Today we’d like to introduce you to Tian Liu
Hi Tian, thanks for sharing your story with us. To start, maybe you can tell our readers some of your backstory.
The first time I held a camera that I can recall was when my dad held my hands to teach me how to press the shutter without causing a camera shake. I was in third grade in elementary school in Shanghai. I was born in a small town in southern central China, and my parents left me to stay with my grandparents in my hometown so they could continue their higher education in Shanghai when I was three. This was the time I could finally go to Shanghai and live with them after five years apart. I didn’t know much about my parents in person, but it was then that I felt I touched my dad’s soul—he loved photography. I loved him, so I wanted to get closer to him. Maybe this was the initial germination of my interest in photography.
Meanwhile, after transferring to Shanghai, the cultural barrier on a micro scale between regions pushed me to stay within my own world built by books. I became a big fan of reading—in the world of fantasy and adventure, I discovered the power of written words. I told my mom I wanted to study Chinese literature to become a writer. She laughed; that had been her dream when she was young.
Maybe together, these are why I am here now. I obtained a Bachelor of Arts degree with a double major in Journalism and Mass Communication and Studio Art, along with a certificate in Writing from the University of Iowa, and a Master of Fine Arts degree in Photography and Media with a concentration in Integrated Media from the California Institute of the Arts. I am now a multimedia artist based in Los Angeles, with practices including photography, moving images, performance, sculpture, installation, and writing. All my works are rooted in the exploration of identity, diaspora, belonging, and gender.
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?
Though I determined my interests in photography and writing at a young age, they played more of a role as hobbies rather than a career throughout my growth—I was simply doing what I thought was good, and I had no idea what fine art was. So when I got into CalArts, the first struggle I faced was receiving commentary from my colleagues that my work was too commercial for the school, even before classes started. I had learned how to do commercial work for survival, but in a school known for experimental and fine art, being labeled as commercial felt wrong. To wipe this label from me, I stopped doing photography, even though I was enrolled in a photo program. Instead, I tried my best to immerse myself in the artistic environment—I even trained my algorithm to only show me posts and videos related to fine art.
It was tough to avoid using the practice I had relied on for nine years, as it was how I established the foundation of my visual art language. Since then, the word “commercial” had become my nightmare, even though I knew my photographic works might not be commercial enough for the market. I felt tension from both ends—not fitting into the school environment and not meeting the needs of customers. I eventually returned to a practice I had learned during my undergrad—performance—and did my first solo show, cái zhū, combining durational performance and multimedia installation in 2023.
In the studio visit I had with one of the teachers from the fine art program, after she heard the background story about my work, she picked up the piece of paper — the product coming from my performance, and said, “why are you in the photo program? You should be in the art program. This is key of your work, keep working on it. I would love to see how it grow. “
This was the moment I finally felt releval that I didn’t need to try hard more to fit in. I was in.
Can you tell our readers more about what you do and what you think sets you apart from others?
I once identified as a multimedia journalist, and now as a multimedia artist. Despite the shift in titles, one goal has remained constant: storytelling. My work focuses on using personal narratives to explore themes of identity, memory, diaspora, and belonging. I believe that the personal is deeply connected to those who share similar experiences. This belief drives me to communicate these ideas in layered, immersive ways, using different mediums.
I don’t typically label myself or my work as overtly feminist, though I believe that when a story is told by a woman, the lens through which it’s told naturally adopts a feminist perspective. It encourages us to re-examine what has been unseen, undiscovered, and unheard. When I worked as a journalist in China, my colleagues and I often preferred to interview women, especially in the context of disasters. Women tend to observe their environments with a different lens, providing facts supported by details often overlooked. There’s a stereotype that women are too emotional to report objectively, but in reality, it’s their emotional connection to the environment that gives richness to their storytelling—something that is often missed in narratives told by men.
This approach carries into my artistic practice, where all my works are stories of women and told through women’s perspectives. In my thesis show, fú píng, I created a video sculpture using an airbed and traditional Chinese mosquito net to build an intimate interior within the gallery space. The installation invited audiences to lay down on the bed while watching ongoing video projections on the net, creating both physical and emotional engagement with the work. Through this piece, I explored the concept of “hometown” from a woman’s perspective, challenging the traditionally male-centric narratives of homesickness and belonging. fú píng reflects not only my mother’s experiences but also the broader experiences of women who, like duckweed, remain outsiders even in their own birthplaces.
Let’s talk about our city – what do you love? What do you not love?
What I like best about Los Angeles is the sunshine. I did my high school in Portland, Oregon, and my undergraduate studies in Iowa City, Iowa, where I experienced the longest rainy and snowy seasons of my life. It’s an absolute pleasure to live in a state known for its sunshine. However, what I like least about the city is also the sunshine. It’s really hard to do outdoor shoots during the summer because of the brightness, which creates high contrast, and it’s so hot that staying outside for a long time without AC is uncomfortable. But overall, I’m still thankful and glad for the treasure of the sunshine.
Contact Info:
- Website: https://tian-liu-x.com
- Instagram: @tian_liu_photo
Image Credits
Yining Huang, Tian Liu
