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ARTIST BIO:
Kong Qianyang (b. 1998, Ningbo) is a London-based Chinese artist whose works span across site-specific sculpture, installation, poetry and on-site research photography. She received a Master’s degree in Textiles at the Royal College of Art in 2023. Her works juxtapose the notion of liminal space and architectural heritage.
She was nominated and given a special award by international contemporary institute-Cantieri del Contemporaneo for Crea Open 2025 (Venice), also shortlisted by Cockpit Studio for Make It Award in 2025.
Her works have been exhibited at Art Gallery-N, atelier (Glasgow), The New Art Gallery Walsall (Walsall), Blackdot Gallery, Broadwick Studios (London) etc.
Kong's work is also published by EST8 MAGAZINE (Barcelona) and China Daily (Beijing).
Kong Qianyang (b. 1998, Ningbo) is a London-based Chinese artist whose works span across site-specific sculpture, installation, poetry and on-site research photography. She received a Master’s degree in Textiles at the Royal College of Art in 2023. Her works juxtapose the notion of liminal space and architectural heritage.
She was nominated and given a special award by international contemporary institute-Cantieri del Contemporaneo for Crea Open 2025 (Venice), also shortlisted by Cockpit Studio for Make It Award in 2025.
Her works have been exhibited at Art Gallery-N, atelier (Glasgow), The New Art Gallery Walsall (Walsall), Blackdot Gallery, Broadwick Studios (London) etc.
Kong's work is also published by EST8 MAGAZINE (Barcelona) and China Daily (Beijing).
ARTIST STATEMENT:
My practice ties back to my childhood memory.
The courtyard that I had been living ten years in the outskirt of city Ningbo before the demolition hits. The nostalgia and unresolved displacement to the collapse of home drives my works often to resonate with the desolate scene of ruin left behind the demolitions.
The suspended ruin left a scar behind demolition, particularly affecting those from the 1960s, earlier generations and children they raise up. This scar cannot be seamlessly healed—but it must be affirmed.
I strive to create a liminal space, reflecting a psychological “in-between” state—an unsettling feelings in those displaced communities. Within the liminal space that ruins situated, an element of architecture is free to traverse in nonlinear structure narratives, neither ruined space after demolition, nor reclaimed material for a construction site, but as both simultaneously. Extracting a corner of a building, including bracket underneath roof, interior column-and-beam structure rather than presenting the buildings in their entirety, dictates ambiguous interpretations and disrupts the linear structure of story-telling, thus neither the past nor the future state of being, much as ruin does.
Perceiving my work as the broken masonry, stuccoed since two centuries ago and holding the lingering warmth of my ancestors’ palms; as the interstice between the beam and column, bearing silent witness to the decline in the mortise and tenon wooden joinery; as a particle of dust, drifting here and there, destined to be swept away by the inevitable tide.
My practice ties back to my childhood memory.
The courtyard that I had been living ten years in the outskirt of city Ningbo before the demolition hits. The nostalgia and unresolved displacement to the collapse of home drives my works often to resonate with the desolate scene of ruin left behind the demolitions.
The suspended ruin left a scar behind demolition, particularly affecting those from the 1960s, earlier generations and children they raise up. This scar cannot be seamlessly healed—but it must be affirmed.
I strive to create a liminal space, reflecting a psychological “in-between” state—an unsettling feelings in those displaced communities. Within the liminal space that ruins situated, an element of architecture is free to traverse in nonlinear structure narratives, neither ruined space after demolition, nor reclaimed material for a construction site, but as both simultaneously. Extracting a corner of a building, including bracket underneath roof, interior column-and-beam structure rather than presenting the buildings in their entirety, dictates ambiguous interpretations and disrupts the linear structure of story-telling, thus neither the past nor the future state of being, much as ruin does.
Perceiving my work as the broken masonry, stuccoed since two centuries ago and holding the lingering warmth of my ancestors’ palms; as the interstice between the beam and column, bearing silent witness to the decline in the mortise and tenon wooden joinery; as a particle of dust, drifting here and there, destined to be swept away by the inevitable tide.