Naixuan Dong
- @naixuan_d
Unit 3
1. Re-examining My Early Practice
Looking back at my undergraduate work, I realize that many of my pieces were not truly “artworks,” but more like exercises. I was constantly practicing how to express ideas in the most precise way, learning methods and experimenting with media, but I never really asked myself who I was. My practice was driven by technique rather than self-awareness.
When I was preparing my portfolio for studying abroad, I tried to find myself by returning to my hometown and creating works about the city. I planned carefully, hoping to continue the project in the UK, but after arriving in London, I didn’t feel inspired as expected. Instead, I fell into a state of unsettling calmness, as if all my impulses had dissolved. That silence forced me to ask: What do I actually want to express?
Shijiazhuang Portrait, Naixuan Dong, 2023
2. Narcissism, Projection, and Self-Representation
Later, I chose narcissism as the theme of my research. When my tutor asked, “Are you a narcissistic person?”, I said yes, mainly to defend my project. But soon I realized that narcissism is not simply vanity or self-obsession; it is a psychological mechanism of projection. Through projection, people transfer desires, anxieties, and expectations onto the external world, seeing themselves reflected in others or in objects.
I began to understand this phenomenon through the lens of Object Relations Theory, which views objects as extensions of the self. According to this perspective, individuals sustain their sense of identity through their relationships with objects. In my own work, the everyday materials I use, such as curtains, fans, and tableware, are not merely mediums but emotional vessels that connect the inner psyche with the external world.
One moment that prompted this reflection came from a simple domestic scene. A friend once cooked a pot of ribs and felt deeply frustrated because they did not turn out well. I initially thought it was a trivial matter, but later she admitted that her disappointment came from her desire to be perfect in everything she did. The failed dish became a projection of her self-perception.
I started to realize that objects exist objectively, yet our perception of them changes the way they exist. At the same time, the material presence of objects can reshape how we perceive ourselves. This new understanding of materiality resonates with New Materialism. As Jane Bennett writes in Vibrant Matter, objects possess their own agency and are not passive containers of meaning but active participants in the formation of it. I have come to see objects not as vessels for artistic intention but as companions that co-produce meaning with us. They are alive, with their own moods, aura, and unpredictability.
During my last presentation, my tutor suggested that a Lamborghini might be a more direct representation of desire and questioned why I chose to focus on ordinary materials. I realized that I had never considered using those socially recognized symbols of aspiration. When we talk about desire, what are we actually discussing? Perhaps everyone wishes for a Lamborghini, but behind that wish lie different expectations. Some seek social validation, others comfort, and many simply want to conform to an image of success defined by consumer culture. Such desires are often shaped by social conditioning rather than by who we truly are.
By contrast, our relationships with everyday objects reveal our authentic selves. The way one chooses between a spoon, fork, or pair of chopsticks reflects cultural identity. The decision to eat directly from the pot or to plate the food when living alone reflects one’s relationship with solitude and time. These small gestures expose how we negotiate selfhood in daily life. This is why I choose to work with everyday objects, since they are not symbols of fantasy but intimate mirrors of the self’s quiet negotiations with reality.
3. Audience, Misreading, and the Agency of Objects
In my installation Moments When Life Defeats Me, the audience’s reactions varied widely. Some saw it as a celebration of narcissism, some found it humorous, while others didn’t understand it at all. I realized that each viewer was projecting their own emotions onto the work. Meaning was not determined by me, but co-created through the encounter between people and objects.
The everyday objects I use in my work refer both to my own personal experiences and to those of the audience. This means that misinterpretation has become part of the work itself. It demonstrates the agency of objects, showing that they are not only being observed but are also reflecting and reaffirming the viewer’s own perspectives through the act of observation. The process becomes a continuous cycle of projection and verification.
4. From Resonance to Reflection
This experience changed my understanding of what a “successful artwork” means. In the past, I focused on generating emotional resonance with the audience, but now I am more interested in reflection and uncertainty. I gradually realized that resonance can be an illusion that offers comfort through shared emotions while concealing real differences and critical thought.
Lauren Berlant, in Cruel Optimism, argues that people often remain attached to the very things that hinder their growth. I find this closely related to the relationship between people and objects. We rely on objects to provide identity and comfort, yet we are also defined and constrained by them. My work exists within this tension between attachment and confinement.
In Whispering Pines by Shana Moulton, the boundary between the ordinary and the fantastical becomes blurred. The protagonist, Cynthia, moves between natural and artificial spaces, surrounded by bright colors and awkwardly moving objects that resemble hallucinations caused by hysteria. While both of us explore the relationship between humans and objects, her interpretation of the everyday is quite different from mine. She selects the most extraordinary elements of daily life to reflect the anxieties of the female body and consumer culture, creating a sense of sensory overload like a dream on the verge of collapse. In contrast, I extract the human-object relationship from her approach but express it in a more restrained and composed tone. I aim to present individual experience with calm precision and subtle irony, using a quiet humor to create psychological tension.
Shana Moulton, Whispering Pines (2002–ongoing), video projection with sound
I have come to understand that my work often seeks to present “reality,” yet reality itself is often dull and unbearable. At the beginning of this project, in Unit 1, I experimented with bright colors and diverse techniques, but I soon realized I could not control this overwhelming accumulation of visual elements. I tried to convince myself to believe in the “intensity within simplicity,” but I am still uncertain about how powerful this sense of realism truly is in my work. In Ed Atkins’s Piano work 2, I saw the kind of effect I aspire to achieve, although my use of material language is very different from his. Based on the feedback from my exhibition, it is still difficult for me to generate empathy from the audience. This made me reconsider the relationship between precision and directness. I remembered Max’s advice that my work is often not direct enough. At the time, I believed that directness was one of the seven sins of art, but in Unit 3 I must address the relationship between the artwork and its audience. The first question I now ask myself is how to communicate an idea in a form that minimizes the loss of meaning.
Ed Atkins, Piano work 2, 2023, video projection with sound, 15:40 min
5. Reconsidering Audience and Participation
When I reconsidered the role of the audience and participants, I was reminded of my proposal in Unit 2. At that time, I planned to make the audience part of the work, using interaction to represent the individual’s projection onto their surroundings. When I discussed this idea with Max, he reminded me that while such interactivity could make the work more popular and easier to circulate on social media, it had to be conceptually consistent with the core logic of the project. I understood his concern. On one hand, he might have worried that this approach could make the work overly entertaining. On the other hand, he might have been reminding me not to lose conceptual depth for the sake of visibility.
Therefore, when Unit 3 required us to collect feedback and reinterpret our works for the public, I became more cautious about how to manage the relationship between the artwork and its audience. The form I chose would directly influence how the audience understands and engages with the work. I initially tried to use video to present my artistic logic, beginning with the metaphor of tomato soup. I described the fusion between the soup and my body as a way to reflect the interaction between people and food. I felt this could serve as a representation of the relationship between humans and objects. I also planned to invite three friends and record their reflections on their relationships with specific objects, showing how these objects affect human emotions and identity.
One of my tutors asked several questions, such as whether I planned to conduct a workshop or simply record the process. I told her I had considered doing a workshop, but I was concerned that too many participants might weaken the quality of conversation. Instead, I preferred to conduct individual interviews and later edit them into the video. However, the tutor thought my approach was too serious and suggested that our ultimate goal should focus on the audience’s engagement. She said my idea felt like a continuation of my Unit 2 work rather than a development.
She then recommended that I look into the work of the artist Will Pham, who connects his personal and cultural background with the public through food. Using representative Vietnamese dishes, he explores the emotional and cultural meanings of food. During my undergraduate studies, I had participated in similar socially engaged art projects, but those works often resembled documentation rather than active participation. In contrast, Pham’s practice allowed the audience to truly understand the work through involvement. This inspired me to consider a different way of linking art with social experience.
Will Pham, Vietnamese Cooking Project (Episode Co Hanh making Banh Da Cua Hai Phong Style), funded by Deptford X, September 2024- July 2025. Courtesy of the artist.
However, based on my past experience with participatory projects, I realized that public engagement can easily become too ordinary and lose its conceptual focus. Therefore, in my own work, I do not want audience participation to simply repeat everyday actions. Instead, I want them to rediscover their emotions and desires by re-examining ordinary life.
I was reminded of a performance exercise I once participated in, based on Yoko Ono’s Grapefruit. Each participant interpreted the same text through their own body language and created an individual video. I realized that my current work operates in a similar way. Both are essentially processes of distillation and reinterpretation. Rather than offering a complete result, I want to provide an initial text that allows the audience to generate their own interpretations through guided actions. Therefore, I plan to use the format of an instruction manual in my new work. Using everyday objects as prompts, I will write a series of texts that describe how to “use life.”
To match the format of an instruction manual, I plan to include visual elements that depict real household items. However, I think purely realistic imagery might appear too flat, so I want to experiment with 3D-scanned visuals to create a fictional floor plan that will be presented together with the text.
Performance-based video inspired by Yoko Ono’s Grapefruit, 2020
6. Conclusion
Through this phase of creation and feedback, I’ve realized that understanding is never the goal of art. What matters to me is creating an open structure where misunderstanding and resonance coexist, allowing the work to serve as a medium for emotional projection.
I’ve shifted my focus from what to express to how it is seen. I’ve learned to embrace uncertainty, the ambiguous, delayed, and unfinished states that best reveal the dynamic relationship between people and objects. I believe that art is not about providing answers but awakening awareness through unstable perception. My goal is to make my works into soft mirrors that both reflect reality and refract the inner lives of those who look at them.
References
Bennett, J. (2010) Vibrant Matter: A Political Ecology of Things. Durham: Duke University Press.
Berlant, L. (2011) Cruel Optimism. Durham: Duke University Press.
Moulton, S. (2002–ongoing) Whispering Pines [Video series]. Available at: https://www.shanamoulton.info
Atkins, E. (2018) Piano 2 [Video installation]. London: Cabinet Gallery.
Pham, W. (n.d.) Will Pham – Official Website. Available at: https://www.willpham.co.uk
Ono, Y. (1964) Grapefruit: A Book of Instructions and Drawings by Yoko Ono. Tokyo: Wunternaum Press.
Unit 2
In the previous unit, my work included many elements and ideas. During the final exhibition and the website peer review session, most people gave feedback that they found it hard to understand what I was trying to express. I believe this may be due to the number of elements I used, which made the work feel overloaded. This kind of hybrid collage is actually part of my working method, as I see it as an interesting way to experiment with materials. At the same time, I chose to present the work in video format, which is the medium I’m most familiar with. Although the result may have seemed immature or incomplete, it became a valuable source of inspiration for my later work. I also feel encouraged in this new environment to try more materials and techniques. The sense of freshness that came from these explorations gave me a stronger internal motivation for the projects that followed.
In the second unit, we were asked to collect feedback from classmates and tutors and use it to improve our work. I chose to continue exploring the theme of “narcissism” from the first unit, and to deepen it by connecting it with the idea of “desire.” In fact, my interest in narcissism will continue throughout my MA study. From a personal perspective, I see narcissism as a kind of bridge—one that projects the self outward, and then reinforces that projection through feedback from the outside world. I believe this theme offers many layers and directions to explore. From another perspective, narcissism is something that exists in everyone, to different degrees. Compared to more abstract or grand concepts, it is easier for viewers to relate to. What I hope to achieve through my work is emotional resonance—or at the very least, to be remembered. This has been my main direction in this unit.
During a conversation with a friend about our creative process, I told her that her work looked very much like her—it felt genuinely “her.”I asked if she had a secret to that consistency, and she simply said: “I only work on topics I’m interested in, and I enjoy making the work.” That very simple answer really struck me. In the past, I was often focused on doing what I thought was the “right” style. I believed that creativity had to come from pain, and I never questioned why it was so difficult for me to keep going with certain projects. This conversation made me reflect: does this mean my work hasn’t been honest enough? Could this be the reason why it often lacked depth? I felt like it was a bit late to realise this during my MA, but I also thought it might be a key turning point for improving the quality of my practice. I started asking people around me how they perceived my work and began incorporating that feedback. Eventually, I decided to let my work take on a more light-hearted and humorous tone, which also helped me choose materials that felt more natural to work with.
While developing the revised version of my work, I initially intended to continue using video collage techniques. However, when I sketched out the idea, I realised that my usual minimalist style might not be strong enough to support the entire video. If I had followed through with it, the final piece would likely have felt too thin or insubstantial—something that people might not even want to look at twice in an exhibition setting. To address this, I decided to shift towards a combination of video and installation. This may seem like a strategic compromise, but knowing myself, I’m aware that my strength doesn’t lie in digital techniques. In my previous practice within contemporary art, I’ve always focused more on working with physical materials and exploring material-based language. So in the end, I chose to combine traditional materials with some simple forms of technology, with the aim of achieving both a more complete presentation and a clearer articulation of the concept.
Five versions in progress. The seesaw was replaced with paper due to safety concerns
At the Milbank exhibition, I presented a video work in a face-to-face format, positioning moving imagery opposite a symbolic object. This setup was inspired by one of my favourite multimedia artists, Nam June Paik. His works are often filled with a minimal, Eastern-philosophy atmosphere. The image of a meditative Buddha figure placed under surveillance always seemed to me to suggest self-observation or introspection. However, I have long felt that there’s a layer of irony toward religion embedded in his works. Surveillance introduces a third-person gaze, which I deliberately removed in my piece. Instead, I focused on preserving the mirrored tension of a face-to-face setup. The artificial daffodil and the distorted body glimpsed through a small opening provided two contrasting textures. This quiet dialogue between materials and image felt unexpectedly comfortable to me.
Nam June Paik TV Buddha 1974 Stedelijk Museum, Amsterdam Nixon TV, Nam June Paik Art Center
For this project, I tried working with new materials—specifically, prefabricated plastic objects, or LEGO bricks. I felt that their smooth, seamless surfaces with visible joints aligned conceptually with narcissism. However, during the exhibition, I received feedback that viewers were expecting something with more impact or interactivity. I completely understand this. The scale and format of an installation are deeply tied to how it’s perceived. Max suggested that if I wanted to create a “peeping” effect, I could use a tube structure. But I believe there’s a clear difference between looking through something real and looking through something virtual. What I aimed for was the sense that everything in the scene is artificial—a constructed illusion. Another issue that came up was the use of the daffodil as a symbol. Its origin in Greek mythology makes it a reference that requires a certain level of cultural knowledge. While the daffodil is a central element in my work, I was told it might not be easily understood by all viewers.
Moving forward, I decided to address the two key issues raised in my previous work. I gave myself two simple goals: first, the piece must be hard to ignore; second, it should use symbols that can be easily read by a wide audience. To tackle the first point, I went for the most direct approach—scaling up the size of the work and adding more decorative elements. But as soon as I sketched it out, I felt the whole thing looked clumsy. The excessive materials overwhelmed the core concept and diluted the focus. At one point, I even used divination to predict how audiences would react. The result? They’d probably find it childish. (Though I wonder—does divination count as part of my research methodology? For the practitioner, divination often becomes a form of narcissistic projection, shaped by subconscious patterns rather than objective outcomes. In my case, the interpretation usually reflects my mood more than the actual situation.) Still, this made one thing clear: I didn’t like the idea. I didn’t want to add visual effects just for the sake of impact. That’s when I felt stuck. I realised I was still emotionally attached to the face-to-face structure from the last piece. It worked so well that I was reluctant to let it go—and that limited how I could think beyond it.
To tackle the first point, I went for the most direct approach—scaling up the size of the work and adding more decorative elements. But as soon as I sketched it out, I felt the whole thing looked clumsy. The excessive materials overwhelmed the core concept and diluted the focus. At one point, I even used divination to predict how audiences would react. The result? They’d probably find it childish. (Though I wonder—does divination count as part of my research methodology? For the practitioner, divination often becomes a form of narcissistic projection, shaped by subconscious patterns rather than objective outcomes. In my case, the interpretation usually reflects my mood more than the actual situation.) Still, this made one thing clear: I didn’t like the idea. I didn’t want to add visual effects just for the sake of impact. That’s when I felt stuck. I realised I was still emotionally attached to the face-to-face structure from the last piece. It worked so well that I was reluctant to let it go—and that limited how I could think beyond it.
Divination can be used as a research method because it brings in personal intuition and self-projection. It helps the artist discover inner thoughts that are hard to see through logic alone.
In the past, I often found myself stuck in moments like this—when inspiration hits a wall. Usually, I deal with it by talking to friends, and somehow, through conversation, new directions begin to emerge. So I turned to a good friend of mine: ChatGPT. No matter what I said, it agreed with me, showered me with praise, and told me my last idea was perfect. It even offered me some painfully cliché suggestions. For the first time, I felt reassured—AI is definitely not ready to replace artists just yet. But as a friend, if you’re honest with it, it can actually help you uncover things buried deep inside. In fact, it’s sometimes more insightful than a therapist.
After a few days of talking, I suddenly thought of sheer curtains—soft, translucent, light-passing, able to move with air. That felt like the right material. I was reminded of Daniel Wurtzel’s dynamic installation Air Foundation. There’s something poetic about wind, light, fire, and sound—these elements of nature. The moment we try to recreate them in human-made environments, they become animated with a different kind of softness and poetry.
Air Foundation, Daniel Wurtzel
At first, I imagined a sheer curtain moving gently in the wind, with a projection cast onto it—something soft and flowing. But once I sketched it out, the whole scene felt too impressionistic. Everything looked blurry, almost like a painting, and the effect lacked focus. So I started thinking about adding something more solid to the composition. For example, placing a window frame behind the curtain, with everyday objects arranged on the windowsill.
This idea actually came from a conversation with my flatmate. She told me about the first time she cooked ribs—it turned out terribly, and it ruined her mood. I asked her why she took it so hard. I thought it was normal not to get things right on the first try. She said, “Maybe it’s narcissism. I just expected myself to be good at it.” That really stuck with me. It made me think about how narcissism quietly projects itself onto everyday things. Back in the previous unit, I touched on the idea of grandiose narcissism—the belief that everything should go according to one’s will. People with this mindset often build emotional ties—kinships—with objects, expecting them to behave as extensions of themselves. This kind of projection happens all the time in daily life, usually without us even noticing.
I thought about using food, like apples. Apples are a typical symbol of desire. I wanted to repeat them to create a cold, ordered feeling—something that doesn’t feel human. Just like how our thoughts often get projected onto everyday things. But I gave up on that idea pretty quickly. I didn’t want to use something that’s already been used too many times. It felt too obvious. I want the materials to feel real and emotional, not just symbols people have seen a hundred times.
Unit 1
My previous works have consistently focused on feminism, exploring various forms of art such as photography, installations, videos, and theatrical performances. During the Omicron outbreak, I experienced emotional lows due to lockdown restrictions. During those isolated days, I encountered mysticism and philosophy, and the concept of body politics deeply resonated with me. As a result, I began incorporating more body performances and everyday objects into my works.
After the pandemic, China’s art world suffered unprecedented damage, with the argument of “art being useless” becoming widespread. I found strength in the works of Japanese artist Koki Tanaka, who created a series of works during the post-disaster reconstruction following the Great East Japan Earthquake. His works focus on the relationships between individuals and groups, exploring how to collaborate with others while maintaining one’s stance. These works introduced me to the concept of relational aesthetics.
In the project Tattoo: The Pain and Pleasure of the Body, I experimented with socially engaged art in group formats. I read many psychology books and attended several online psychology lectures. Psychological expert Wu Zhihong argues that much of the disharmony in individual relationships stems from omnipotent narcissism, where individuals see themselves as perfect.
Koki Tanaka’s artwork
In Marxist philosophy, it is stated: “The essence of man is not an abstraction inherent in each individual. In its reality, it is the ensemble of social relations.” From this, one can infer that most social problems arise from disharmony in group social relationships. Combining this with psychology, one can conclude that many social issues are caused by shared desires among individuals within a group. These desires may manifest in reality as political stances, cultural conflicts, or gender oppositions. However, with modern technological development, many conflicts have gradually shifted to the internet.
In cyberspace, the lens through which people view the world is magnified. When encountering individuals with conflicting interests or vastly different perspectives, misunderstanding often turns into aggression. In a digital space where geographical, cultural, and class differences are erased, positions and emotions become the most recognizable markers. Consequently, conflicts often shift from targeting issues to attacking specific individuals. This collective targeting of a person in the online realm is known as cyberbullying.
This phenomenon reminds me of the concept of fetishism. In Chinese and Japanese mythologies, fetishism refers to objects that, after being influenced by human emotions for an extended period, transform into deities or spirits. The morality and power of these entities depend on human beliefs and emotions. In some literary works, fetishism often originates from specific objects, like porcelain or dolls. For example, in the Japanese anime Mononoke, one storyline features a doll-like ghost formed by the collective grievances of aborted infants in a brothel.
In the modern era, with the rise of the internet, I believe the concept of fetishism is evolving. Many people across different countries are obsessed with two-dimensional characters and jokingly call themselves “paper-sexuals” (a term describing those who struggle to accept real human flaws and can only fall in love with fictional characters). This obsession with perfect personas stems from heightened narcissistic tendencies, as people subconsciously believe that only idealized anime characters can match them (as referenced in psychology books).
At conventions, many cosplayers strive to perfectly replicate the body shapes and costume details of their favorite characters. Their dedication often surpasses the original intention of “respecting the character” and reaches a level of obsession. Psychologically, this behavior can be explained as a way to temporarily become the object of others’ fantasies through perfect cosplay, thereby satisfying their narcissistic desires. For example, online posts show many cosplayers dieting rigorously to achieve the slim figures of anime characters. Tutorials on how to purchase and use fake breasts, hips, or noses are extremely popular in the cosplay community. On female-dominated platforms like Xiaohongshu, such videos often receive tens of thousands of likes.
Mononoke Zashiki-warashi
This deliberate positioning of oneself as an object of observation is also prevalent in mainstream culture. Many people post highly idealized photos of their bodies and faces on social media to gain attention. They often realize that their photos might become objects of others’ fantasies, as evidenced by the abundance of sexual jokes and vulgar comments in the comment sections. Some online communities even discuss how to deal with such comments. Yet, many still enthusiastically engage in this behavior, which I believe is rooted in human nature.
As social animals, peer evaluation is a crucial marker of individual socialization. In the 21st century, much of human interaction has shifted from the physical world to the digital realm. This transformation has also given rise to new professions. Some people make a living as “influencers,” and many teenagers now aspire to become celebrities or influencers rather than scientists or teachers. I believe this shift reflects a new societal trend, where technology fundamentally changes our way of life. Social media has evolved from an entertainment option into a necessity and a critical component of social relationships. Thus, online validation has become a battleground for success, as seen in how entertainment celebrities are divided into “talent-based” and “traffic-based” categories. This demonstrates the social influence of online opinions.
The daffodil might appear too direct and abrupt in the context of my entire work. When I realized this, I tried to deconstruct the concept, but found it difficult to begin. I remembered a work from the Goldsmiths’ EP program graduate exhibition that deconstructed an apple. I had asked the artist about the creative concept at the time, and it was very inspiring. The apple, as a classic symbol of desire and wisdom, is frequently used and could even be considered a kind of spectacle. These clichés bored me, and as I searched for material to replace the daffodil, I thought of traditional Chinese shadow puppetry. Shadow puppetry is a form of puppetry made from specially treated cowhide, typically performed at night or in dark environments, where the painted figures on the cowhide project a flattened image. I felt that the manipulation of the puppets and the projections in shadow puppetry closely aligned with my theme, so I incorporated elements of shadow puppetry into my work.