News & Reprint | Loy Luo Space

LOY LUO : Secrets - Jen Dragon. Nov/2023. From Cross Contemporary In the current solo exhibition at Mazlish Gallery in New York City, the soulful paintings of Loy Luo evoke timeless songs with unknown origins and infinite possibilities. The abstract artworks have the depth and strength of stone combined with the lightness of air and space. Luo not only encourages her audience to look but also to listen and move in place as they view her art. The musicality comes from Luo’s background as a musician and her notations that are painted on the canvas recount ancient songs of friendship and love. To fully experience the evershifting color, depth and space, the viewer is compelled to move from left to right and from up to down in order to grasp the dimensions described by the powerful presence of each artwork. All of Luo’s artworks present a vast, borderless space. In this floating, gravity-free world, Luo paints intangibles with such conviction that these abstractions are made manifest. With precise, deliberate brush marks, Luo creates an alchemic surface that changes according to the ambient light. In Half Diamond Sutra, the mineral green of the ground unites the suspended marks and objects as well as the calligraphic notations scratched into the patina. In Abstract Theater A8, the sense of the self suspended in the experience of gazing towards a rosy light peppered with floating forms that are at once bird-like yet solid. The vertigo created by this tilting space is caused by a depth of field that seems to accelerate with the passage of time. In the Rune series, the sensation of different spaces is more direct: in Rune 2, the painting evokes the sunlight through trees as one gazes upwards and in the painting Rune 3, the atmospheric blue places the viewer adrift in a celestial orb. This cartographic quality continues through to the Heart Sutra series. In these paintings, there are luminous pigments lurking beneath a calming overlay of earth colors. It is in the incising of the paint through this glowing patina that Loy Luo reveals the depth of the painting’s journey. Calligraphic symbols rain down the canvases in a constant torrent of memories evoking stories, songs and poems. Some artworks, such as Heart Sutra I, go so far as to play with the light. As the viewer moves in front of the painting, the colors shift magically from black to gold and back to black. This optical illusion reveals and obscures its own meaning, cajoling the viewer to come close and then to step away in a continual “back and forth” sensation. It is only by remaining engaged with the artworks over time does the understanding of the inscribed words, the space and the shifting colors become clear. The most recent series of artworks, Guqin, refer to the horizontal slide guitar native to China with which Loy Luo performs her music. In Guqin I and II, Luo writes the notes of a traditional folk song on a white field. Sometimes the notes are cut off abruptly by a jagged sanguine border like an ancient wound that refuses to heal. In both paintings, the texts seem to have been incised into white marble that is at once solid yet poised to vaporize like a cloud- just as the memory of music disappears just after it is performed. The uniting force behind all of Loy Luo’s artworks is the immense strength and space she describes with her large abstract paintings and smaller works on canvas. The alternating erasure and endurance of her mark making, the piercing luminosity of her colors and the power of implied telluric currents are all infused by Luo with a lightness of being. The inscriptions are manifested thoughts that rain down in the mind of the viewer like a half-forgotten melody as the artist presents an ancient tale, patinated with age and its accompanying palimpsests, conveying timeless instructions on how to love and live. - Jen Dragon Loy Luo at Mazlish Gallery

https://www.crosscontemporaryprojects.com/blog/36-loy-luo-s-e-c-r-e-mazlish-gallery-98-mott-street-new/

LOY LUO: When Abstraction Complicates Culture - Jonathan Goodman. February /2024. From Tussle Magzine Loy Luo, now living on the edge of Chinatown in New York City, spent roughly twenty years in Beijing before moving to America. A mid-career artist, Luo has several beautiful bronze statues that she made and stored in China, but the body of work I will be discussing–a group of paintings Luo finished in her studio in Chinatown, a large space in an office building on Mott Street, revives the by-now nearly historical debate of cultural influence from different places and their ability to advance or, sometimes, overwhelm the work of someone making art from far away. It is not an easy discussion, as this kind of exchange, aided by travel and the transportation of objects, has been going on for a long time. But today, because of the swiftness and ubiquity of the Internet, the notion of influence carries a weight we would not have thought possible before. Eclecticism has become integral to the practice of painting and sculpture today. Luo, who has lived in New York City for four years, is, like all of us, being bombarded by the intellectual traffic of others, whose ideas, feelings, and understanding of form may well be different from our own. It becomes the painter’s job to incorporate these alterations in thought and practice, making them an entirety that reads smoothly but also with weight–as if the discrete articles were inevitably meant to form a whole. But this thinking also introduces a challenge. Usually, and for a long time (since the romantic period in the West), the fragment has been better received by viewers than the polished whole. Eclecticism, by virtue of its various elements, is oriented toward discrete parts that support the notion of a fragmented object. As we shall see in Luo’s paintings, her art remains an abstract endeavor. Additionally, words will sometimes add intricacies of meaning to the works’ surface. Nature plays a role in Luo’s art as well. Regularly there is the suggestion of flowers. The Chinese language is often used as a support for the painting, which can include poetry or philosophical writings as evidence of the artist’s interests beyond painting. It is also true that the physical shape of the characters alone can play a visual role. And the decorative elements, seemingly floral, have also been studied by Luo. They incorporate elements that resemble conventional nature–blossoms on a branch. Luo does not consciously proclaim the connection, but for a Western writer, the tradition of nature in Chinese painting is so strong as to inevitably lead us to a Chinese view of the painting–this despite the English words that make their way into the composition. We can ask, how hard is it to remain true to our background when it is thousands of miles away? We need to remember, too, that New York City has been a center for painterly abstraction since a bit before the early 1940s when artists like de Kooning, Pollock, and Gorky led the way in lyric abstraction. In keeping with her stay in New York City, Luo’s work possesses considerable lyricism, often in a nonobjective sense. But Luo’s paintings present an ethereal experience that Western practitioners of art when taken over by Asian influences, produce in their work an expansive egotism that cannot match the understated elegance of the Chinese artist’s hand. One must be wary of over-categorization, especially now; images–and cash–travel the world in moments thanks to the Internet. This inevitably turns the matter of influence into something less than inspiring, as well as influencing too heavily the pricing of the work. Still, visuals making use of the artist’s classical traditions remain resistant to their historical erasure. Art is capable of lasting forever, as we can see from the shards still found in the deserts spots of ancient cultures. In the long run, it matters little what our affiliations are–culture has become too broad in its contextual alliance to current work, making it very difficult to specify connections. We borrow across time and place so that now it is very hard to distinguish one culture from the other in art. Luo’s white paintings often incorporate the Chinese character as a structural and thematic display–we can see this from the quotations she takes from Buddhist sutras. It is clear from the start that the sutras are in no way an indication of Western culture. But three paintings, each with a beautiful background color, including jade green and rose pink, move away from the written toward a description of the world outside, through color alone. Luo, as happens with all of us today, must manufacture a natural lyricism that stays true to her past. So her style cannot come to her easily. The painters of classical times were nearer to a merger of feeling and idea than we are now when the emotional and intellectual perception of such a lyricism was new and developing into greatness. Luo’s craft is good enough to do so, making it clear that nature is a permanent part of Chinese art in general and her art in particular. Abstraction, Luo’s forte, is a more intricate problem, given the artist’s extended stay in New York, where the gut feelings of modernist abstract expressionism began. Sadly lyric abstraction has become an American cliche, having taken over what used to be a genuinely innovative style. Luo’s background as a Chinese artist–she has degrees from undergraduate and graduate schools in Beijing–has transformed, even if only slightly, Western abstraction into something that looks to the Chinese character and the Asian understated comprehension of nature. The flowers we find in her art demonstrate her connection to Asia. Doing so provides her with a way out of the dull repetitions of expansive abstraction. The merger of Chinese imagery and language with the inchoate, often unformed shapes of abstraction is hard, but we are working at a time when such connectedness has been presented to the point of becoming repetitive. It is Luo’s job to join one tradition with the other, as hard as that may be. So Luo’s presentation here, of a group of works at once Chinese and Western, figurative and abstract, amounts to a show in her studio in Chinatown. The ones I will address are two white paintings, both with writing (in one case, the placement of the characters curves like a canopy on the composition's upper right; and on the other, the orientation of regularly placed characters cover the canvas). Then there are three works oriented toward traditional scenic painting, followed by a dark brown, slightly reddish work filled with characters determining the meaning of a Buddhist sutra. Together, the works are more truly indicative of a Chinese sensibility; the paintings with characters coming from sutras prove this, as does Luo’s sensitive handling of the objects and effects of nature. Can a painting true to Chinese culture be made in New York City’s Chinatown? Can the culture be carried over, successfully, into a world where the values behind Asian culture are not to be found? These are difficult questions. Fusion may well be better suited to cooking than to art. Yet fusion has become an acceptable art practice, followed more by Asian artists than Western ones–at least in painting, if not in avant-garde art. Despite the sometimes extravagant beauty deriving from a varied approach, a good deal of work by Luo owes its strength and sensitivity to Chinese painting traditions that are recognizably so. Again, we must recognize Luo’s insistence that she is painting abstraction, and there is a good chance that this may be at least partly true. But for this writer, the deeper truth has to do with the intimations of classical culture and its greatness in figuration–the result of a visionary restraint, based on realism, that took place a long time ago. Maybe the most important aspect of abstraction, in addition to its contrast with imagery taken from nature, has to do with the ability of nonobjective art to influence style across cultures. This means that fine art is no longer bounded by a particular history, but, instead, adds to the complicated proliferation of styles characterizing contemporary work. Luo, then, is not necessarily in a bind. Her abstraction may be Chinese in feeling, but it also participates in a formality that began in Europe but shifted to New York City, where it has been established since the middle of the last century. Although Luo comes late to this tradition, she has internalized a manner of working that reinvents Western nonobjective art in light of Chinese poise and descriptive truth in painting. This is moving and in Luo’s case has resulted in real esthetic success. Guilin 2 (2023) is a white painting, decorated by a curtain of characters on the upper right. These characters describe a building process for ships. The center of the painting is cast in a rough white, like the rest of the composition. In the lower left, toward the bottom, a thin stem ends with a rose at the top. Next to it is a squared set of characters that is hard to decipher. The painting is beautiful in design, and, additionally the existence of meaningful, not decorative, characters results in yet another layer of significance–intellectual rather than visual. Heart Sutra 3 (2023), another painting that is as much an intellectual activity as it is art, looms over us in a tall white rectangle. The surface is rough with bits and pieces of brown and red dotting the work’s landscape, which is itself rough and covered with individual characters that are a bit difficult to make out, given the bumpy exterior. As it turns out, Heart Sutra 3, a Mahayana Buddhist text, emphasizes compassion as a vehicle for inner freedom. Perhaps that freedom is suggested in the textured disconnects in the surface of the painting, whose whiteness can suggest purity and whose characters spell out portions of the text. In one way, it is an impenetrable wall between daily life and enlightenment; in another, it is a facsimile of a window open to perception driven by the emotion of kindness. Luo is regularly ethereal in her outlook. Half Diamond Sutra (2023), is powerfully colorful with its background of jade green. But the painting is made complicated by inserts–a group of irregularly edged white areas on the far right, and in the middle right, a long, thin stem with a rounded flower-like cup attached. The diamond sutra addresses the spiritual attainment brought about by starvation–not an insight most Westerners would appreciate! But the painting’s indirect, visionary glory may be teaching us that absence, a kind of visual starvation, is the equivalent of the denial of food. Luo’s devotionally driven work, usually rough around the edges, carries with it the capacity for spiritual change, surely a major goal of Buddhist thought. Heart Sutra 2 (2023), a large, grayish painting made in 2023, is composed of individual squares, each holding a character belonging to the religious text. In the middle are two narrow, vertically aligned appendages, with a thicker brown line crossing the sticks horizontally. At the lower end of the left stick is a small green book-like appendage. We may not know what these visual embellishments are, but they decorate and complicate usually simple backgrounds. We know that the Heart Sutra 2 is a piece of writing whose most famous saying is “Form is emptiness, Emptiness is form.” This somewhat opaque aphorism emphasizes the mutability of an emptiness that has been filled, but also the truth of form made into a void. Their mutual exchange becomes the support of the given world. Again, Luo addresses metaphysics carefully, with an eye for the ethereal, the barely known. Heart Sutra 1 (2023) is a dark brown and gold painting with black stripes dividing the painting space into irregular areas. White characters spell out part of the sutra’s writing; the contrast between the thin white lines of the characters and the muted darker tones painted behind them results in a startlingly vivid work of art. Most Westerners don’t know how to read Chinese; only a few may know a bit about the sutra itself. But the point is that the painting stands on its terms, suggesting an abstract stance to the Western (and, perhaps, also the Asian) viewer. Abstraction is key to Luo’s art, but so are the texts she quotes. The religious nature of the writing Luo uses intensifies the gravitas of her motive, although, to people who cannot read Chinese, the characters remain inherently obscure. Luo is taken with the Buddhist texts of her culture; they stabilize and substantiate the art–but only if you can read the text. If you cannot, then the characters become visual assertions, to be appreciated for their beauty related to form. The characters might then be considered small paintings, and the word “pictograph” in English describes Chinese writing. Luo comes from a brush culture, and so the facility of her hand was learned at a very young age. Is it possible to bridge old traditions with new ones? The question must seem a cliche to many. But the abstract elements in the archaic Chinese culture are genuine; they likely lead to a more refined sensibility, perhaps, but the persistence of the past even now remains true. Not all of us looking at contemporary art are looking for archaic impulses, but this has become one way of invigorating art too reliant on recent advances, which can get stuck in the present. Luo’s sensibility, evident in her two-dimensional works and also her innovative three-dimensional ones, looking for a place of restitution–a site in which the old and the new merge. Her attempts, quite successful, address a point of view in which historical time is not as important as the moment we presently carry. Still, Luo possesses a flair– the result of a visionary synthesis of time and place. This is why the art is so good.

https://www.tusslemagazine.com/loy-luo

Curator: Pursuing the Answer of the Tao in the Suspended State - Ning Zhang. November/2015. From Artron Loy Luo is a sensitive female artist who likes to put her thinking cap on. She is in herself an entity of contradictions and we may feel her inner struggles, her leaps in thinking and her entanglements. Her personality shows multiple contrary sides, and she feels herself being torn, which is amply showed her artworks. She likes to use acrylic because it has water character, which she considers Chinese; and to use oil paint because of its oily character, which is seen as Western. At the same time, she blends the two together through force. She says, "My ideal is to build a bridge between the West and the East. I have to do this or else I will feel bad, as I very much like Chinese culture and am infatuated with Western culture. So in a way, I feel obliged. Luo is a person who likes questioning, whether they are directed towards other people or at herself. She has been studying and thinking about philosophy and exploring the inner spiritual world. Her artwork is a pursuit of the Tao, a process of enlightenment. This can be seen in her paintings, Untitled Memories series and Suspending series, and in her series of sculptures entitled Poem. In her works, feelings and thinking are one and the same, while senses and rationality are unified. When she paints, she looks for inspiration through using the paints and changing layers and layers, until she finds an ideal images. In reality, she feels suspended, probably because she fell into a hole by accident when she went swimming in her childhood. She could neither rise up to the surface nor sink to the bottom, and had to see yellow water bubbles flowing by. That near-death experience is the origin of her thinking behind the suspended state of life. Her Suspending series is an experssion of suspended state of her life experiences, through dreamlike hues and exploratory strokes. It is meaningful to embark on an artistic pursuit of the Tao. Inspired artworks are powerful . Our spiritual growth is a process of studying , thinking, questioning and seeking the truth. Sometimes, Our effort is aimless, uncertain and suspended. I think we will find the right answer if we continuously investigate the truth with our own wisdom independently and ceaselessly. I like the dedication Luo has shown to art, and admire her spiritual thinking and expressions conveyed through her paintings. I think that her art creation is a process of self-discovery and self-reflection, as weill as a process of seeking the truth and answering her inner questions.

https://m-news.artron.net/20151121/n794900.html

Loy Luo’s Poetic Vision - Suzanne Russell November/2015 Several months ago, I traveled from Copenhagen to Beijing to look at contemporary Chinese art. I bought a cheap bicycle and started out to visit galleries and artists’ studios with my best friend, who is also an artist and curator. We saw a wide range of work, mostly expressive figurative paintings made by women artists. What surprised me the most was the passion with which the good, and not so good, artwork was made. I did not expect Chinese artists to be so intense and individualistic in their expression. The most interesting artist I visited was a fierce woman named Luo Yi. I visited her studio on my own, without my friend. Because we spoke together without a translator, I know very little about Luo Yi’s life. I learned that Luo Yi has a Master’s Degree from the Beijing Institute of Clothing Technology from the Department of Plastic Arts; she studied painting, sculpture, and art theory. I understood that Luo Yi has been making artwork fulltime for over ten years. But most what I know about Luo Yi, I know from experiencing her spacious studio in Black Bridge, watching her graciously prepare tea, and studying her powerful artwork. Luo Yi is a multi-talented artist, both a painter and a sculptor. She also boxes and plays the seven-stringed Guqin, a traditional Chinese instrument from the zither family. The fact that Luo Yi’s art studio has both a professional boxing bag and a delicate string-instrument reveals a lot about the sensitive artist who packs a hard punch with her artworks. As an American artist born in the 1960s, my first exposure to art was through abstract art. I have feasted my eyes on the works of all the greatest abstract expressionist painters from Jackson Pollock, to Mark Rothko, to Willem de Kooning. I have appreciated the sculptures of David Smith, Louise Bourgeois and Isamu Noguchi. My favorite artists growing up were Joan Mitchell, Helen Frankenthaler and Susan Rothenberg. Abstract Expressionism was my first love, a way of experiencing the world that fills me with nostalgia. But Luo Yi’s artwork is not old-fashioned or nostalgic. Before visiting Luo Yi’s studio, I often wondered if the possibilities of abstract expressionism had been exhausted. But standing in Luo Yi’s studio on the outskirts of Beijing, looking at her non-figurative paintings and sculptures with their highly emotional use of form and color, I could see that abstract expressionism is still a relevant way of communicating. Luo Yi’s artwork is original, engaging and very contemporary. Luo Yi most recent paintings appear to be monochromatic, or with a limited color pallet, but they are not. Using many different colors, Luo Yi carefully layers the oil paint to produce textures that reveal bits or blobs of earlier layers. The colors are harmonious, the changes in color are subtle, and the experience of looking at the paintings is uplifting. Most of Luo Yi’s paintings measure around 150 x 120 cm., a bit smaller than many of the original Abstract Expressionists’ paintings. Both the size of the paintings and the thickness of the paint make the paintings feel compact. Each painting takes great risks and, at the same time, reflects great restraint. Each painting requires careful looking and painting, lots of time, and many layers of paint. Each painting takes Luo Yi down an unfamiliar road to a place that she has never been before. I was not surprised to learn that Luo Yi listens to Mahler when she works. Each painting feels like a leap of faith. Luo Yi most recent sculptures are also reminiscent of Abstract Expressionism, but, again, reflect the artist’s intensely original vision. The nine sculptures, each named after a poem from the Book of Songs, are both graceful and powerful. They are abstract, organic forms that elegantly twist and turn to suggest a figure, or a limb, or a fist. They are all approximately the same size, 60 centimeters tall. Every viewpoint and angle has been considered and tweaked so that the eye dances around the different surfaces in seemingly endless patterns. Like the poems in the Book of Songs, the group of sculptures serves as a study in rhythm, using elements of repetition and variation. Luo Yi told me that when she starts to make an artwork, she sometimes feels like she is a prisoner in her own body and mind. As she works, she becomes less self-conscious and freer. By the time Luo Yi finishes an artwork, she is in perfect harmony with the universe and the artwork is the result of this artistic meditation. This is how I feel when I look at Luo Yi’s paintings and sculptures; their beauty moves me and I experience a deep feeling of well being and peace. What experience could be more valuable in the world today?

The Abstract Expressions of The Logic of Senses On Loy Luo’s Sculptures and Paintings -Li Xiangming Nov/2015   In the past two years, Loy Luo’s works have mushroomed. Regardless of the art forms or mediums chosen, her many works all clearly convey a sense of conflict and an unstable state of mind the artist is in. Her earlier works are more like conduits of emotions; but since 2014, in general, the artist’s works have become more pensive and steady, gradually indicating a clear trajectory of her art career. Behind the surface of forms lie the in-depth philosophical thoughts of this thinking woman artist. In especial, the new works in 2015 mark the artist’s opposing philosophical expressions based on the correlation between symbols and structures. Her works, particularly “Suspended” and “The Beginning”, consist of contrasting elements such as tangible vs intangible, long vs short, big vs small, point vs plane, bright vs grey and cold vs warm. These opposing elements are not used by the artist as technical logics in the treatment of paintings, rather she conveys her ceaseless probe by deliberately highlighting opposing relations. In one of her articles, she described herself thus: “For many years, I tried to observe myself as a bystander, and through pictures, forms and texts, constantly sought the answer to and examined the question of ‘Who am I?’, as if I had been deprived of my soul. This resulted in a valuable conclusion, i.e. the essence of art. She wrote with an air of self-confidence, “The greatest art practices in the world are about transcending the human soul and they all try to break free from the mundane secular world. The only difference is that beyond the transcendence, the ultimate goals vary. In fact, Luo’s art is a carrier of her life, a carrier of the transcendence of her soul. Simplistic and abstract, Luo’s works are not the rational representations of pure visual senses, nor are they a revolution of sheer visual forms. When we think about abstract works, the earlier geometric abstraction and Suprematism as represented by Malevich, Kandinsky and Mondrian easily spring to mind. The simple structures of forms denote only the integration of colors with dots, lines and surfaces. That said, the innovations in form and discovery of earlier modernism blazed a new trail in visual art and as such are of epic significance. Luo Yi’s art may be deemed to be a dance upon the shoulders of giants. Although the narrations of the colors are plain and unadorned, like Malevich’s colored squares, they don’t lead us to such insipid abstract concepts as economic principles. Instead, they present to us an emotional world characterized by femininity, a world that is tender and soft, still and pensive, lonely and helpless, or full of desires. The symbolism of colors and its relationship with structures reveal the indescribable spiritual entanglements at the bottom of her heart. The sentiments can be best defined by the following poetic lines: the beauty and fragrance of plum blossom can only be felt by the hermit living by the West Lake. Luo Yi is a talented woman artist skilled in music, poem, calligraphy and painting. The way she named the artworks has instilled ample room for imagination surpassing rational and stylistic abstractions. Using the rich literary connotations of the titles, she has expanded the depth of her works. The sculptural works in 2014 were named after titles in the Book of Songs, including Worn With Grief, Climbing the Hill with Trees, Dew on the Path, Gathering Duckweed, etc. Those works are characterized by powerful styles and have an exuberant air of dignity, grace and beauty. Luo’s sculptures, like those of Henry Moore’s, are abstractions of female bodies and touched with gentleness and subtlety. At the same time, her works have the chaos, splendor, dignity and plainness typically found in oriental cave arts. In terms of style, overall, her works seem to be springing up from a solid foundation, and are therefore imbued with tenacity and admirable willpower. The complementing use of fluid and vertical lines, and the changes in gravity and texture, have enhanced the richness and charms of her artworks, rendering them brilliant and rare as far as contemporary sculptures are concerned. Deleuze argued that the logic of senses was the primitive unity of body without organs. I think that the “body without organs” is used to understand the senses of man, beyond the functions of a single organ. Human senses are the collaborative effort of multiple organs. When applied to art, senses are an alternative to pure visual art. That is what Luo Yi’s art is like. Her abstractions of the cognitive world are images converted into symbols from life experiences, sentiments and knowledge. She is one of the few woman artists who use abstract geometric forms to speak for themselves. Her independence and self-confidence propel her to strive and explore without cease. She has reached a height of her own and opened a window to her own abstract art world. I am confident that her future will shine even brighter.   Written at Bei Shang Ju

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Loy Luo: After Four Years Away – A New Way for a Chinese Artist to View the World Dec/2023 After four years, Loy Luo has returned with an artistic vision that has become more transparent and open. From purely metaphysical and philosophical abstraction to brighter colors infused with Eastern brushstrokes, Luo’s works seem to have shifted from cosmic vastness back to a dialogue with the human world. As an artist, her personal experiences over these past four years have resonated profoundly with this era of rapid change. From being confined in New York at the beginning of the pandemic, to resuming her artistic creation with composure, to gradually finding ease in a new artistic ecosystem and finally returning after the pandemic to reunite with friends in Beijing, Luo has brought back a surprise. The internet, however developed, cannot replace the authentic texture of art. For four years, Luo never stopped sharing her new works online. Her friends in Beijing could see images of her continuous exploration of abstraction across the ocean, but they could not fully sense the subtle changes on the canvas itself. Only when her works before and after those four years were exhibited together at Beijing 798 did the transformation—her brushstrokes newly imbued with an Eastern sensibility and her canvases marked by genuine change—become undeniably clear. The most immediate shift has been in color. Before 2020, Luo’s art was solitary, immersed in pure metaphysical thought. In painting and sculpture, her style focused on abstraction in black, white, lines, and points, expressing life, humanity, and a chaotic cosmos. This made her art accessible to only a few. Looking back at these earlier works, Luo herself was surprised by their heaviness and loneliness. Now, perhaps due to age or a new artistic environment, her works have become lighter, more transparent, and filled with joy. The colors evoke fleeting glimpses of daily life—a patch of green grass, a flower at the corner of the eye, or the lively vitality of spring. Her paintings now carry human warmth and emotional diversity. Beyond color, the deeper transformation lies in her subconscious search for identity as an artist abroad. In her Beijing studio years ago, Luo tried every method she could grasp—painting, sculpture, splashing, pouring—without considering identity or culture. But in New York, after the intensity and exhaustion of several solo exhibitions, she began to feel the loneliness of being far from home. To ease this solitude, she turned to calligraphy—a cultural symbol deeply rooted in every Chinese person, but for her also a personal inheritance. Her father, a calligrapher, introduced her to writing at a young age. His passing was the direct reason for her journey abroad, and calligraphy became her way of channeling grief. Copying the Book of Songs and Songs of Chu, she created calligraphic installations and integrated calligraphic lines into abstract painting. This became her new way of “viewing the world” as a Chinese artist in New York. On December 9, 2023, Luo’s latest solo exhibition Caveman opened at Shengzhi Space in Beijing, curated by Wang Chunchen. The exhibition juxtaposed works created in Beijing four years ago with those recently completed in New York. Wang Chunchen on Luo “When people change environments, their mindset changes too, and this shift is reflected on the canvas. Luo’s works from Beijing were heavy, layered, and conveyed a world of weight and struggle. They revealed her solid foundation and determination to be true to herself. But after moving to New York, her inner world was released. The small paintings she has now brought back to Beijing are far more transparent.” Wang emphasized that Luo is an artist eager to communicate. Fluent in English, she actively integrated into New York’s art circles, befriending artists from all over the world. Today, she has her own 100-square-meter studio in Manhattan’s Chinatown—a place for creation, work, and exhibitions, where she has also curated shows for other artists. With international travel now open again, her work reflects the influence of diverse cultural backgrounds, offering her unexpected artistic and life experiences. Loy Luo in Her Own Words “If I hadn’t left and returned, I wouldn’t see myself clearly. Comparing my works then and now, even I was struck by the difference: how could I have lived with such heaviness before? My earlier Beijing works feel like relics of that stage, expressions of my past state of being. Perhaps it was loneliness. Life’s hardships are the same everywhere, but in New York I found more kindred spirits—not superficially, but people who recognized my art deeply. Their eyes lit up, they stood before my works for a long time, and many decisively collected them. My earlier works reflected cultural negotiation—placing Chinese culture between East and West, seeking international breakthroughs in abstraction and philosophy. But in the U.S., Chinese culture emerged from within, as part of my own being. In moments of homesickness, calligraphy naturally came to me. More than a national tradition, calligraphy carries the intimate memory of my father. In a snowy, isolated winter in upstate New York, I copied the entire Book of Songs and Songs of Chu with tears in my eyes. It was an act of emotional release and forgiveness toward myself. This reflection on cultural identity also led me to create the Window Variations series, which I worked on for an entire year. I believe everyone views the world through some kind of frame—it is in our genes. The day before I returned to China, I closed my New York exhibition Palimpsest. For me, each exhibition is itself a conceptual artwork. This show combined calligraphic elements with live guqin performance. From the audience’s response, I could see how they were thrilled by the natural collision of cultural differences. This time, I brought works from my Abstract Theater series. Though my intention was non-narrative abstraction, viewers often interpreted stories, scenes, or meanings in the works—so I named it Abstract Theater. I believe good art has inclusiveness, empathy, and tension strong enough to create resonance for many.”

After four years, Loy Luo’s art shifted from heavy philosophical abstraction to lighter, brighter colors with Eastern brushwork. In New York, solitude led her to reflect on identity and turn to calligraphy. Her recent works open a more transparent dialogue between East and West, marked by freedom, inclusiveness, and resonance.

https://k.sina.com.cn/article_1305651531_4dd2a94b0010156t0.html

Hong Mei: Loy Luo, Who Works in Reverse — and That’s Wonderful (Speech transcript, October 28, 2019) As Mr. Rong Jian observed, Professor Hong Mei, though anti-academic in attitude, possesses the strength of rigorous academic training. Her twenty-minute, contemplative and measured talk left the entire audience spellbound—an improvised yet deeply insightful commentary that led to an unusually passionate discussion between critic and artist. I personally feel that Professor Shuai Hao’s comments and Loy Luo’s paintings share an essential similarity of spirit. I have four interrelated points to discuss briefly. At first glance, Luo’s work belongs to the general category of abstract art. Yet the individuality of her work, to me, is not visual but intellectual. It lacks the shock effect typical of much contemporary art; instead, it points toward the spiritual. The question I wish to explore is: how does this unique intellectual depth manifest in her work? This brings us to the fundamental nature of abstraction, as Mr. Jia mentioned earlier. We know that abstract art is not about the appearance of the world but about the thought and spirituality of the subject—each artist’s unique presentation of how they perceive the spiritual dimension of existence. Because it differs from person to person, it carries a special charm: it invites dialogue between distinct individuals. Why is abstract art so captivating? Its essence lies not in technique but in the depth and uniqueness of the artist’s thought—and, second, in the spontaneous revelation of genius. These two aspects determine how far an abstract artist can go. From this perspective, Luo’s work stands out for its restraint and discipline. This manifests through her minimal symbols, concise visual language, and the pervasive sense of grey tonality. Why did she choose such a set of visual “codes”? Because these codes reveal her spiritual essence. What moves me most in her work is the sense of time. Painting has traditionally been considered a non-temporal art—an idea discussed since the mid-19th century and echoed by many philosophers and aestheticians. Luo, however, breaks this rule. Time seems to dwell in her paintings; one can feel duration, stillness, and the condensation of temporal experience. Mr. Rong Jian’s opening remark—“Her work makes me instantly quiet”—touched me deeply. This too is an expression of temporality in her art. I would call it contemplation. Her works are not meant to be merely seen; they invite contemplation. They offer a space for reflection, a pause in which we may rediscover how to think. I feel that contemplation is precisely what contemporary Chinese society lacks. We are too preoccupied with the visible, the tangible, the urgent. We keep saying, “When I retire… when work is done… when the child grows up…”—and then, life ends before we ever begin to think. This, I believe, reflects a widespread national condition: we have forgotten that high-quality spiritual life is built on contemplation. It is contemplation that makes philosophy the highest form of thought, followed by religion and art. Yet today, humanity is increasingly obsessed with science and technology. We see headlines about superintelligent AI systems surpassing human cognition, while the space left for humanity itself is shrinking—to the humanities alone. This sense of time and contemplation leads to a third quality in Luo’s work: indeterminacy. I especially love this. My recent research in philosophy and intellectual history has entered the study of emotion—what I see as the primordial source of the universe and the driving force of human history. I used to be a materialist, then an idealist, later a thinker of the subconscious and dream-consciousness; now, I have turned toward an emotional ontology. From this perspective, history is emotional and contingent; emotion is the essence of humanity and the source of the world. This is why I find the uncertainty in Luo’s work so moving. It feels deeply sincere. Her limited symbols, the subtle lights emerging and vanishing from grey tonalities, the ephemeral transitions—all resist fixity. In my view, this reflects the very authenticity of existence itself—the emotional truth of each passing moment. Finally, her work possesses anti-visual and anti-image qualities. Contemporary art, especially conceptual art, often aims to shock or astonish. In a world dominated by technology, we see through machines rather than through the human eye or the inner eye. We live in an image world—high-resolution, pixel-perfect, with clear boundaries. Luo’s art is the opposite: ambiguous, anti-spectacular, anti-visual. She offers no visual gratification, nothing to “look at”—and yet, you must look. So what can you do? You contemplate. That is what makes her unique. To resist the visual temptations of our time and remain lucid is no small feat. As Mr. Jia said, “She’s just like that—she loves to go against the grain.” And that’s wonderful.

https://amma.artron.net/observation_shownews.php?newid=1120563

“Suspending” as the “Advanced Grey” — Tracking Loy Luo’s First Painting and Sculpture Exhibition Published: November 28, 2015 On November 21, 2015, at 3 p.m., Suspending – Loy Luo Painting and Sculpture Exhibition opened at Ning Space in Beijing’s 798 Art District. This was Luo’s first solo exhibition, running until December 20, 2015. The show attracted attention from collectors and art professionals both in China and abroad. As the editor, I have known Luo for many years. The last time we met was four years ago. Her temperament has always been both rational and poetic, but this time I sensed a new change—an added “aura.” It was like the luminous halo in Christian art, radiating from years of reading and reflection. Indeed, thought changes one’s essence. Luo often emphasizes that her surname “Luo (羅)” is written in traditional form. “Luo,” she explains, means multidimensional, abundant, while “Yi (一)” signifies the origin, the simplicity—“Tao gives birth to the One, and the One gives birth to the myriad things.” “Luo” also means “to weave, to encompass.” Perhaps only when one opens all dimensions of the self can one become “complete”; otherwise, one remains “thin.” This idea is mirrored in her art, which traverses East and West freely—between Western dualism and Eastern notions of “chaotic harmony.” As Luo says, “My ideal is to bridge East and West. I must do so, otherwise I feel uneasy. I love Chinese culture deeply, but I’m also fascinated by Western culture—so I feel responsible for both.” To appreciate Luo’s paintings, one doesn’t need much explanation. Within them are the cosmos, the origins of the universe, and reflections on ultimate questions. Each brushstroke and color seems to achieve a perfect state of balance—neither excessive nor lacking. The viewer feels drawn into a visual illusion of galactic rotation—dizzying yet orderly. Her brushwork can be emotional, even exuberant, yet the entire composition remains rationally cohesive. Here, emotion may be reason pushed to its limit—and reason at its most refined becomes the freest, most fluid emotion. Luo is naturally contemplative—perhaps owing to her AB blood type and Gemini sign. She says there is a “burning fire” in her bones, one she calls “toxic.” It causes pain, but artmaking brings her calm; creation becomes her way of cleansing the poison. This process is an indescribable kind of happiness. One might ask, does such a thoughtful artist appear overly rational in her work? Not at all. While Luo’s paintings may initially recall Western abstraction masters, they differ from the “cold abstraction” of the West. Her art contains a deeply human dimension—the very element that moves us. Through the human, reason rises toward the ideal, toward divinity; reason thus transcends itself. Luo’s intellectual reach spans philosophy and aesthetics. She has studied Plato, Heidegger, Nietzsche, and Deleuze extensively, reading works such as Gombrich’s The Story of Art, Deleuze’s Logic of Sensation, and Ye Lang’s Outline of Chinese Aesthetics more than ten times each. Yet this passion for philosophy does not restrain her creativity—it liberates it. As she puts it, “When reason reaches its extreme, emotion rebounds explosively.” Such emotion is higher, and accompanies higher reason like a shadow. In her work, reason and emotion have merged into one. Reason alone is narrow; only when united with emotion can it solve higher problems. Perhaps there is no true separation between the two. Applied to creation, this yields a state of openness—a “grey” middle ground, like the yin-yang symbol where black and white spin in dynamic motion. The aesthetic experience is thus fluid, mysterious, and profoundly alive. Loy Luo was born in Jiangxi, China in 1972, and graduated from the Sculpture Department of Beijing Institute of Fashion Technology. During her graduate studies, she conducted in-depth research in philosophy and aesthetics. Her master’s thesis On the Tao Nature of Sculpture was widely acclaimed. Since then, she has pursued an endless inquiry into “Dao” and “spiritual nature.” Over ten years of persistent practice, her art has become a process of enlightenment—an artistic path toward the Tao. For Luo, her exploration of life’s multiplicity resonates with Heidegger’s notion of “being-toward-death” as infinite possibility, and with the restless striving of Faust and Don Quixote. Her works are deeply poetic—she might have been a poet by nature. In her sculpture series Poem, each piece is named after a poem from The Book of Songs (Shi Jing), including Cai Ping, Xing Lu, Yu Yi, Tuo Xi, Zhi Hu, Su Guan, Juan A, Zhen Lu, and Pan Shui. Standing before these nine sculptures, one recalls Brancusi, Boccioni, and Henry Moore—yet they remain distinctly her own. Each “poem,” regardless of theme or sentiment, carries a strong inner vitality and noble tone—a harmony of strength and grace. Luo explains that her original concept was to depict the inescapable spiritual bondage of humankind—“born slaves” by destiny—through the imagery of intertwined branches, stones, and human forms, as if to build a prison city. After six years of exploration, however, her heart grew peaceful; the work transformed into a vision of release—dust returning to dust, earth to earth. Three years ago, seeking new language and spiritual nourishment, Luo undertook field studies across China, visiting key sites in the history of Chinese sculpture: the Beilin Museum in Xi’an, the four great grottoes, and numerous major museums. There she personally witnessed the grandeur and subtlety of ancient Chinese sculpture, confirming her belief—first articulated in her thesis on the world history of sculpture—that the greatest sculptures all reveal the manifestation of the Dao. This body of work once again verifies the redemptive power of art. Artistic creation transforms the sharp bitterness of personal fate into transcendence, merging the individual’s emotional destiny into cosmic contemplation. Luo believes that after suffering crystallizes, poetry arises—and the Book of Songs is precisely the poetry of slaves, yet also the poetry of innocence. Looking at Luo’s paintings and sculptures as a whole, beneath the abstraction and poetry lies a deeply philosophical mind. As she once wrote of herself: “For years, I have tried to stand beside myself—to search, to experience. Within images, forms, and words, my heart often feels like that lost soul shouting: ‘Who am I? Who is me?’” Her own answer: “Emptiness wanders within emptiness; multiplicity dissolves within multiplicity.” This poetic state is also a pictorial state, and ultimately a cosmic one. East and West, philosophy and religion, body and spirit, emptiness and multiplicity, being and disappearance—all move like the ancient yin-yang symbol: rotating, colliding, interpenetrating, separating again. When art enters this field, life becomes ineffably vast, wondrous—and worthy. Artist Biography Loy Luo is a professional painter and sculptor based in Beijing. Her works have been exhibited in the Beijing Asia Art Expo, the Sino-French Art Exchange Exhibition in Fontenay, France, the “Zen” Painting Exhibition at Beijing National Essence Garden, the New Year Invitational at Germany’s Kubo Gallery, and the Images three-person show at West–East Gallery in Sweden. Her works are held in private and institutional collections both in China and abroad.

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羅一｜纽约，2020，“无家可归”纪艺术中文 2021-01-21 16:30 孤独的人观看孤独的人 Lonely people watch lonely people “人们冒着冬夜之雨，甚至不夸张地说冒着生命危险前来观摩，孤独的人观看孤独的人，游吟者在游吟者画像前纵声歌舞。”12月初，在纽约暗流画廊并不“豪华”的展厅里，羅一个展“无家可归”系列画作被放置在地板上，仿佛天桥下那些随意躺卧在路边的流浪者，静等着观众的到来。 "People braved the winter rain and literally risked their lives to come, lonely people watched lonely people, a troubadour sang and danced in front of paintings of troubadours.”At the beginning of December 2020, in the not-so-luxurious room of Undercurrent Gallery in New York, Loy Luo's "homeless" series of paintings were laid out on the floor, like homeless people lying on the roadside under an overpass, waiting for the audience to arrive. 暗流画廊前廊 Undercurrent Gallery Front porch 2020年1月，一个赴美旅行转换心情的临时决定成为羅一一段特殊经历的开始。从纽约肯尼迪机场下飞机后，羅一租了一辆汽车，驶向东岸几座城市，开启了参观画廊、博物馆的旅程。原本她打算一路游到西海岸，但随之传来国内疫情的消息，使她以一叶知秋之心境预见世界之大不安，于是逃到到纽约以北的山区，寄居在美国家庭的House里惶恐忧惧半月有余。 In January 2020, Loy Luo made a decision to temporarily travel to the United States, seeking a change of scenery. This was the beginning of a unique experience for the artist. After landing at New York's Kennedy Airport, she rented a car and drove to several cities on the east coast, where she began her avid tour of galleries and museums. Originally, Loy planned to drive all the way to the west coast, but then came the news of the pandemic. Foreseeing the coming of an increasingly anxious world, she escaped to the mountains not far north of New York City, where she “sheltered” in the homes of several American families for a couple of weeks, feeling terrified. 开幕现场，戴口罩的羅一 Loy Luo wearing a mask at the opening 2月下旬，尽管恐惧，羅一还是带着对艺术交流的渴望回到纽约城。各种尝试和思索后，她开始实施百人肖像行为计划，即在疫情恐慌的纽约街头给各种戴面具和不戴面具的人画素描肖像。7月15日，名为《另一个我》的百人肖像行为展在纽约白盒子艺术中心开幕，展期延续了两个月。在这期间，羅一开始了《无家可归》展的筹备与创作。 In late February, in spite of her worries, Loy Luo returned to New York City with a desire for artistic exchange. After a lot of trial and thought, she embarked on the 100 Portraits Project, a project to sketch people who wore or didn’t wear a mask on the streets of New York in the midst of the coronavirus outbreak. On July 15, "The Other I," a performance exhibition of 100 portraits, opened at the White Box Art Center in New York for two months. During this period, Loy Luo started the preparation and creation of her next project - an expression of the concept of “homeless”. 《无家可归》展览现场 "Homeless" exhibition 羅一开始无家可归系列绘画的创作同时以疫情中无家可归者身份实施无家可归之行为，进行到第四个月时，纽约暗流画廊的合伙人通过了《无家可归》的个展方案，并列入画廊12月展览计划。暗流画廊的撰稿人阿德里亚娜·弗隆认为，随着纽约这座城市所进行的无情的变革，它的居民在脆弱的微散居住状态中疲于生存。那些居住在公共空间和私人空间裂隙中的人，表现出了一种不确定性，往好了说，这种不确定性是对“共同选择”的挑战，往坏了说，是政治失败的证明。但羅一从个人经验的角度认为，艺术家是天生的流浪者，他们也有各种心理问题，他们对自己所处时代的问题比普通人更敏感。 Luo began creating a series of homeless paintings while illegally living in her studio as a homeless person during the time of COVID-19. In the fourth month, the partners of New York's Undercurrent Gallery approved the solo exhibition plan of "Homeless" and included it in the gallery's exhibition plan for December 2020.Undercurrent Gallery contributor Adriana Furlong wrote:As the city performs relentless alterations, its inhabitants strain to survive inside fragile micro-diasporas. Those who inhabit the chasm between public and private space embody an indeterminacy that, at best, defies co-option and, at worst, is testament to political failure. However, Luo believes from the perspective of personal experience that artists are born wanderers with their own psychological struggles, and because of that are more sensitive to the problems of their time than ordinary people. 在《无家可归》者中纵情歌舞的“游吟”歌手 A "minstrel" singer who sings and dances in The Homeless 显然，在“无家可归”作品中，“无脸”特征吻合了大时代下身份缺失带来的迷惑感受，也双关着失去尊严的隐喻。但当羅一“目睹’卡西莫多(Quasimodo)’驼背的身体散发出雕塑般的庄严、‘游吟诗人（Troubadour）’孤立于历史废墟上的身影令人唏嘘时，这些世俗社会定义的无用者的存在让我关联到提倡无用之用的中国古典哲学。”是的，这些“无家可归”者作品中的那种支离混沌感并不体现绝望的孤独，而是羅一式孤独：带着一点坚韧的孤独，还带着一点面对这个动荡不安的世界时，永远保持乐观的也许微弱却温暖的孤独。 Obviously, Loy Luo's faceless figures suggest a loss of both identity and dignity in the modern world, but when the artist saw a kind of sculptural majesty in “Quasimodo”’s hunchbacked body, and the 'Troubadour' standing lonely among the ruins of history, Loy was reminded of the meaningfulness of those whose existence is labeled as otiosity, which is discussed in classical Chinese philosophy. The intention of the works is not so much to emphasize the despair of those who are homeless. Instead it is loneliness tempered with a bit of resilience; not overly strong, perhaps, but somehow always warm and optimistic in the face of this turbulent world. 羅一在纽约街头 Loy Luo is on the streets of New York 艺术背面：死亡、存在、表达 The back of the art: death, existence, expression 在异国亲历疫情让羅一对死亡和存在有了与以往不同的认知。通过对疫情期间人性的观察她感受到，真的直逼死境容易使人突然间精神溃散、执迷肉身。她因此获得对将死之人最后的心理挣扎、阴暗、扭曲等的理解及对生命脆弱的同情。也因此更坚定认知，无论任何借口，对战争和暴力的怂恿推崇都是人类最大的恶行，是逼人为兽罪的恶行。 Living through a pandemic in a foreign country has given Luo a different perspective on death and existence. Through observing human nature during this hard time, she felt that a person's spirit could suddenly break down and become obsessed with the body. She gained an understanding of the last psychological struggles, shadows, distortions of the dying, and a a sympathy for the fragility of life. It also makes us more determined to recognize that all the promotion of war and violence is man’s greatest evil - an evil that leads human beings to lose the connection to their spiritual selves and instead act like animals. 羅一在展厅 Loy Luo is in the exhibition hall 新的认知也可以用来解释她在不同阶段创作面貌的改变，羅一说，由于担忧灾难中个体性被群体埋没，所以她以极大热情启动了初衷为珍视个体性的百人肖像计划。在最初的恐怖氛围里她并没有意识到把表象细节的特殊性等同于个体性有什么问题，反而是怀着真诚的对生命的敬畏之心极力刻画每一张独一无二的面孔；也许是特定时节某种强迫症般的精神执拗以及过度认真，使羅一那个阶段的肖像素描形成了另一种精神气场，一种类似于肉身在场感带来的朴素的感动。 The new cognition can also be used to explain the change of her creative appearance in different stages. Loy Luo said she started the "100 People Portrait Project" with great enthusiasm because she feared that individuality would be lost to the community during the disaster. In the initial atmosphere of horror, she did not realize that there is a problem with equating a person’s individuality only with their appearance. However, she tried to depict each unique face with a sincere reverence for life. Perhaps it was her obsessive-compulsive stubbornness and excessive earnestness which also formed another kind of spiritual characteristic, a kind of simple emotion similar to the presence of the body. 《另一个我》个展肖像作品 "The Other I" solo exhibition portrait works 羅一猜测，人对精神的感知和对死亡的恐惧密切相关，越恐惧越容易沦陷于表象世界，而越安全，反而越发亲近更纯粹之精神，这时表象真实反而不那么重要。她说，当突如其来的生死威胁就在眼前时，人可能会依赖对表象肉身的执着来转移驱散内心惊恐；而当威胁减弱或适应恐怖后，才有能力去体验真实自己的真实情绪，并试图表达；又只能在感受到更大的安全后，才再次复苏对生命恒常面对的价值问题的思考，这时候艺术表达开始趋向冷静、抽象、或真正的深刻。 Luo conjectured that people's perception of the spirit is closely related to the fear of death. The more afraid people are, the more likely they are to fall into the world of appearances. The safer they are, the closer they are to the purer spirit, the reality of appearances is not so important. She said that when the sudden threat of life and death is at hand, people may rely on the attachment to the physical appearance to divert and disperse the inner fear; And when the threat is reduced or people have adapted to the terror, they are able to experience their true emotions and try to express them. Only when they feel more secure can they revive their thinking on the value problems that life always faces. At this time, artistic expression begins to become calm, abstract, or really profound. 《另一个我》展的大幅素描 A large sketch in the "The Other I" exhibition 艺术家在布鲁克林DUMBO艺术区工作室 The artist works at her studio in Dumbo, Brooklyn 不是画展的画展 A painting exhibition that is not a painting exhibition 2020年的经历境遇，导致了羅一创作理念、状态和形式的改变。我们可以看到，她来纽约后连续举办的三个个展(其中一个是在线展)都不像以前那样是抽象艺术。然而，羅一强调她的新作品并不是被很多人理解的具象艺术，甚至也不是具象表现主义，她认为画廊展出的铅笔肖像和以无家可归者形象为主题的绘画其实是借壳绘画的观念甚至行为，这些画是一个完整系统中的元素或装置。 The experience in 2020 has led to the change of Loy Luo's creative concept, state and form. We can see that the three consecutive solo exhibitions she held after coming to New York (one of which is an online exhibition) are not abstract art as she did before. However, Luo stressed that her new works are not just pieces of Figural art that may be understood by many people, it is not even representational expressionism. She says, the pencil portraits and homeless-image-themed paintings, in the exhibition, are outside forms, behind which are some concept or performance art. These paintings are elements of a complete system. 她提醒人们注意她在《另一个我》展览中通过视频装置作品记录的一个疫情街头的行为，以及同时展出的报纸现成品的时效提醒等。她透露《无家可归》展背后是一个持续了半年之久的无家可归的拟真生活状态，与此同时，展览中的细节也反映出一种意图，即把绘画本身装置化，或身体化。 In “The Other I” show, she reminded us to pay attention to the video installation works which recorded a performance on the street in the outbreak as well as the newspaper ready-made works displayed in the show which remind us of the close connection between the works and the temporal context. She disclosed that behind the "Homeless" exhibition was the simulated life situation of her own illegal homelessness that had been going on already for half a year. At the same time, the details, in the exhibition, also reflect the intention that treats the paintings themselves as ready-mades, maybe bodies glimpsed in passing. 《另一个我》个展的视频装置 Video installation for the solo exhibition “The Other I” 看展姿势：表现主义、大写意、符号学 Exhibition postures: expressionism, freehand style, semiotics 羅一说此次展览最大的收获是她与来访的纽约艺术家们的交流。让羅一欣慰的是，她看到参观者们欣赏作品时的专注、严肃和作品间呼应出的和谐调性。除了Dumbo 艺术区的艺术家邻居来参加开幕式，Sergey Kir 等艺术家朋友说是看到媒体展讯专程赶来，他们分享给羅一那些她并不知情的媒体讯息。陆续前来观展的参观者们热情分享其观展感受：James Howard Collins，Markus.Nikol’a Mironovic认为画面情绪饱满，Vytenis Jankunas、John Ensor Parker说画面构思充满寓意；Mark Crawford, John Mazlish说这些画面让人联想到戈雅、蒙克；Paul Chepolis谈到画面抽象具象元素的衔接巧妙；Michael Ser, Philip Rothenberg欣赏不同材料间的冲突和谐；Queenie Wang问艺术家是否有中国泼墨大写意的背景经历，等等。 Loy Luo said the biggest gain of the exhibition was her communication with visiting artists from New York. To Luo's delight, she saw the attention, seriousness, which is harmony with the atmosphere of the show. In addition to the artist neighbors from Dumbo Art District who attended the opening ceremony, Sergey Kir and other visitors said that they came to the show because they saw some art media posts, and they shared with Loy Luo some media information that she did not know. Artists also shared their feeling about Loy’s art: James Howard Collins, Markus, Nikol 'a Mironovic thought the paintings full of emotion; Vytenis Jankunas, John Ensor Parker said the images were full of meaning; Mark Crawford, John Mazlish said the images were reminiscent of Goya and Munch; Paul Chepolis talked about the ingenious convergence of abstract and representational elements in the picture; Michael Ser, Philip Rothenberg appreciates the conflict and harmony between different materials; Queenie Wang asked if the artist had a background in Chinese splash-ink brushwork, etc. 《无家可归》作品局部细节 partial details of the works from “Homeless” 参观者对展览方式很敏感，觉得把放在地板上的画很吻合“无家可归”的主题; 还有画下的木块，用毛笔在地上写下的画名，以及其他不引人注目但随处可见的中国书法元素等，它们被观者识别和提及为具有特殊意义的符号。似乎有意识地使用符号学的解读方法在纽约艺术界很普遍。例如，“红墙”左边的黑色弯曲条被Steve West看作是一根巨大的拐杖，以至于角落里的流浪汉够不到它。又如《青铜睡佛》中的模糊蓝色身影被Scott Endsley解读为一个保护者，尽管这种解读可能与艺术家的原意恰好相悖。 Visitors were sensitive to the style of the exhibition and felt that resting the paintings essentially on the floor was appropriate to the theme of "homeless"; There are also the wooden blocks under the paintings, the names of the paintings written on the ground with a ink brush, and other unobtrusive but ubiquitous Chinese calligraphy elements, which were identified and mentioned by the viewers as symbols with special meanings. It seems that the conscious use of semiotic methods of interpretation is common in New York art circles. For example, the black curving strip on the left of "Red Wall" was seen by Steve West as a crutch so large that the homeless man in the corner could not reach it. Or the fuzzy blue figure in "The Bronze Sleeping Buddha " is read by Scott Endsley as a protector, even though this interpretation may be contrary to the artist’s original intention. 《无家可归》展放置地面的作品 works of ”Homeless" on the floor 羅一说，每当她路过墙壁有涂鸦印记的街角，看到那张摆放地面的展览海报时，就想起阿德里亚娜展览前言里的开篇：一个生命在我们居住的建筑几何图形上留下印记，要多久，要到什么程度，才能给我们留下温暖的躯体的印象? Whenever she passed the street corner near the gallery with a graffiti on the wall and the poster of the exhibition below it on the ground, Loy was reminded of Adriana’s opening line of the exhibition preface: “How long, and to what degree, must a being imprint itself upon the geometries of our lived architecture before imparting suggestions of a warm body?”. 她说，在当代艺术的语境中，要捕捉到源于艺术家个人生活经验，同时又与外部世界产生共鸣的能指，需要艺术家对自己诚实，同时对时事敏感。在她看来，“面具”和“无家可归”是当下意义层次丰富的能指。 She says that in the context of contemporary art, to capture the signifier which originated from the individual life experience of the artist but also resonates with the external world requires the artist to be honest with him- or herself and sensitive to the time. "Mask" and "homeless" are the signifiers with rich levels of meaning in the current time, in her eyes. 春天有多远 How far is spring “昔我往矣杨柳依依”，虽说羅一刚去美国的一月还谈不上杨柳依依，总还算天下太平。可到2020年7月签证到期，绵延近五月的疫情却正值高峰，无法回国的羅一只好将签证延期半年，但当她打算在《无家可归》展结束后回国时，新一波的疫情却使她提前3个月订购的航班被取消了。一月的纽约似乎离春天还很遥远，只不过羅一的收获还是令人颇感暖意。 Some lines from The Book of Songs, a collection of classical Chinese poems, say, “When I left there were budding willows by the road; when I returned, rain and snow”. Although in January when Loy Luo left China, it was far from willow to bud, the world was still peaceful. But when her visa expired here in July 2020, the pandemic was at its peak after nearly five months from its start in the U.S., so she could not go back to China and had to extend her visa for six months. And then, although she had planned to return after the Homeless exhibition, she discovered the flight she had booked three months in advance was cancelled because of the renewed pandemic. Spring seems far away in New York in January, but Loy's harvest is still very warm. 在画廊和艺术家均无期待的情况下，《无家可归》展惊喜地获得了诸如：Artforum, Artcard.cc, Artindumbo, allevent.in, larryqualls.blogspot.com, twocoatsofpaint.com, expoartist.org, inoox.com等美国专业艺术媒体的展讯推送，以及不少艺术自媒体的转发。而中国艺术评论家夏可君和艺术家董鹤、李振中则在苇草智酷段永朝先生的组织下和羅一进行了线上艺术交流活动。 Both Luo and the gallery owners were happily surprised by the art media’s coverage of the “homeless" exhibition opening: Artforum, Artcard. Cc, Artindumbo, allevent. In, larryqualls.blogspot.com, twocoatsofpaint.com, expoartist.org, inoox.com, etc., as well as pushed forward by some social media. Chinese art critic Xia Kejun and artists Dong He and Li Zhenzhong - hosted by Duan Yongchao - had an online art exchange with Loy Luo under the organization of the Chinese NGO CoolReeds. 令人鼓舞的是，大约在“无家可归”展开幕的同时，暗流画廊向感兴趣的艺术家发出了申请未来展览的通知，最终收到了近70份申请。值得指出的是，美国的非营利画廊为他们认为优秀的艺术家提供展览——不一定,是众所周知的或受欢迎的——而且画廊的日常导览工作由志愿者担任, 人们相信这种非盈利制度可以更好地维护艺术的纯洁。 It is very encouraging to note that Undercurrent had sent out a general notice for interested artists to apply for future shows there around the same time as Homeless opened and ended up receiving almost 70 returns. It could be noted that non-profit galleries in the United States offer exhibitions to artists they believe are excellent - not necessarily because they are well-known or popular - and also that the daily tours of the galleries are conducted by volunteers, which people believe can better maintain the purity of art. 尽管整个纽约城都因疫情处于大萧条中，画廊还是在展览初期就收到艺术赞助人Christopher Pelham先生的热心捐赠，临近展览结束，画廊陆续收到作品收藏意向。撤展当天，纽约上州一位艺术资助人开车到画廊，将羅一的作品及行李接到为其提供的工作室。 Although New York City is certainly suffering under the effects of the pandemic, the gallery received a generous donation from art patron Christopher Pelham at the beginning of the exhibition, and continued to receive requests of pieces from the show for collections up to the end of the exhibition. On the day of the show's departure, a patron friend from upstate New York drove to the gallery to help take Ms. Luo's work and luggage to a new studio temporarily provided for her to embark on the next phase of her creativity. 羅一作品 Loy Luo’s works The Son of the God, Mixed-Media, 36” *48”, 2020 《圣子》91*122 cm 综合材料 2020年 Red Wall, Mixed-Media, 36” *48”, 2020 《红墙》91*122 cm 综合材料 2020年 Dumbledore, Mixed-Media, 36” *48”, 2020 《邓布利多》91*122 cm 综合材料 2020年 Quasimodo,Mixed-Media, 36” *48”, 2020 《卡西莫多》91*122 cm 综合材料 2020年《阴影区域》91*122 cm 综合材料 2020年 The Shaded Area, Mixed-Media, 36” *48”, 2020 Troubadour, Mixed-Media, 36” *48”, 2020 《游吟诗人》91*122 cm 综合材料 2020年 The City Mountain, Mixed-Media, 36” *48”, 2020 《城市山》91*122 cm 综合材料 2020年

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“Minimalism Is Not Abstraction, Nor Is It Aloof”
（Artron Art Network, 2016）。

Originally published on Artron Art Network in 2016, and later reprinted by several academic and art media platforms.

Following the essay “From the Convergence of Philosophy and Art History: The Historical Origins and Inner Logic of Abstract Art,” this article continues Loy Luo’s inquiry into the fate of abstraction in modern and contemporary art.
Here, Luo turns her critical gaze toward Minimalism—a movement often mistaken as the natural extension of abstraction. She questions its philosophical foundation and spiritual absence, exposing how Minimalism’s materialist reduction departs from the metaphysical and humanistic impulses that once defined abstract art.
Through rigorous analysis and pointed irony, Luo reclaims abstraction as a spiritual and intellectual endeavor, distinguishing her own “abstract thinking” from the stylistic emptiness of contemporary minimal trends.

Minimalism Is Not Abstraction, Nor Is It Aloof By Loy Luo Originally published on Artron.net, July 11, 2016 Yesterday I read an article introducing Minimalism. The piece, titled “Noble, Cold, and Frigidly Elegant,” was amusingly written, yet its content was superficial—piling together bits of knowledge without clarity, and ultimately reinforcing public misconceptions rather than resolving them. This essay seeks to clarify those misunderstandings. Is Minimalism a form of Abstract Art? This very question is problematic, for it reflects a common confusion about abstraction. Broadly speaking, “abstract art” and “abstract-ism” are not the same. The former refers to any art that departs from figuration or realism; the latter refers specifically to a spiritual purification movement that arose in the early twentieth century with distinct theoretical underpinnings. Minimalist art undeniably appears abstract, but can it be classified as part of that Western tradition? Let us first consider the definition quoted in the article: “Minimalist art asserts that art is not a means of self-expression, but simply an objective existence. As a rebellion against Abstract Expressionism of the 1960s, it seeks to eliminate the artist’s subjective imposition upon the viewer and to free the artwork from interpretation, returning it to its purest form.” This definition, though accurate on the surface, borrows heavily from phenomenology and hermeneutics. Readers attuned to theory will notice that this “Minimalism” has already departed from the lineage of traditional abstraction, aligning instead with what we now call Conceptual Art. The author of that article, however, lacked such sensitivity. He wrote: “From a broader perspective, Minimalism can be traced to early 20th-century European movements such as Bauhaus, De Stijl led by Mondrian, and Constructivism led by Malevich.” But this is mistaken. He should have said “from a more superficial perspective.” The resemblance between early abstraction and Minimalism is merely formal, not philosophical. The inner logic differs drastically. Failing to grasp this, the author conflated external similarities and missed the crucial shift in worldview that separates Minimalism from classical abstraction. Even today, few have clearly articulated the philosophical rupture between early “ideal abstraction” and later Abstract Expressionism. Yet clarifying this is essential. Early abstract art—rooted in metaphysical idealism—sought to express the pure Idea through pure form. It was, in essence, art in pursuit of the divine. Abstract Expressionism, however, marked the exile of God. Spirit no longer referred to the divine but to the human. The core of art remained “spiritual,” but this spirituality was now humanistic—at once reverent and desperate. The suicides of several leading Abstract Expressionists are no coincidence: their struggle reflected the collapse of transcendence and the unbearable weight of human self-worship. Thus, Abstract Expressionism’s rebellion against European ideal abstraction mirrors, in philosophical history, the rebellion of humanism against theism. The triumph of humanism brought both pride and anxiety. It deepened thought but also fractured faith. Minimalism, emerging after this crisis, pushed Clement Greenberg’s material formalism to its extreme—so extreme that it evacuated all spirituality, whether divine or human. What remained was matter alone, stripped of inner meaning. From this we may infer what classical abstraction truly was: the pure expression of spirit, subjective or absolute, divine or human. Without spirit, all formal reduction is empty. Minimalism, in this sense, is the outer path—the denial of spirit itself. Is Minimalism cold? If Minimalism rebels so radically, is it truly “cold” or “aloof,” as people often claim? We must first ask: if spirituality is so fundamental, how could Minimalism reject it so bluntly? The answer lies again in philosophy. Its dictum—“Art is existence itself; art is matter itself”—derives from phenomenology, the call to “return to things themselves.” But this has been misinterpreted. Phenomenology was meant to resolve dualisms such as subject/object and individual/universal, not to abolish meaning or spirit. Later followers vulgarized it, reducing it to a doctrine of “only matter, no spirit”—a shallow distortion of serious thought. Minimalism and classical abstraction may look alike, both employing geometry, but their inner essences diverge completely. The former’s industrial surfaces, deliberately impersonal, exude mechanical indifference. Its geometry rejects human touch, aspiring to a machine’s perfection. This is the source of its “icy aura.” By contrast, the geometric forms of early abstraction were vessels for metaphysical inquiry—handmade emblems of the eternal, echoes of the ancient belief that “number is the origin of the world.” Those shapes sought to reveal absolute spirit; Minimalism’s shapes strive to erase it. The one is transcendental; the other nihilistic. To call Minimalism merely “conceptual art” is insufficient, for all art has conceptual intention. The real question is: What kind of thinking does each era’s art reflect? Nothing emerges from a vacuum; every movement has its genealogy. The Minimalist declaration “I am only a material object; nothing more” is hardly new. Duchamp and Warhol already exhausted this Zen-like riddle, turning nihilism into a performance. Their game—of choosing anything and calling it art—was the ultimate exercise in anti-choice. Minimalism continues this compulsive reduction, a symptom of cultural fatigue disguised as purity. As for the so-called “theatricality” of Minimalism, it adds little. The insistence that Minimalist works must be experienced within specific “situations” merely exposes their dependency on context and audience to compensate for their lack of content. The slogan “less is more,” meaningful in Mies van der Rohe’s architectural minimalism, becomes hollow when transplanted into visual art, where “less” is filled with pseudo-“more”: effects, participation, and empty interpretation. Ultimately, the true novelty of Minimalism lies not in depth but in its ambiguity—its ability to borrow the aura of spiritual abstraction while performing an empty ritual of detachment. It fascinates the naïve but quickly bores the discerning. Beneath its chic asceticism lies a hollow vanity. For the mature mind, Minimalism is little more than a fashion-conscious pose—an art form adored by the ignorant and the affluent precisely because it flatters both their coolness and their emptiness. Yet we should not stop at mockery. We must ask why such superficiality thrives. The answer lies in collective misunderstanding: the vulgarization of phenomenology, the misreading of existentialism, and the lingering shadow of ancient nihilism. These confusions have bred an art world obsessed with appearances and allergic to meaning. To avoid further confusion, let me restate what I said at the beginning: just as abstraction and abstract-ism are not the same, Minimalist style and Minimalism as ideology are not the same. I love the style of minimalism— but I remain wary of Minimalism itself.

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