Today we’d like to introduce you to Muyan Hao.
Hi Muyan, thanks for sharing your story with us. To start, maybe you can tell our readers some of your backstory.
I am an ordinary sculpture student. If I were to summarize my life over the past decade with a single word, it would probably be “wandering.” Like a dandelion, I don’t know where the wind has blown me, and I disappear into unseen corners.
If you’ve read Gabriel García Márquez’s “One Hundred Years of Solitude”, you might have an impression of the story of the father and son in the family who repeatedly cast small goldfish. I think I’m doing something similar, which is creating my artwork, and it brings me an unprecedented sense of tranquility.
The dandelion seeds that have been scattered are never really gone; they are reborn. They take root in every place the wind carries them, leaving behind traces of their existence.
Can you talk to us a bit about the challenges and lessons you’ve learned along the way. Looking back would you say it’s been easy or smooth in retrospect?
“I’ve recently come to realize that I unconsciously tend to create artwork that’s functional, unbreakable, or in small sizes.
I’m an international student, and I don’t have a permanent home or house here in the US. I’ve been moving around since 2014, starting when I was 16. I’ve lived in Missouri for a year, Pennsylvania for two years, and New York for about three years.
I can’t keep every single piece I create. I’ve had to discard some of my “useless” or delicate artwork because I can’t afford the cost of moving them around with me or finding large enough spaces to store them.
I feel extremely sad about throwing away or damaging my artwork from the past, which subconsciously drives me to create smaller, sturdier, and more functional pieces.
I’m not sure if it’s just me, but I view all my work as my children, and giving up on any of them feels like abandoning a baby. Even when I don’t like some of them, it still pains me to part with them.
Over the past few years, I’ve only retained some of my oil paintings (only the canvases without stretchers), all of my printmaking prints (because they are just paper and easy to carry around), and small sculptures (still quite heavy despite their size).
I faced a decision between printmaking and sculpture when I was deciding my artistic direction because I knew I’d have to let go of some of my artwork if I chose sculpture, while I could keep every piece if I went with printmaking. Ultimately, my deep desire to dive into the expansive world of sculpture broke the tie, and that’s why I’m here.
I’ve blamed myself for a long time for abandoning my artwork and couldn’t forgive myself for it. Recently, I’ve come to see that it’s a positive change for me to keep only a portion of my work because it motivates me to push my limits to create work good enough to keep or sell. The artwork I’m retaining from now on are the ones I truly appreciate, and they will guide my future direction.
The artwork I abandoned hasn’t disappeared; it’s simply not physically with me. It lives on within my new creations, forever and ever.”
Thanks for sharing that. So, maybe next you can tell us a bit more about your work?
Mushrooms are a recurring theme in my work, stemming from a childhood joke.
In the joke, there’s a person who always carries an umbrella and never folds it, leading others to label this person as a lunatic. One day, someone decided to inquire about the reason behind holding the umbrella and asked the person. The response was, ‘Are you also a mushroom? ‘”
At first, I thought the story was not a joke. I simply found the mushroom cute and the lunatic equally endearing. I couldn’t comprehend why this man was labeled as a lunatic. As I matured, I discovered that everyone, in the course of their lengthy lives, encounters a moment when they become like the lunatic mushroom with the umbrella—a moment when no one comprehends them. During such times, perhaps we are also waiting for someone else with an umbrella to inquire, ‘Are you also a mushroom?’ In recent years, I’ve come to a new realization: I no longer obsess over finding other mushrooms because on this vast planet, I can be the one and only lunatic mushroom.
Do you have any memories from childhood that you can share with us?
This is indeed one of the most vivid memories of my childhood, but it’s hard to say that it’s my favorite childhood memory.
Unfortunately, I have a good memory. When I was a little over two years old, my cousin was born, and I was in the hospital on the day of his birth. My mother took me to visit my aunt, who had just given birth, and she’s my cousin’s mother. But what I saw wasn’t a heartwarming scene. It wasn’t until much, much later that I realized the thing on my aunt’s stomach that day wasn’t a red pocket.
Even today, this image remains very clear in my mind. I simply can’t forget my aunt’s expression of pain. It’s as if, from the moment my cousin emerged from that red pocket, I was sewn inside it, and I can never come out.
Contact Info:
- Instagram: https://instagram.com/imsampan?igshid=OGQ5ZDc2ODk2ZA%3D%3D&utm_source=qr
- Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100008028648012&mibextid=LQQJ4d
