, and they look back at me. I feel that through these gazes, I am also looking at and reconsidering myself.
Is there something you've wanted to make and haven't been able to yet?
I would say large-scale paintings. Although I have been challenging myself with larger works, I also know that it takes time.
As for the content of the work, I hope I can become a little braver in my practice. I believe in the power of time. So for the things I haven't been able to realize yet, I believe I will gradually get there, step by step.
1/ Indigo, 2026
Oil on canvas
130h x 100w x 4 cm
Courtesy of the artist
2/ Dusk, 2025
Oil on canvas
130h x 100w x 4 cm
Courtesy of the artist
3/ Meteor in the Night Sky, 2025
Oil on canvas
70 x 60 x 4 cm
Courtesy of the artist
1/ Burning C andlelight, 2025
Oil on canvas mounted on panel
70 x 60 cm
Courtesy of the artist
2/ Burned to Ashes, 2025
Oil on canvas
70 x 52 cm
Courtesy of the artist
About Lingrou Xie
Lingrou Xie, born in 1999 in Zhanjiang, Guangdong, majored in painting at the Xi'an Academy of Fine Arts for her bachelor's degree and later earned a master's degree from the Expressionist Painting Studio at Capital Normal University.
Lingrou's work originates from a personal perspective of reshaping life forms, through which she expresses introverted yet sincere emotions and a continuous, gentle vitality in a world of strange fantasies. She seeks formal resources within her unique life experiences, while also digging into her memories to depict subjects, attempting to establish a fitting connection between the two. Her works are characterized by the appropriation of real images on canvas and the presentation of various fragmented memories, blending both living and non-living entities. She constructs her memories through individual self-schema, constantly moving forward, returning, and lingering, simulating the process of memory rewriting and overlaying through multi-layered obscured imagery.
Between realism and expressionism, Lingrou creates an atmosphere reminiscent of dreams and fragmented memories. Through the intertwining of the figurative and the abstract, she seeks an emotional resonance, building a balance between the real and the illusory. The cool tones and somber visual ambiance continue to express her unique artistic language, akin to the steady and powerful rhythm of life's breath, gradually guiding the viewer toward a serene and soft imagined world.
