Exercise 1:The Creative Act

The Creative Act – My Personal Odyssey in China

Creativity, for me, truly came alive during my time in China—not in the comfort of a studio, but through the unpredictable, emotional, and eye-opening experiences I had in Dongguan, Ningbo, and Shanghai. What began as a geographical move quickly became a personal Odyssey—a journey into unfamiliar environments, cultures, and versions of myself.

Marcel Duchamp once said, “The creative act is not performed by the artist alone” (Duchamp, 1957). That statement became profoundly real as I navigated daily life in a place where language, customs, and social rhythms were entirely different. I had to relinquish control and allow the environment to shape me. The language barrier, especially in Dongguan and Ningbo, challenged me deeply. I often felt voiceless, unable to communicate simple needs, which left me feeling isolated and frustrated. Yet, over time, this forced me to pay attention more closely—to observe tone, gesture, atmosphere. I began to “listen” with my eyes, which transformed how I approached storytelling and image-making.

In Shanghai, the contrast between tradition and cutting-edge technology was striking. There, I witnessed firsthand how rapidly China is evolving—and how this progress sits beside centuries-old cultural practices. One moment I was capturing incense smoke curling through temple eaves; the next, I was paying for dumplings using WeChat software. This duality became central to my work—the coexistence of the old and the new, and the emotional tension between the two.

Rick Rubin’s view of creativity as “a way of being in the world” resonates with my experience (Rubin, 2023). I didn’t just make art in China—I lived it. Every decision, every mistake, every adaptation became a creative act. Rubin writes, “Your entire life is a form of self-expression” (p. 5), and that’s exactly how I began to see my time abroad. Choosing to stay open in moments of confusion or discomfort became part of the process, not a break from it.

I was especially captivated by Chinese mythology—the legends of dragons, moon goddesses, immortals, and ancestral spirits. These stories held emotional truths that paralleled my own journey. I began relating these myths to The Odyssey, using Homer’s epic structure to understand my emotional path. Every city became a metaphorical island; every challenge, a kind of test. My projects evolved from literal representations to symbolic narratives—blending photography and storytelling to explore identity, transformation, and belonging.

Not every creative idea worked. A concept I was developing around urban alienation didn’t come together as I hoped. I lost direction and struggled with my message. But through reflection, I realised this wasn’t a failure—it was part of the cycle. I later integrated parts of that unfinished concept into my final pieces, especially my Urban Jungle and Mid-Autumn Festival narratives, which I worked on right up to the last minute. These pieces became stronger because of what I had learned through trial and error.

The technology I encountered in China—QR code menus, driverless taxis, and hyper-connected living—also found its way into my work, not just as subject matter but as a theme. I began questioning how digital life affects memory, identity, and intimacy. How does one maintain personal authenticity in a culture moving so fast? That tension became a key theme in my visual storytelling.

In conclusion, the creative act, to me, is not a single event but a continual response to the world—especially when that world is unfamiliar. It’s shaped by curiosity, discomfort, myth, culture, and memory. In China, I learned that creativity is not something you do—it’s something you live. Duchamp was right: I did not create alone. The cities of Dongguan, Ningbo, and Shanghai, the people I met, the challenges I faced, and the traditions I absorbed all played a role in my development. My personal Odyssey changed the way I see—and gave me the stories I now feel compelled to tell.

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