I come from a Hakka family. For reasons tied to history, my ancestors traversed much of China, settling in the south before migrating northward again. As I now divide my time between China and France, I often reflect on the meaning of such journeys. From a contemporary perspective, I have never truly “immigrated,” yet I am constantly moving. During these travels, I feel precisely like a migrant—and the sight of clouds viewed through airplane windows fascinates me. Their motion is free, without any destination. Lighter than us, they drift from place to place as they please, changing forms endlessly. This touches me deeply.
Even though my journeys are not immigration in today’s political sense, when I travel, my mind and body undergo a process of exchange, movement, adaptation, and transformation. And the same is true regarding my participation in the exhibition at the Musée de la Porte Dorée, I felt I should draw inspiration from the fluidity of clouds, setting the ink adrift on the expanse of rice paper.