Luan Xiaochen explores the intersections of art history, colonial history, and human history, working with diverse sources such as images, architecture, postcards, and archival documents. His practice reflects on the connections shaped by his own movement and artistic environments, translating research on traditional motifs and new imagery into fragmented, dreamlike expressions. Engaging with the historical encounters between Eastern and Western cultures, he shifts between abstract and figurative languages to evoke the vastness and otherness of nature.

Recent solo exhibitions include Law (Kunstakademie Düsseldorf, 2025), Opening the Sun (Bonian Art Space, Beijing, 2025), Position and Thorn (BA Project Space, Shenzhen, 2024), and Kulturplus-Prize (Wuppertal Art Center, 2022).

Can you tell us about your background and how you started your artistic journey?

My painting practice began in childhood. According to my parents, my earliest attempts were completely spontaneous—I first drew with medical iodine, tracing chaotic lines. My grandfather was the one who offered me the most artistic support when I was young. He gave me illustrated books about animals, history, and science, and copying these images was my first self-directed study of drawing. Even today, my work still carries traces of scientific illustration, and those early images continue to fuel my fascination with nature, life, time, and history.

At sixteen, I received my first academic training at an art high school. Later at university, I studied under a professor who had graduated from the Hamburg Academy of Fine Arts, which introduced me to contemporary painting and the German approach to art education. Germany’s rich contribution to modern and contemporary art eventually led me to continue my studies at the Kunstakademie Düsseldorf.

What are the main themes or concepts you explore in your paintings?  

My work primarily revolves around the relationship between human civilization and the forces of nature, often weaving together mythological narratives and personal experience. Moving back and forth between the macro and the micro allows me to discover new meanings in questions that might otherwise feel overfamiliar. I also enjoy using misreadings as a form of deconstruction, especially with concepts drawn from Eastern culture, language, or idioms. For example, the Chinese saying “Three men make a tiger”—which describes how repeated lies can distort truth—I reimagine literally as “three people constructing a tiger.” Such transformations let me slip into the gaps of cultural narratives, approaching them with a contemporary perspective and seeking their artistic vitality. 

How has your artistic style evolved over time?  

In the beginning, my style was shaped by my “idols” in art—after all, what artist doesn’t have idols? While in China, I admired European Expressionism; when I lived in Germany, I found myself drawn to Chinese classical art. It’s hard for me to say my style changed from one thing into another. I can feel it shifting, but I can’t define it in words. Early on, my work resembled expressionist painting, using material in emotional, sometimes darkly humorous ways to reflect one side of my understanding of art. Over time, I realized that art itself is an “object” constantly reinterpreted through different ideas in different eras. That awareness led me to experiment with more diverse materials, to build images out of marks and traces, and to create narratives by combining found imagery with imagined scenes. This ongoing process has shaped the visual language I use today. 

Can you describe a recent project or artwork that you are particularly proud of? 

Recently, I completed The Time of Yu Gong (PROMETHEUS ENDURES, 2025, oil and acrylic on canvas), in which I reinterpret the legend of Yu Gong moving mountains as a reflection on human civilization and its reshaping of nature. In Monkey Play, I staged a struggle over tools between different species and tribes. These are not single stories—they address the broader question of how “the evolution of civilization is narrated.” Lately I’ve been deeply interested in using metanarratives to retell Eastern history and cultural myths, reflecting on storytelling itself as a method. These thoughts are tied to my recent months working in Beijing, where returning to my “mother culture” naturally raised new perspectives. Perhaps once I return to my studio in Düsseldorf, my way of thinking will shift again—this dual practice between Europe and Asia carries special meaning for me.

How do you stay inspired and motivated to create the collage of motifs in your works? 

I don’t rely much on fleeting moments of inspiration. Instead, I trust in accumulated research, close observation of nature, and the traces left by years of living in different cultural, climatic, and geographic contexts. Every day I set aside time to browse vast amounts of images on archives, photography platforms, and databases. These visual experiences accumulate like a reservoir, and when needed, they resurface naturally to support my work. My studio is always scattered with papers of  various sizes, so I can make sketches or experimental collages in fragmented moments. This ensures that none of my creative energy goes to waste. 

How do you balance artistic integrity with commercial considerations? 

For me, artistic integrity has always come first. I feel fortunate that I don’t depend on art for my livelihood right now—this gives me the freedom to stay true to my own creative purposes. I’ve come to believe that markets shaped only by commerce and capital are quite limited, while meaningful art can actually attract capital and open up new possibilities. Of course, there are many other ways I could make more money than by selling paintings, but once I start thinking of art mainly as a commodity, it becomes impossible for me to create. At the same time, I’m grateful that my work has resonated with collectors and galleries who continue to support me. Their encouragement makes my life in art feel more grounded, and it strengthens my conviction that the world I love can be shaped by sharing the ideas I believe in. 

What do you hope people take away from your art when they experience it?  

I hope viewers can be drawn into the atmosphere of the work and feel how a wall or a space can be transformed by a single artwork. The specific way people perceive the content of a painting is not something I can control. Yet because many of my images touch upon shared human memories and histories, they often awaken a kind of ancient emotion. This response is connected both to the artistic “genetics” of creation itself and to the rhythms through which civilizations have formed. Between the distant past and the present, these emotions may find expression in the fleeting moment when someone looks at a painting. What I hope most is that viewers might find their own words—perhaps just a few—to stand in for the long arc of civilization that underlies the work. 

Text & photo courtesy of Luan Xiaochen