Motion as Zhu's core practice 

Zhu:
As a child, I never knew the term “ADHD.” I struggled academically, and everything—my restlessness, my hyperactivity—was simply dismissed as “poor performance in school.” I get the sense that most people here did well academically, so it might be difficult to fully understand what that experience was like. When I spoke as a child, or when others spoke to me, the words often felt overlooked, as if the content itself didn’t really matter.

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I’ve always learned in a different way—by watching how others move. For example, how are we sitting today? Am I sitting like this or like that? To me, these details hold meaning. I interpret motion to understand behaviour. This is also why, when I was at university, my work revolved around motion systems. It felt very much like playing a game—like two people playing chess, where our movements define the dynamic between us. That’s also why I believe in the power of comparison in my work—because only when something is in motion can I observe, learn, and truly understand its essence.

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If we separate daily life from artistic practice, motion plays different roles for me in each. In everyday life, beyond observing the motion of things, I’m particularly fascinated by performance—not just watching dance, but actively performing a version of myself that I understand at that moment. It’s about asking: How do I perceive myself now? How do I reinforce that perception?

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For example, when I studied Fine Art at UAL, I had a buzz cut and a nose ring. Then, when I started my postgraduate studies with Blair and Lan, I let my hair grow out, took off my nose ring, and got my ears pierced instead. For me, this was a form of performing identity—an ongoing process of shaping and reshaping how I present myself.

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In my artistic practice, my body is constantly in motion. Most of my works are large-scale, and they aren’t traditional paintings. My process involves layering cotton paper onto canvas, designing patterns, creating stencils, and then cutting them out before spraying paint to form the final composition. It’s not like a painter sitting still in front of a canvas—it’s a process of making, handling materials, and assembling elements, almost like working in a factory. This act of making is where I feel the most alive, and that sense of vitality is what I want to capture in my work.

Guest:

I completely understand what you mean by motion being “frame by frame”.

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Zhu:

To me, motion isn’t just about physical displacement—it’s about rhythm, the continuous flow of things. Water and wind, for instance, are constantly changing, yet they always retain a tangible presence.

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I think about time in a similar way. The past hundred years are like a rhythm—ticking forward, da-da-da, a constant pulse. But time can also be compressed into distinct historical segments and reorganised. This abstract way of understanding time influences both my life and my artistic practice. Through my work, I explore the elasticity of time—how it can be stretched or condensed—ultimately creating a sense of motion that is both fluid and structured.