On April 4, 2026, LATITUDE Gallery hosted a roundtable discussion in conjunction with Xiangjie Rebecca Wu’s solo exhibition, A Room Rehearses Its Own. Taking the exhibition as its point of departure, the conversation centered on the “room” as a recurring spatial motif. We were honored to invite artist Xiangjie Rebecca Wu, curator Xiaojing Zhu, LATITUDE Gallery founder Shihui Zhou, and Xuezhu Jenny Wang, Editor-in-Chief of IMPULSE Magazine, to participate.
The discussion unfolded within the specific context of the exhibition space, beginning with the artist’s initial motivations and gradually expanding toward the spatial structures, mechanisms of memory, and modes of perception embedded in the works. Unlike a conventional artist talk centered primarily on the artist’s statement, this roundtable emphasized the generative crossings between multiple perspectives: the curator’s logic of spatial organization, the editor’s experience of looking, and the artist’s creative methodology continuously revised and advanced one another through dialogue. In this process, the exhibition was no longer understood as a fixed result, but rather as an open structure that could be continuously discussed and reinterpreted. At its core was the question of how individual experience, without relying on direct narrative, can be transformed into a form that others may enter and perceive.
Regarding the starting point of the exhibition, curator Xiaojing Zhu, who moderated the conversation, first asked LATITUDE Gallery founder Shihui Zhou: “What made you feel that this was the right moment to present Rebecca Wu’s solo exhibition?”
Shihui Zhou:
“Before seeing the works in person, I had already heard many people talking about Rebecca. I knew that she had a background in philosophy and that she enjoyed reading. When I finally saw the works, these impressions aligned completely. If we speak about memory, it does not begin with a grand narrative. It is more like waking from a dream, where only a few particularly vivid fragments and words remain.
Our first collaboration began through an art fair. The opportunity came quite suddenly, but the works we selected at the time, both in terms of imagery and overall atmosphere, fit the context of the booth very well. In particular, Rebecca comes from the Jiangsu and Zhejiang region, and there is a kind of childhood experience, a scent of summer, that can be sensed in the paintings.
At that time, we brought many smaller-scale works. They felt more like images or ‘words.’ So when thinking about memory, I felt that it did not begin from a large-scale narrative, but from the most vivid fragments and keywords left behind after a dream ends. The presentation of these works in the booth did create a dreamlike state. The entire process felt very natural. I could enter the works through my own understanding, while also helping them form a fluid sequence, like fragments of memory. At this moment, we wanted to continue that thread of memory, and this exhibition came into being.”
Extending from this logic of “memory fragments,” Jenny Wang shifted the discussion toward the experience of looking and offered her own reading of the exhibition.
Xiaojing Zhu:
“What is very interesting today is that Jenny is seeing the exhibition for the first time, and she entered the space without any prior briefing. For me, these objects produce a sense of familiarity, but at the same time, there is an indescribable distance. I am curious, since you also have lived experience in China, whether you felt something similar when encountering these objects.”
Jenny Wang:
“Yes. For me, it feels more like a mechanism of memory, almost like a memory trick. You connect different objects into a sequence, each object corresponding to a concept, and then they are organized into a larger whole. It made me think of something like a memory labyrinth.
At the same time, there are many frame-like compositions in these images, as well as divisions and organizations of interior space, which give the works a very internal quality. On the one hand, they are very private and inward-facing; on the other hand, they carry a quiet, internalized emotion. That was my most immediate first impression.”
Xiaojing Zhu:
“What you just mentioned about structure is exactly where we wanted to go in the second part of the discussion. When I look at this exhibition, I first think of a relatively complete, enveloping space that can hold the viewer. But what is also interesting is that structures such as closets and shelves keep appearing, along with further spatial divisions in the background.
Through light, shadow, and color, the works enlarge these originally small structures, which in turn creates a feeling of being surrounded or enclosed. So I have been wondering whether many artists today are dealing with very small emotional units and then magnifying them. On the one hand, these structures can carry emotion; on the other hand, they also create a strong sense of identification for the viewer.”
Jenny Wang:
“I think it is difficult to judge this entirely from personal experience, but this emphasis on intimate space does have a lot to do with contemporary urban life. I would understand these structures as a kind of model: each person’s life is compressed into square-shaped spaces, and inside these spaces there are further subdivisions, such as cabinets, drawers, and even smaller layers. It is a continuous process of division, used to store memory or experience.
To some extent, this extremely private and compartmentalized spatial feeling reflects twenty-first-century urban life. Recently, I have also seen many paintings that deal with similar structures. For example, some artists repeatedly return to certain images from a very isolated state. In fact, this is also a way of externalizing internal emotion. Emotional expression seems to have become increasingly visible in recent artistic practices.”
Xiaojing Zhu :
“But I also feel that this structure does not belong only to a particular historical moment. It may have a much longer origin. So I am curious, returning to the artist herself, how do you understand and form these structures?”
Rebecca Wu :
“For me, these things probably come first from very concrete childhood experiences. I grew up with my grandparents, and they did not restrict me very much, so I would often search through cabinets at home. Sometimes, when you opened a cabinet, you would discover things you had never seen before. At that moment, you would realize that although you lived with your family every day, there were many very private things hidden in these spaces, right within reach.
Later, I also realized that this experience is quite common. Many Chinese families have very similar internal structures. After that, I may also have been influenced by certain films. Those works often take place in interior spaces. The outside world exists, but everything unfolds within a room. That kind of space changes your perception of time, compressing time within an enclosed environment.
So in the end, I feel that these questions return to something quite fundamental: the relationship between a room and a person’s internal state. I tend to begin from the inside and slowly move outward.”
Xiaojing Zhu:
“When I look at these works, I think of a similar state, including the emotions they bring out. As someone who has long been attentive to images and viewing experience, I feel that many recent artistic practices are dealing with similar questions. The ‘room’ seems to be becoming a recurring theme. It is both a concrete space and a kind of externalization of an internal state.
So I am curious, when you face this kind of work, and when you face the ‘subject’ within it, how do you enter? Where do you begin to understand it?”
Jenny Wang:
“I feel that these images are relatively independent. They do carry a very specific narrative potential, but at the same time they do not have a particularly strong directionality. In other words, this kind of scene could happen to a girl, or to a boy. It could happen in Jiangxi, or in Northeast China. Although the works carry a certain memory of Asian culture, they are not confined to a specific location, so they produce a more universal feeling.
For me, I can directly enter this emotion, but sometimes I also feel a slight tension, like the feeling of knowing as a child that you should not enter a certain room, but still walking in anyway. We often discuss this question: many works begin from a specific story and may even develop into a series, but what interests me more is how an image can continue to hold emotional tension after the narrative has been weakened, after there is no longer a very specific story.”
Xiaojing Zhu:
“Why do you not want there to be a very specific narrative?”
Rebecca Wu:
“For me, the avoidance of narrative begins with a distinction between the personal and the private. Specific life events are private. They belong to my private life. But the emotions within them are personal, and they can be shared.
So from the very beginning, I consciously avoided direct narration. I do not want the works to become representations of my private life, but at the same time, I hope viewers can build a connection with the works through emotions that come from personal experience. Therefore, in the process of painting, I try to erase overly specific private information, leaving behind a more universal and perceptible emotional state.”
Turning to the question of “control” and “blank space,” Jenny responded from the perspective of the viewer, reflecting on how this strategy shapes the act of looking.
Jenny Wang:
“If there is too much information about your private life in the work, the viewer has to understand you first before they can understand the work. But I would rather the viewer be able to enter the work directly, instead of first entering the artist’s story.
From the perspective of looking, this approach gives the work a very subtle state. It is emotional, and at the same time there is a clear sense of control, but it does not become overly dramatic or excessively emotional. It stays precisely at a point where it can evoke resonance, without making the emotion feel overflowing, and without forcing the viewer to accept a particular feeling too directly. I think this restraint itself is a very effective form of expression.”
Rebecca Wu:
“When I look at many works, I often feel something similar. Some works are either too emotionally outward, or too direct in their expression, which can create a sense of distance for me. Sometimes it even feels a little awkward, because I cannot empathize with it. That kind of overly full, overly intense emotional expression sometimes feels unnecessary to me.
So I care more about the presence of control, including control over color, over the wetness and dryness of the painted surface, over the sense of time, and over expression itself. I think this kind of control is an important measure of an artist’s maturity. Of course, you can paint with a great deal of emotion and feeling, but knowing when to stop, and when to choose not to express something, is equally important. For the viewer, that is also a precious experience.”
Jenny Wang:
“I think this is directly related to the viewer’s way of looking. If the image contains too much specific information about the artist’s private life, such as a childhood experience or a clearly defined story, then the viewer must first understand the artist before they can understand the work. But if this information is appropriately abstracted, the viewer does not need to enter the artist’s background first. They can enter the image itself directly, and therefore have more freedom to interpret it.”
Regarding the treatment of private experience, the discussion raised an important point: truly effective artistic expression does not depend on the direct presentation of personal experience. Excessively specific narrative details often require viewers to understand the artist first before entering the work. By contrast, an image language that has been distilled and transformed allows viewers to bypass background information and directly sense the emotional structure within the work. For this reason, blurred figures, adjusted furniture, and anonymized details of setting can become more open. The works retain emotional intensity while avoiding being confined to a single story.
The participants also discussed the significance of “control” in artistic practice. Emotion alone is not enough to constitute a work. How emotion is organized, how expression is restrained, and how one determines when to stop often decide whether a work can sustain continued viewing. Measured blank space is not an absence, but a structural arrangement. It preserves interpretive space for the viewer, allowing looking to shift from passive reception to active participation. When a work does not overdetermine feeling, viewers are more likely to find a place for their own experiences within it.
Identity discourse also became an important part of the conversation. In recent years, concepts such as diaspora, Asian experience, and Orientalism have been used frequently. However, the participants pointed out that when these terms are too quickly turned into labels, they often weaken the complexity of the work itself. Identity experience certainly exists, but it does not always need to appear through direct naming. A more meaningful path may be to allow one’s background, linguistic structures, perception of time, and lived experience to settle naturally into one’s artistic method, rather than remaining at the level of surface narrative.
From a broader perspective, this discussion reminds us that the value of an artwork lies not only in what it tells, but also in how it organizes the act of looking. When space, time, memory, and emotion are rearranged, what the viewer enters is no longer merely an image, but a constructed state of perception. Art, in this sense, becomes a structure of experience, allowing us to become newly aware of how we feel, how we remember, and how we understand those internal worlds that are difficult to articulate.
