Lyric Shen

Interview by Devan Díaz

Lyric Shen and I have been corresponding for three months. Ahead of our interview, I received an email of Shen’s writing. The opening lines: “I don’t hate my body; I hate the body as property / I love my body; it is being condemned to ownership that I hate.” I read this on vacation with my girlfriend's family in Seattle while Shen settled back home in their native Los Angeles after studying at the Cranbook Academy of Art for two years in Bloomfield Hills, Michigan. The artist, tattooist, and ceramist decorates and assembles objects unbeholden to their contents. Here’s another line from their writing, this time a question: “Do I think this is beautiful, or do I think this will make money?” If femininity and labor were freed from capital, what would remain? Hopefully it’d be creation without contempt, or what Shen describes in this interview as a “wild girlhood.” Savage and unrestrained, the artist finds a way to invite us into their imagination while keeping some of it for themself.

Shen’s touch is collaborative, and the materials are left in a semi-natural state. The clay is jagged; the skin is blemished. Color preferences lean foggy and muted with the occasional shock of neon. Their approach reaches back to sixteenth century Japan’s Oribe pottery, known for its warped and liberated shapes, a result of breaking away from the potter’s wheel. Leaving notions of performance and achievement behind, Shen’s objects are covered in scratches that allow our eyes to track their construction. Each sculpture, tattoo, and painting is born from Shen’s desire to get dirt under their fingernails.

In a video on the artist’s website titled, *, a crab has washed up onto shore and sits still on the sand. The camera zooms in on its claw, making it appear like a long acrylic nail. Cut to birds chirping at night, street lights illuminating trees, and shaky zooming across lines of power. A red marquee invites you to Zoom Bible classes on Thursdays at 7pm. Suddenly it’s daybreak and you’re even deeper in the woods. Each tree is indistinguishable from the last. Now they’re bare. It’s raining and you’re without shelter. Blink, and you’re back on the shore. You’re submerged in bouncing orbs of light, and the calming burble of water feels familiar. You have returned home. You are free.

Devan Díaz (DD): How much say do the materials have in your work?

Lyric Shen (LS): I made a series of works in North Carolina, and it's common practice there to dig your own clay or to mix dug clay in with other materials to make your own bodies and glaze. When you're working in that way, there's not necessarily restrictions or limitations, but the material will have a memory. In the same way that bodies have memories, sensitivities, and varied surfaces—like freckles, texture, skin, hair, all these things—clay and ceramics are tied to land in an undeniable way. And, because of that, each is inherently political. The desire to have a closer relationship with the source of your material requires so much back and forth.

DD: Is utility beside the point?

LS: With clay and ceramics, there's a strong connection to utility because we have so many vessels or utilitarian clay objects that we interact with. But clay has such a rich surface for sculpture and art-making that might not have a direct utility in daily use. I suppose with tattooing, there's definitely a connection to surface design. We have not only historical influences of tattooing in different geographical locations and cultures, but also the internet, and various industries like graphic design or automotive design. I feel like all of those images and approaches to surface design are influencing trends and the evolution of design in tattoo culture. Ceramics are part of that, because, for example, when you look at archeological remains in places where tattooing has a strong documentation, there are a lot of similarities to the way that bodies are decorated.

DD: How do you identify the value of an object?

LS: When an object is already very strong in the feeling it gives me, and hopefully other people who interact with it, I try not to over-handle or refine its features. There are refinements that I choose to make. And then steps that I avoid because I don't want to censor too much of the process or my hand. Like I said before, the memory of the material is its innate value. So not forcing it too much, I think that has its own value in art making. I am interested in artists who push material so that it becomes unrecognizable, or to a point that it’s doing something that it wouldn’t normally do. In my way of working with material, I try to be almost as hands-off as possible but while still maintaining a clear touch or a clear and honest evidence of us—the material and I—working together.

"When an object is already very strong in the feeling it gives me, and hopefully other people who interact with it, I try not to over-handle or refine its features. There are refinements that I choose to make. And then steps that I avoid because I don't want to censor too much of the process or my hand. Like I said before, the memory of the material is its innate value."

Correspondence (James and Grace), 2021

Ceramic

Photo courtesy of Harkawik Gallery

DD: What is most useful to you, formal training or intuition?

LS: It’s 50-50. There's a lot of dialogue around the inner child in art making and how so many artists try to tap into that liberated place of making. The idea is that it's the gold you're looking for. I think I've been influenced by that a little bit. While reading or learning about something can give me more insight, sometimes I do feel like consequently I’ll take steps backwards in making. I feel like knowing more restrains me, which is not always a bad thing. The intuition you're talking about helps to counter some of that. We already understand non-verbal communication when growing up between two languages with parents whose first language is not English. Reading about Affect Theory and trying to apply that to my research behind art making is helpful because then I'm like, okay, I know I have the language for this. I have the English for it. But then in some ways I wonder if I actually knew more about it before reading, because my understanding is getting more convoluted through having to defend or translate that understanding. For example, even with text and words about art, which I associate with formal training, the line between adding context for understanding vs. obscuring noise is so thin. I said 50-50 at first, but now I wonder if my intuition is a better guide.

DD: Well, it seems like formal training gives legs to your intuition.

LS: It provides legitimacy to it because it's also like confirmation bias, right? I'm going to read and remember things that confirm my core beliefs, but I think deep down I do favor intuition and non-verbal communication. I like things that are presented as antagonists to formal training, or presented as separate from how notions of craft or mastery are defined in a culture that prioritizes the written word over oral histories and other ways of remembering.

Jewel's Stand, 2022

Ink on ceramic, steel

Photo courtesy of Silke Lindner NYC

DD: I sense a lot of innocence, which is not to be confused with naivety, from certain aspects of your work.

LS: I see innocence or girlhood as unrefined. I see the refinement or the working of the object as an analogy to womanhood, and the physical work that some people do to present themselves in our culture. It feels tied to money. Gender and money are intertwined in my mind. So with art making, I wonder about what that wild, unrefined girlishness could look like.

DD: Have the images you ingested in your girlhood degraded over time?

LS: Yeah, like the sun in LA, bleached and faded. I reference copy machines a lot, and the way that images lose their information by being scanned over and over. That's something that I feel is such a mainstay in punk graphic design or imagery, because it references fast and easy reproduction at a Staples copy machine or your friend's parents' office. Those physical ways of aging an image have always been really strong to me. I think about the fold and the tear of an image. I'm trying to think about the images that you're talking about throughout time, right? I guess, honestly, Sanrio is such a big influence.

DD: Yeah I feel the same way.

LS: I feel like that was it. As a child, Keroppi was one of my favorite characters. I really gravitated towards them, and I didn't really like Hello Kitty. I liked Keroppi and Badtz-Maru, who used to strike me as gender neutral.

DD: I loved Pochacco.

LS: So cute. I think those characters and stickers, in general, were such a way for people in our generation to craft an identity, even in this very limited way. It's like you had to go to school, you had to have a notebook, and there were these spaces we all had to be in. We didn't have a choice. Same with church. I had to go to church growing up. Inside of the kids' room, there were these Precious Moments murals, but the Precious Moments characters were all Asian. I still remember that mural. That was a genius painting. Whoever did it, I'm still like, that's super cute. I think that stickers in general were such a big part of crafting that sense of self and being able to communicate or show it to other people. As you grow up, stickers become car decals, brands that you like, or tattoos. Of course, I'm critical, too, but I have a lot of fondness thinking back on stickers as one of the first ways you engage with visual communication.

DD: Do you know the meme page @patiasfantasyworld?

LS: Yeah.

DD: Their resource guide during the 2020 rebellion had a picture of Hello Kitty, and it feels like Hello Kitty has been everywhere since. And beyond that, a general obsession with cuteness seems to persist amongst adults, myself included. I wonder if cuteness or girlishness feel safer because it feels like it’s for other femmes, and perhaps generally unattractive to anyone else?

LS: Yes, the cute core. It's interesting because it sounds like you and I both gravitate towards that, but then we still reject Hello Kitty.

DD: Yes.

LS: She’s like the ultimate symbol of it. But maybe Hello Kitty is too available. There's like, archetypes of acceptable femininity, or something. Or not even acceptable, but consumable femininity. Then there’s our culture’s interest in the warrior girl archetype. I associate it with fearlessness, or a sense of duty. But without a socially redeeming purpose, that energy crosses the line to “hysterical” and no longer consumable i.e. teachable. It seems different than, say, the archetype of the girlfriend, wife, or beautiful woman. It seems like the hysterical girl serves the needs of the self, to reclaim femininity, as well as to reclaim girlhood as part of a queer identity.

Dirt peppered hua ban fragrance, 2002

Ink on ceramic

Photo courtesy of Silke Lindner NYC

DD: The stages of your process can be seen in your work. It reminds me of the work feminine people put into being looked at in public, and the visible signs of labor. In the text you sent me, you made the distinction between being seen versus being viewed. Is this present in your work?

LS: When I decide to engage with being viewed, there's so much preparation and private work that takes place. And when being seen, I have to agree to let go of that and allow the preparation to be on display. With viewing, it's like there's more curation involved. With art, it depends on where it is, what kind of show it is, and then all that is presented with a press release or wall text—that feels more like viewing because of the way things are set up. But if I'm with the work, like in a studio visit, that feels more like seeing.

DD: I notice imperfections in your work—are they an acceptance of the material or deliberate markings?

LS: Acceptance of material, process-related marks, sometimes miscalculations, things like that. For example, when I'm making the hydrographic printed work, in the same way that there's 3D routing, CNC routing, and 3D printing machines, you can calculate the way you print hydrographically on a 3D object so that it warps perfectly. I've seen videos of little animal figurines and the start is just a flat print floating on water. In order to get the eye right on the animal, you have to prepare and calculate exactly where you're dipping it, how fast you're dipping it, and the angle at which you dip. People will get pretty specific with water temperature as well, because the water has to warm in the process. I decided not to use a lot of that calculation because I'm not printing specifically to mimic a real life animal. But I am interested in mimicking the way, like you said, a photo or image will degrade over time on a stucco wall, or the way that silicone-based makeup looks on textured skin. I do want my work to reference that, but I don't need to recreate it exactly in that way. I'm just happy to use this technique.

DD: Is there an order of importance when it comes to objects, material, and being able to see your touch?

LS: The first two or three years of tattooing, I didn't use a machine; I did everything by hand. There's a pretty rich culture around machine-free tattooing contemporarily, and also throughout the past. And specifically, of interest to me, in Southeast Asia and parts of East Asia too. So even when I started using a machine, I was always thinking of tattooing by hand. I wanted to keep the things that made the hand-poked or machine-free tattoo special, while making the practice more sustainable for my body. For me that's texture and using a needle that has just one point, or a small cluster of needles, creates a fine line. So, often, creating depth with just one color: the black and gray style tattoo has a rich history of its own, like in Southern California, that I grew up around. My first tattoo was done when I was 15 by a guy at my high school, in his kitchen, and he has continued to make beautiful black and gray tattoos. I kept it a secret from my parents for a long time. When I started using the machine, I was confronted with what my clients wanted, primarily my soft/delicate tattoo designs inspired by folk art. Expanding my range has been exciting, replicating photos, for example, or tattooing small paintings.

Betelnut beauty in window, 2022

Ink on ceramic, steel

On view in "Junk Is No Good Baby" at Silke Lindner, NYC

DD: How do you replicate photos onto flesh?

LS: It’s something I've had to learn. I remember the first time someone made a portrait tattoo for me and when he placed the stencil, it was just an outline of a face. I don't even think the eyes were there. And then he was able to finish the tattoo by looking back and forth at a photo and just drawing. At that time, I never thought I would be able to tattoo like that. But now, after having a few clients who request things like that, or having to replicate a design that has more complicated gradients, I'm starting to see how you can approach tattooing with a painting practice in mind. People talk a lot about the analogies to printmaking, for example, in terms of designing and then placing your stencil. But with certain designs, I really feel like I'm trying to make a painting.

DD: Is the desire for beauty the same as wanting power or money?

LS: Having been a dancer and doing other forms of in-person work, it slips in when you're looking for an outfit, or doing your hair. You’re making all these decisions about the symbols you choose for yourself. For me, long hair was a symbol of femininity that I felt like I could sell, and I felt like I was comfortable with people consuming that symbol on me. And then there are other things, like the color of eyeliner or eyeshadow, or your outfit, or the material of your outfit. Some of these things help construct my “feeling.” There are also things that I think are beautiful because they feel good to me. They feel good to wear or they remind me of something that is comforting. These are things that I know people will perceive as a consumable symbol. So I'm like, that's it—that's going to be what I want, or what I want to wear, because I think our desires are really intertwined with survival and the structures of settler colonialism. And I think our actions towards those desires can be seen as either resistant or colluding, but it’s often more complex than that for me.

“I think our desires are really intertwined with survival and the structures of settler colonialism. And I think our actions towards those desires can be seen as either resistant or colluding, but I think it’s often more complex than that for me.”

DD: Me too.

LS: I think it's such a delicate ecosystem for a lot of us.

DD: That reflex doesn't go away, even if you have read the books and know the right things to think.

LS: I know, it's such a fine line. When I'm complimenting someone at the club, for example, there are times when I realize what I'm really saying is—I see all the work you did, or I see how expensive this symbol is. Hair is a huge one, nails, all of that. When I'm complimenting someone, I know I think it looks good because of my hodgepodge of desires. But, I'm also like, I just know you worked really hard for that. So much of beauty is about labor when I'm talking about it in that context. Which is why I have this preoccupation with the wild girlhood of an object, or that un-refinement. I want to see if there's value there that other people can appreciate as well. Or that can still stand within that bigger context of what we're talking about.

Lanlan, 2022

Ink on ceramic

Photo courtesy of Canada Gallery, NYC

DD: Can feminine labor exist without worship? Is that what wild girlhood is?

LS: I think wild girlhood is the absence of that kind of labor, if that makes sense. Not even the absence, but maybe a little bit less of that resistance-collusion spectrum. It's such an imaginary space, and it's so personal, and looks so different for every single person, which is why I can't use a lot of figures. There is a lot of important figure-based work being made, but that's why I like associations. Through Sanrio stickers or stationary, things that are not directly on the human body are important for me to make. It's the environment that allows for wild girlhood to be.

DD: Un-refinement is difficult to commodify.

LS: Right. There are definitely pockets of this, maybe in wellness culture, It's so niche. You have to know that your audience is really down for that. I feel very lucky. The people I consider my peers—who are making work, who I'm making work with in this generation—are really down for that.

DD: Online camming was difficult for me. My sexual imagination was degrading and I had to find a way to not be depleted. I wonder if there's anything that you can say about keeping your imagination alive, as it feels related to this wild girlhood. Are there any aspects of your imagination that aren't available to be sold?

LS: Since we're talking about archetypes, I think about how, as a child, you play characters and put on all these costumes, and we might forget that working as an adult is the same thing. You're performing a side of yourself and it's still you, but it might be exaggerated, toned down, or highly edited. There's a whole entourage of costumes or archetypes within me. As far as privacy or distance, I do produce work quite slowly. For me to be ready to share takes a lot of time. I feel that creates built-in privacy or distance, because not everyone is patient. People can move quite fast, which used to make me feel rushed. Finding my own speed, and honoring that pace, has created a lot of boundaries and privacy for those who want to have a relationship with the work. It just doesn't make itself available so easily. I'm not trying to cut myself off from the world, but I'm like a slow maker.

"I think about how, as a child, you play characters and put on all these costumes, and we might forget that working as an adult is the same thing. You're performing a side of yourself and it's still you, but it might be exaggerated, toned down, or highly edited. There's a whole entourage of costumes or archetypes within me."

DD: Do you prefer that slowness?

LS: Yeah. I think it's good for me. And I don’t mean I never employ haste, quickness, or instinctual moves—someone in my cohort once called it ‘the air element.’ I’m just finding that I’m slow at sharing the work… I think there are so many other times in our lives that require promptness, professionalism, all these things that ask you to be super demanding of yourself. If art making can be the one place where that is not as pressing, I'd prefer that. I also don't have a lot of experience with the greater art market (yet). But I do think there’s something attractive about work that's made slowly.

Installation view of Junk Is No Good Baby.

Left: Justin Chance

Right: Lyric Shen

Jewel's Stand, 2022

Ink on ceramic, steel

Photo courtesy of Silke Lindner NYC

Lyric Shen’s latest work is on view at Silke Lindner gallery in TriBeCa, as part of a group show titled “Junk Is No Good Baby,” through December 3, 2022.

Devan Díaz

Devan Díaz is a writer from Jackson Heights, NY. She has been featured in SSENSE, The Guardian, Artforum, and Vogue US.