Your name
Yixuan Liu
Place of birth
Wuhan, China
Place where you live now
Shenzhen, China
3 words to describe you
Walk, Shift, Feel
Why do you take pictures?
In vain, trying to hold onto the moments that cannot truly be held.
Where do you get your inspiration?
On walks and journeys.
Who are your influences?
The things I have experienced along my walks, the people I have met — those I know, those whose names I never learn, or those I only see from a distance. And W.G. Sebald. Not so much his ideas, but the way he moves through memory and place — without rushing to a conclusion, letting things remain unresolved. Both have stayed with me.
What determines the subject matter you choose?
Those things along the journey—moments, places, silences—that still carry a sense of beauty and a sense of the world.
What impact would you like your art to have?
To bring a brief pause and a moment of feeling.
What artwork do you never get bored with?
Ancient rock paintings, murals, stone carvings, temples and other historical remnants of art, any work by Andy Goldsworthy, and any page of Sebald.
Is there anything you want to add?
Nothing

The Laughing Bird
Project statement

At the mountain pass, the wind began to gather. It started as a low moan, then turned into a fragmented, laughter-like cry. A grayish-brown bird perched on a distant ridge, its throat feathers trembling with each call. A thousand years ago, the Song dynasty poet Wang Yang recorded this birdsong as “great laughter.” People then parsed it for omens; the bird simply cried out. On the plateau, every mani stone and prayer flag brimmed with meaning. Faith was not a choice but a way of breathing. An elder, not understanding my language, pointed to an eagle and the land beneath his feet. In his gray eyes, I saw a vast expanse. When we ask whether a way of life surrenders to nothingness, are we speaking of that land or our own longing for meaning? Questioning may be another ritual—futile, yet persistently performed. Thus the cycle takes form: we glimpse the illusion of meaning, yet cannot cease to create new meaning, like footprints covered by fresh snow. At dusk, I heard that laughter-like birdsong again. Those who seek omens hear fate; those who seek detachment hear emptiness. Yet the bird simply flew on, its call echoing beyond all interpretations. Like the plateau itself, it exists, untouched by human meaning.

yixuan liu
@boscodilatifoglie