Could you please introduce yourself?
I am a conceptual artist who uses photography as my primary medium. In this sense, I have been greatly influenced by conceptual artists. I tend to use photography as a tool to challenge art, rather than treating it as a medium inherently possessing artistic qualities.
At the same time, I am also a photographer and an art critic. I believe these two roles have significantly shaped me. Although they may seem somewhat conflicting, both involve observing and examining the art world from an analytical perspective. This has led me to focus on how art operates and how artistic concepts are constructed.
How and when did you start with creating art?
I started creating art relatively late. After completing my master’s degree, I initially planned to pursue a PhD in history, but I realized that I lacked the aptitude for academic research. So, I thought perhaps I could become an artist. However, I didn’t have any formal training in art, so I chose photography as my primary medium, as I felt it was a tool I could manage more easily. Looking back now, I see that this motivation wasn’t a starting point, but rather a recurring cycle. Whenever I feel unsure about what to do, I turn to creating art. Yet, even after completing a piece, I still don’t know what to do next.
How did you find Prisma and how was your experience during the residency? How did Lisbon inspire you? How did the residency influence your artistic work?
I came across Prisma’s residency online. This residency experience has been incredibly enriching for me because I had many opportunities to interact with artists from different countries. I think the biggest impact of this experience is that it broadened my understanding of the art world. I began to realize that artists and regions have different ways of categorizing art. Another impact is that I now know how to correctly pronounce the word “Formosa.”
Your exploration of the ‘fakeness’ of Taiwan versus the ‘realness’ of Lisbon might be perceived as provocative questions. How do you identify with these observations of colonial narratives of authenticity or inauthenticity?
Many things in Taiwan have a relationship with Portugal that can be described as one between the authentic and the variant. For instance, the Portuguese pronunciation of Formosa versus the Taiwanese pronunciation “福爾摩沙 (Fú’ěrmóshā),” the Portuguese Pastel de Nata versus the Taiwanese-style Portuguese egg tart, the real streets of Lisbon versus the European-style backdrops in Taiwanese wedding photography studios, and the bossa nova heard on the streets here versus the bossa nova I listened to on vinyl records as a child. I feel this relationship is akin to light and shadow. Before I understood that shadows were shadows, I believed they were real. But when I saw the true light, I realized shadows came from the light. Yet, I still find shadows captivating.
What I mean is that, although I’m aware this phenomenon may stem from the dynamics between dominant and subordinate cultures, my interest lies not in critiquing this relationship but in exploring the human experience within it. For example, after tasting an authentic Pastel de Nata, would I still enjoy the Taiwanese-style Portuguese egg tart? Or, from the perspective of a Portuguese person, how would they feel when seeing Taiwanese European-style wedding photography?
By leaning on the dialogue between Portugal and Taiwan in your practice of repeating the word ‘Formosa’, do you see this as a meditative act, a critique of colonial naming, or both? How does this repetition function within your broader practice?
At first, I did find it a bit absurd that I needed to learn the correct pronunciation of my own name. However, what came to mind wasn’t the colonial system (in fact, Portugal never colonized Taiwan), but rather a Chinese story. The story goes like this: there was once a person from a small country who wanted to learn the way people from another country walked. So, he traveled to that country and spent several years trying to learn their way of walking. In the end, he still couldn’t master it. Even worse, he forgot how he used to walk in the first place. As a result, he had to crawl back to his own country.
I think this story can be interpreted from a moral perspective, suggesting that we should be true to ourselves. But it can also be understood from the perspective of performance art—when someone wholeheartedly tries to learn something as ordinary as a way of walking, it becomes an act reminiscent of performance art.
Having studied and exhibited extensively abroad, how has your understanding of Taiwan’s cultural identity evolved through these experiences? How does this inform your work? You have mentioned an ‘anxiety’ in Taiwanese artists to be (overly) conceptual – do you share this anxiety and has your residency experience reinforced this as a thing specific to Taiwan or something that is present in Europe too?
When I participate in residencies or exhibitions abroad, I naturally start thinking of myself as a Taiwanese person, or even as an Asian. However, when I return to Taiwan, that feeling fades away. So, it’s hard for me to say whether my experiences abroad have had any lasting impact on me. That said, I do feel that my more conceptual artworks are more easily accepted when I’m overseas. This is likely because, in Taiwan, we tend to view artworks with more specific purposes in mind, which makes us more dismissive of works that seem absurd.
In works like “Ice Black Lake”, you address the stasis of digital photographs and their resistance to aging. Do you see this as a metaphor for cultural memory in Taiwan, particularly regarding its complex colonial history?
No, this work primarily explores the relationship between my personal memories and digital photography. What interests me is whether the way humans construct memories changes conceptually with the rise of digital photography. Can people feel a sense of time from digital photos, or do all photos always appear so vivid and new on the screen?
You openly use AI in your work. How do you navigate the ethical and creative tensions surrounding AI tools, particularly as they intersect with themes of authenticity and authorship in photography?
I’ve noticed an interesting phenomenon: most Europeans tend to have a more pessimistic attitude toward AI, whereas most Taiwanese artists are very optimistic about it. However, for me, the primary purpose of using AI isn’t to explore its ethical issues but to misuse it. In my work Celebrity Portraits, the inspiration came from a real experience. I realized that I had photographed many celebrities but couldn’t publicly share those photos due to issues with image rights. So, I pixelated their faces and then used AI to decode the pixelation. The reason I did this was to solve a non-art-related problem, but by using the wrong method, it resulted in an artistic outcome. This is the same reason why I use photography.
How did the residency influence your artistic work?
The biggest impact this residency has had on my work is that I could use various objects from the studio for my creations. In fact, I didn’t actually create anything new; I simply selected some objects and set them up as a photography studio based on the aesthetics of Taiwanese photographers. For me, this was an ideal outcome, even better than what I had anticipated. I’ve always been interested in exploring how to use an artist’s studio and turning that into a subject for creation. This residency experience allowed me to experiment with new approaches to this theme. I fabricated a fictional wedding photography center and used discarded items from the studio to build a wedding photography set.
Since you were in a residency together,was there a mutual Inspiration with each other?
During this residency, I had many opportunities to interact with other artists. For me, this was an incredibly valuable experience, especially since I come from Taiwan, where it’s not so easy to meet people from different countries. Plus, I was really glad to have some artists to share a smoke with.
You have a project called „Art´s Living State“ Tell us, what is the project about?How does an open studio present art as a “living state”?
In residency programs, an important activity often involves the “open studio.” Initially, this was an opportunity for artists to open their working process to the audience, allowing people to see the artist’s real working state, rather than viewing artworks as lifeless objects, coldly displayed in museums and galleries. However, I’ve noticed that in recent years, “open studios” have also become a form of exhibition. In other words, the focus has shifted to how to display the works rather than presenting the authentic state of work and life.
This realization was the starting point for my Ideal Artist Studio project. I attempt to treat the entire studio as my artwork, not just as a space for creating. Within this artwork, I engage with the audience or let things happen.
What is the significance of the cross-border aspect of the project?
For me, carrying out this project in different countries holds significant meaning because it allows me to discover the subtle logic behind how different cultures use art spaces. I believe that the way people in a particular region utilize space is closely related to how their culture views art. For instance, in some regions, people prefer to make an artist’s studio look like a research center, while in others, they aim to make it resemble an exhibition space. Without going abroad, I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to encounter these diverse approaches to using artist studios. To me, they would have remained simply “artist studios.”
What are some potential challenges or opportunities in creating an artist’s studio for a film group?
There were two issues: first, the cost of hiring a film crew was too high; second, this approach wouldn’t have been any different from the projects I’ve done in other countries. Fortunately, I later found a better approach. I decided to use discarded materials from the Prisma space to create a European-style photography studio. For me, using local objects to present Taiwanese aesthetics holds much greater significance.
Wedding photos in front of European scenery seem performative and aspirational. How do you intend to position your photobooth installation—as critique, homage, or something in between?
At first, I wanted to address the concept of originality because I kept searching for the authentic Pastel de Nata, the correct pronunciation of Formosa, and the essence of European style. Nothing reflects this idea better than Taiwan’s European-style wedding photography. It is essentially a Taiwanese photographer’s reinterpretation of European origins. Whether the photographer is in Europe or Taiwan, they reappropriate various European elements based on a uniquely Taiwanese aesthetic.
My project, therefore, was to establish the Lisbon International Wedding Photography Center. I created various posters and put them up on the streets of Lisbon. At the same time, I built a simple photo booth in my residency studio. All the props inside were items I found in the studio’s junk pile. For the locals, these items were worthless, but for photographers, they carried a certain “European vibe.” I tried to use these items to construct a scene somewhere between a junkyard and a photography studio. In this, I was heavily inspired by King of Destruction.
The backdrop (which was also a discarded item) featured images of Taiwanese European-style wedding studios. I then invited locals to sit in front of the backdrop and allowed me to take a photo of them in the “Taiwanese-European style.” When the participants, full of curiosity, anticipated how they would look against the Taiwanese-European background, they discovered that in the actual photo, they were merely sitting in front of a blank white board. The flash had obliterated the backdrop. This trick was something I’d previously used in my on-location photography project, and I was finally able to use it again here.
For me, the core concept of this entire project is organizing various local elements through a Taiwanese aesthetic. By doing this, it becomes difficult to define what is original/derived or authentic/counterfeit. However, if I fail to find a way to express this concept, it remains just an idea and does not become an artwork. This is the most challenging part of creation—because I cannot think too seriously about the concept, or it will end up looking like research, filled with causal connections. But at the same time, I cannot ignore the concept either. What I can do is think about the concept while waiting for a completely unrelated, spontaneous thought to emerge.
What are your plans for sharing your work and experiences from the residency with a wider audience?
I will host an online sharing session to share my residency experience with the Taiwanese audience. Additionally, I have a podcast where I will also talk about this residency experience.
Interviewer: Dilek Topal
來日非善 – Sean Wang Photography / Sean Wang (@seanwangartworks)