Rio Lakeshore in Conversation with

Rio Lakeshore: At this moment, can you describe your surroundings and the sensations you are experiencing?

LeeLee Chan: Right now, I’m in my studio in Hong Kong, which is on the 20th floor of an industrial building currently under renovation. Looking out of my studio window, I see layers of bamboo scaffolding jutting from the sides of the building, forming a narrow bamboo balcony, just wide enough for one person to move around. Nylon ties hold the bamboo poles together and are overlaid with green construction nets. Hong Kong is one of the last places worldwide where bamboo is still used in construction.

Peering through the “veil” of the construction net, I see a mix of high-rise industrial buildings, public housing estates, a school, and a playground, all vertically expanding along the hillside. The mountains behind are half-covered in fog. I can hear the traffic from the cars on the streets below, the sounds of loading and unloading, various everyday activities, and the hum of the dehumidifier in my studio. I can smell the moisture and humidity in the air. It’s November, a typically humid day at the end of Typhoon season, with 90% humidity.

RL: In what ways do you think travel or exposure to different cultures has influenced your artistic practice and the themes you explore in your work?

LC: I generally relish the opportunity to travel. My mind craves discovery, and traveling provides a valuable chance to reflect on and review my work from a fresh perspective. It acts as a reboot button for my creativity.

To me, there are two types of travel: one is purely for leisure, where I don’t think about my works at all and seek to see exhibitions, visit museums, and other cultural events just for pleasure. I find that I am always more productive in the studio after returning from such trips. While this type of exposure doesn’t directly influence my artistic practice, the change of scenery helps reboot my mind and allows me to reflect on other aspects of life, which is essential for my well-being.

The other type of travel is for research, where I have a particular agenda and aim to absorb as much selected art and culture related to my practice. For instance, in 2019, I was awarded the BMW Art Journey, which gave me a unique opportunity to travel the world to research ancient and future materials, from marble, copper, iron, silver, obsidian, and mosaic to mycelium and low-carbon emission concrete. I am fascinated by how these materials have transformed human civilization, both ancient and contemporary, and their material culture, socioeconomic impact, and ecology.

As such, I chose to visit the Carrara marble quarries and marble artisans in Italy, a blacksmith who forges iron with power generated by medieval watermills, and learned the ancient Roman method of making mosaics with a mosaic artisan and conservator. In Mexico, I visited both abandoned and modern silver and obsidian mines, met artisans preserving ancient craftsmanship, and spoke with miners about their daily experience almost two years after returning to Hong Kong from my BMW Art Journey. The golden obsidian was mined and carved there, where volcanic glass has been mined since the ancient Teotihuacan civilizations (100 BCE – 550 CE) by these artisans that I originally encountered on this research trip.

RL: In your opinion, how does the incorporation of recycled materials and found objects in your artwork contribute to a larger narrative of sustainability and the re-purposing of materials?

LC: In my earlier works, I predominantly utilized recycled materials such as salvaged asphalt from demolished tennis courts, granite remnants from a decommissioned prison yard, found polystyrene packaging, and re-purposed shipping pallets from my studio neighborhood. After living in the United States for eleven years, I returned to Hong Kong. I had a natural inclination towards using urban debris as a means to reacquaint myself with—and reinterpret—the city; this was not primarily driven by an ethos of sustainability via up-cycling. My fascination lies more with exploring what endows material objects with value—who determines it—and how it evolved through time. These objects encapsulate both temporary and cultural associations; their circularity in global exchange intrigues me. That is why, as my work evolved in recent years, I have begun integrating more industrial by-products alongside construction materials juxtaposed with elements from nature and Chinese antiquities.

RL: During my research, I discovered that your parents owned an antique store on Hollywood Road in Hong Kong. How do you think your experiences in that environment have shaped your artistic journey and influenced your connection to history and materials?

LC: The name Hollywood Road can be quite misleading for those unfamiliar with Hong Kong. Unlike its Los Angeles counterpart, the Hollywood Road in Hong Kong predates it, having been a bustling hub for merchants dealing in Asian antiquities since the British colonial era began in 1841. It has long been a central point in the global trade of Chinese and Asian historical treasures.

My parents opened their store in the mid-80s, specializing in ancient Chinese artifacts such as Mingqi (burial pottery) depicting figures, animals, and miniature buildings, as well as earthenwares, ceramics, and stone sculptures spanning from the Neolithic period (3000 BC) to the Qing Dynasty, the last dynasty in China. I have fond memories of spending countless hours in the store, playing with plastic packaging materials in the storeroom with my sister, and watching my mother meticulously handle these artifacts.

Each summer break from art school in the U.S., I would return to Hong Kong to help my parents restore broken Mingqi, learning to cover the seams with mineral pigments. This exposure to materials not taught in art school was invaluable. Like a typical rebellious kid, I initially tried to distance myself from my family’s business, not realizing how deeply it had influenced my artistic sensibilities. Although I was formally trained in Painting at SAIC and later at RISD, my venture into sculpture was self-taught.

In hindsight, this transition feels natural, given my upbringing surrounded by a myriad of sculptural forms—from the expressive and terrifying burial mystical beasts and guardians to the graceful dancers, elegant porcelain, abstract scholar’s rocks, stone Bodhisattvas, and various deities. Handling these objects intimately sparked my inclination to preserve and see beyond materials’ surface, such as their cultural significance and the temporality they embody. This inclination extends to my general approach to working with different materials. Not least, the experiences from my upbringing have given me insights into ancient belief systems, everyday life, values, and desires spanning over thousands of years, although it took me some time to become fully aware of it.

RL: Can you share an instance where the physical properties of the materials used in your artwork influenced the conceptual direction of the piece itself?

LC: One notable example is my Blindfold Receptor series, which I began in 2019. This series was inspired by the camouflaging mechanism of peppered moth caterpillars, which have evolved to perceive color through receptors on their skin. The series features geometric spinal structures reminiscent of both machinery and insects. Initially, I used ready-made industrial steel shelf columns, which were also part of a storage platform in my studio. The modular, economical, and makeshift nature of these columns—designed for easy assembly and disassembly—sparked my interest in exploring the hyper-efficient modern human existence and its relationship with surrounding ecology and other living organisms.

As the series evolved, I transitioned to using industrial glass plates to construct the columns in works like Blindfold Receptor (Jewel–Moss) (2023), Blindfold Receptor (Crawling Jewel–Moss) (2023), and Blindfold Receptor (Crawling Jewel–Moss II) (2023). This drastic shift of the physical properties from robust steel to fragile and brittle glass introduced various technical challenges. Yet it was meaningful because it expanded the conceptual depth of the series.

I employ the minimalist formal language of sculpture to reveal alternative narratives. The elongated glass columns expose the internal sinuous motion of metal hardware and transparent omni wheels, evoking the translucent exoskeletons of Jewel caterpillars found in Mexico, Costa Rica, and the Caribbean. I wanted the placement of the works to mimic the movement and gestures of these translucent caterpillars. In my solo exhibition Silica Meadows at Capsule Shanghai, these works were placed diagonally on the floor, occupying the entire room. This arrangement required viewers to navigate around the pieces, altering their spatial experience and expectations. It also meant that my “caterpillars” could break free from their passive position in nature, where they have adapted to human activity for centuries.

The changing daylight outside the gallery illuminated the glass columns, which reflected and refracted light at the same time, acting as both surface and luster that constantly changed depending on our point of view. This interplay of light and material not only activated the interior space but also connected it to the exterior environment.

RL: In your creative process, how do you determine the boundaries between chaos and order? How does this play a role in the formation of your artwork?

LC: Perhaps it helps to start by discussing my process. When I begin a new sculpture, I am often drawn to materials that captivate me. My guiding principle is to let go of any preconceived notions, allowing me to dismantle the hierarchy of the status of objects and use them in unconventional ways, like utilizing them in ways they are not “supposed” to be used. By juxtaposing seemingly contradictory materials, I aim to open up alternative ways of thinking. This approach creates a space for chaos and chance to happen. However, when chaos becomes excessive, the work tends to fall apart. An essential step in my process is finding relationships, either conceptually or materially, that act as a binding agent to unify these diverse elements. I look for clarity within the work rather than order, as “order” feels authoritative. I view my work as a collaboration between myself and the material objects.

I find clarity from chaos through both intellectual and physical processes—through head and hand, if you like—both a thought and physical process. There are often long negotiations between the materials and myself, as I carefully extract what is essential for the work. It’s also a tactile process that involves a lot of experimenting with materials to activate their full potential. The outcomes of the mind and hand do not always align, requiring openness to the unknown. In my experience, it is in this space that the most intriguing discoveries happen.

RL: If your artwork could be described as a living organism, how would you define its characteristics and behaviors?

LC: That’s an intriguing notion. I often perceive my artwork as a living entity, but I have never thought about it in such a particular way. Thinking about it now, I would say its characteristics resemble a hybrid of plant, fungi, and mollusk. It possesses a malleable body with sensory cells on its surface. It has excellent camouflaging skills, allowing it to shape-shift and blend seamlessly with its surroundings. It can morph in size from microscopic to monumental, inhabiting spaces as small as concrete gaps or expanding to fill entire buildings. It can move into new habitats and evolve into various species. Maybe most importantly, it can communicate with both living and non-living beings, as well as artificial intelligence.