**Bole Recommendation:**
Performance art has seen two or three generations of practice, but Zou Yaqi makes it spontaneous, autonomous, and coherent, as well as natural. Her early works, like impersonating a socialite, had a comedic touch in the Happening process, and her recent piece “Buying Maternal Love” combines relational settings with random improvisations, making it intriguing and touching. Her innate spontaneity frees her from the obscure theories of conceptual art, favoring expressions of life and presence over abstract concepts. Within the interplay between art and non-art, and the interaction between performance and social media, women’s issues gain an unexpectedly personal and hard-to-replicate version.
### Zou Yaqi Almost Missed the Online Traffic.
In 2021, her graduation project “Instant Ownership” was exhibited at the Central Academy of Fine Arts Museum without much stir until it was covered by some social media outlets. Within days, related videos garnered over two million views on Bilibili, and multiple media outlets rushed in. “Impersonating a Socialite and Enjoying Beijing for Free for 21 Days” quickly climbed Weibo’s trending topics. The keywords “socialite” and “free enjoyment” precisely hit people’s curiosity, attracting massive traffic.
Zou Yaqi’s video documented her 21-day survival in Beijing without a penny, like playing a level-clearing game, utilizing free resources available in the city such as free food in hotpot restaurant waiting areas, airport VIP lounge amenities, and luxury hotel buffets and gyms. Most of these resources are usually reserved for a higher social class, to which she didn’t belong. During her four undergraduate years, Zou took on various jobs to pay her rent in Beijing, including being an extra, a music video actress, and a model earning 1000 yuan per day. She played the role of a so-called socialite—wealthy, exquisite, and dignified—using some deception when necessary to survive a challenging urban wandering.
The work changed Zou Yaqi’s real-life fate. Freshly graduated from CAFA and practically “proletarian,” she immediately got a gallery contract and a stable salary. “Instant Ownership” was exhibited in Tokyo and resonated with many young Japanese women. “Many young women there, beautifully dressed, drag their suitcases and live in internet cafes, maintaining a dignified appearance while living in poverty, a condition that may be perpetuated.”
In 2023, Zou’s “High Pay for a Mother” offered 3000 yuan daily to hire real mothers to be “perfect moms,” attempting to compensate for the maternal love she lacked growing up. The “mother-daughter” days were seriously and devotedly performed by the artist and the four selected participants, captured in wild-style documentary videos. The video comment section saw lively discussions, with many people seeing their reflections in the work and continually sharing their love-hate relationships with their mothers. This year’s International Women’s Day, she created “Two I No Guess,” filming three women spending a day dating their AI-generated digital selves.
Zou Yaqi’s studio features a KTV, a 70-inch TV, a cotton candy machine, an indoor lift platform, and graffiti of one of her favorite animations, “Panty & Stocking with Garterbelt,” on the bathroom wall. The animation follows two angels with desires in their monster-hunting adventures. Zou greeted me in a white full-body dress, hurriedly put on with the topmost back button undone. During our conversation, she often swallowed sentences midway and continued with the underlying logic, as if language couldn’t keep up with her thoughts. She frequently checked her phone to quickly confirm the accuracy of certain expressions.
It seems she is more three-dimensional online, where I had already formed a multi-faceted impression of her before meeting her in person—sensitive, ambitious, a topic maker, resembling the ever-changing beautiful girls in Japanese anime, with hidden scars under her beauty. She uses herself as a subject for social experiments, emotions as a medium, internet traffic as creative material, and online comments as “extras” in her works. Whether addressing social resource allocation or the lack of love in her original family, her cries of pain and direct statements of truth turn into her works, resonating with many voices. She describes herself as an “artist benefiting from the times,” although her work often inexplicably faces traffic restrictions on platforms when published.
### Quick Questions and Answers
**Q: Was your life significantly affected by the pandemic? How did you adjust?**
**A:** I’m a homebody, so the pandemic had relatively little impact on my life.
**Q: What do you think is the most urgent change needed in human society today?**
**A:** I think it’s still the imbalance in the distribution of educational resources. Of course, our country does better in this regard than most. But this issue hinders global progress and leads to class solidification.
**Q: Can your profession help change this situation?**
**A:** I think it can.
**Q: What personal circumstance would you most like to change?**
**A:** I have too many personal items and too many things to handle. I’m a bit too inefficient.
**Q: What is your main source of external information?**
**A:** Mainly from the internet, partially from books, and even less from people around me.
**Q: What were the shocks and regrets of your childhood?**
**A:** There were many regrets. Looking back now, my childhood was almost like imprisonment. I had no extracurricular books to read, couldn’t go out to play, had no snacks, and sometimes had to wear thin shoes in winter. This wasn’t due to family conditions; my family was very wealthy. So, while I was like a watchdog locked at home, my parents might be living a luxurious life in the same space.
**Q: What preferences make it hard for you to fit in with your peers?**
**A:** Before graduating from university, I really wanted to integrate and play with my classmates. I don’t think I actively distanced myself from the group.
**Q: What was your first job to earn money?**
**A:** In elementary school, I caught snails in my yard and sold them to classmates for one yuan each. I also wrote novels and rented them to classmates for 0.5 yuan per chapter, with seven or eight readers.
**Q: To what extent is your current profession for livelihood? If survival weren’t a concern, how different would your work be?**
**A:** I didn’t become an artist for a living. I had many planned paths to make a living and would support my art regardless. From a worldly perspective, being an artist is indeed rewarding. Whether I consider survival or not, my work would remain the same.
**Q: How long do you browse your phone before sleeping? Do you ever feel overwhelmed by some consciousness?**
**A:** Living online is natural for me. I might continuously browse my phone or watch TV and use my computer.
**Q: What was your happiest event last year?**
**A:** The happiest thing was having my work discussed again, increasing my influence, so happy (๑＞ڡ＜)☆
### I Love Myself
**B:** How did the concept for your latest work “Two I No Guess” come about? Are you satisfied with its presentation?
**Zou Yaqi:** I originally thought there wouldn’t be so many applicants. The core of my creation is that it’s time for everyone to love themselves, or some already do, treating themselves as emotional objects. I hope to promote this idea, encouraging more people to think about it.
I’ve loved myself for a long time. Narcissus or self-love is an old concept, often considered a flaw. In early works like Yayoi Kusama’s “Narcissus Garden,” it’s about self-love. I’ve loved myself for years, at times treating myself as a lover. In my video comments, some people say they’ve always loved themselves and have their own OC (original character). I create digital versions of myself, though the technology is still basic, not yet allowing real-time interaction. This time, I invited three women to have a day-long date with their digital selves.
**B:** Self-love seems to be a recurring theme in your works. When did you start exploring this?
**Zou Yaqi:** It started in elementary school, where teachers often criticized me for being narcissistic, which they saw as a flaw. During a self-introduction for a middle school entrance interview, I presented myself in a very self-loving manner, which the interviewers and my parents misinterpreted as narcissism. In sixth grade, feeling rebellious, I thought many adults were foolish and didn’t understand, which made me protect my hurt inner child even more. My first expression of self-love failed.
Entering middle school, I fantasized about becoming a mature adult like Fujiko Mine from “Lupin III” at 25. I would imagine loving my future self. From childhood, I constantly practiced self-love and envisioned my ideal self, despite my parents’ criticisms. My father would say I was unattractive or didn’t meet expectations—abstract, ridiculous evaluations. I always believed self-love was right.
Now, at 25, I’m very satisfied with myself, even better than I imagined. This work showcases people who love themselves. One participant, alias Xiaoe, a 19-year-old high school student, sees herself as the perfect lover. Bullied as a child, she quickly rose to become popular and loved by many. It’s an ideal state I aim to present.
**B:** What was the most challenging aspect of this project?
**Zou Yaqi:** The hardest part was understanding everyone’s thoughts and life experiences in a short time. Actually, creating digital versions of them was relatively simple. The most important thing was to arrange everything perfectly to ensure their experience was absolutely special. It was like I was personally funding and managing an ultra-high-end custom tour group. From the call for participants to the completion of production took 20 days, and of course, I slacked off for a few days in between, so it took me about half a month to finish. I had never worked at such a high intensity before, even compared to my previous graduation project “Instant Ownership.”
The first participant was a 45-year-old woman who had been busy with work and family for years and was just starting to explore herself. To understand her, I had to read her writings and the works of a psychologist she liked, extracting those theories and feeding them to ChatGPT to generate content she might write herself, creating an alternate version of her. She felt it didn’t deviate from her character at all, and her daughter commented that it was very much like her mother. She lived in Chicheng County when she was young, and coincidentally, the snow mountain lodge I found for her was also in Chicheng County. Using real place names from her past growth environment, I set similar place names for her alternate-world AI, a resonance only she could understand. Only she could know the feeling of being woken up in the morning by a bouquet with her name on it and her own voice. This feeling might not be conducive to the spread of the work, but I was very happy and fulfilled while arranging all of this.
Everyone was relatively engaged during the shoot, especially Nanbei’s performance. She asked a passerby at the beach to help film her saying “You are my lover, Nanbei.” The passerby probably found it inexplicable, but she didn’t care. She was sincerely expressing her feelings to herself, genuinely feeling the love.
My energy was indeed very limited. I received so many letters during the call for participants, and I felt guilty for not being able to create such a happy dream for everyone.
**B:** Having seen “Heavy Price for a Mother,” I thought there might be other series like “Heavy Price for a Father” or “Rent a Boyfriend.”
**Zou Yaqi:** I probably won’t do those, maybe because I have no expectations for my father. I read the letters my teacher Qiu Zhijie wrote to his daughter, 36 letters to Qiu Jiawa, and got glimpses of fatherly love through those letters.
The perfect lover can only be oneself. I think no one is as important or interesting as oneself. I’ve always fantasized about having a twin, someone at least similar to me in looks, age, and experiences. That would be fascinating. I’ve always longed to be a twin, always hoped for binary fission.
#02
**The Benefits of Communication Studies**
**B:** Comments on your performance art “Instant Ownership” were included in the presentation of the work. What kind of comments did you see back then? Did they change your perception of the work?
**Zou Yaqi:** Many people initially had some perplexing comments because they didn’t understand the work. I even initially guided some negative discussions, asking friends to pretend to criticize to create buzz and draw attention to the work. At that time, I didn’t know how to manage traffic or redirect it to my account.
Our generation has thoroughly realized the benefits of communication studies. We’ve seen so many internet celebrities and how Kim Kardashian became famous. Of course, it’s not about becoming an internet celebrity, but good art also needs dissemination. Many artists have great works that remain unseen, which is a pity. I believe art is meant to be consumed and critiqued online, even negatively.
Many artworks can be understood within the art circle but face stricter scrutiny online. For example, I really like Ms. Cao Yu, who made large portraits of men urinating uncivilly and framed them like royal portraits. The works are very interesting, but if shown online, people might criticize whether it’s legal to photograph men’s private parts. So, not all works are suited for online presentation.
**B:** Is traffic a criterion for judging the quality of your work?
**Zou Yaqi:** It’s not my criterion for judging work quality, but it might be for others. Besides popular works, I’ve done other pieces that I think people enjoy. I’m willing to create high-traffic works to engage in contemporary discussions and survive. In Beijing, artists often consider their place in the historical context.
I didn’t fully grasp the importance of traffic. More people know about my graduation project than follow me. That’s my issue. I didn’t realize the importance of the internet initially and wouldn’t have posted my work online if not for my teacher Qiu Zhijie advising me to do so. Now, I care about what people, especially my fans, think—not to cater to them, but to understand their generation and create works for them.
**B:** How much influence has the anime subculture had on you?
**Zou Yaqi:** It has indeed influenced me. I grew up in an era that naturally included this culture. My fans and audience share the same internet, watching similar things. I want my art to be mainstream, not niche.
Although I’m busy, I still consume some anime to stay passionate. Sometimes I play games like “Kill la Kill.” My figurine of Satsuki Kiryuin from “Kill la Kill” is right next to me. It’s a fighting game with an animated storyline. I need such things to keep my passion alive.
**B:** What kind of people are your fans?
**Zou Yaqi:** About 75% of my fans are women, aged 18 to 35, mainly university students or young professionals in their twenties. They differ from traditional collectors but have their own ideas and favorite artists. Most are from first-tier cities, but there are many from smaller cities too. They prefer not-too-academic types of art and enjoy art in a relaxed way, as it needn’t be so serious.
#03
**Proletarian Artist**
**B:** Regarding “Instant Ownership,” you wrote on Weibo, “The adventure of the fake noblewoman and real proletarian vagabond begins.” Where did your concept of the proletariat come from?
**Zou Yaqi:** From Mao Zedong’s Selected Works. Being from Hunan, I’ve always revered Chairman Mao. Many elders would say, “If Chairman Mao were here, things would be better,” or “Chairman Mao would be heartbroken to hear this.” Growing up in Chairman Mao’s hometown, reading Mao’s Selected Works seemed natural. They teach you how to handle situations, such as turning the tide in a crisis or rebuilding our homeland. One essay discusses overthrowing landlords, clarifying class status: proletariat, semi-proletariat, petty bourgeoisie (with little property), middle class, and bourgeoisie, then landlord comprador class. It gave me a clear self-awareness as a proletarian oppressed by landlords and capitalists.
At that time, I was even less than a proletarian, a young girl with no assets or prospects. The noblewoman concept represents being wealthy. Our gallery in Tokyo now has annual exhibitions, with people wanting to buy “Instant Ownership” every year, but the boss never sells it because it’s unmarketable. A foreign NFT company once offered a high price, but we decided not to turn a critique of consumerism into a commodity. It would be a capitalist plaything, hurting our integrity. I do sell works and have some ad revenue and variety show appearances, which pay well.
**B:** “Oriental Fantasyland” used a more traditional exhibition format. Do you prefer online or offline exhibitions?
**Zou Yaqi:** I prefer and am better at online exhibitions. Having influential curators and wealthy collectors attend big offline exhibitions is prestigious and beneficial, but allowing my fans or proletarian peers to see my work feels more comfortable and egalitarian.
I didn’t post that work online for other reasons. Discussing Orientalism, we showed a Westerner confusing China, Japan, and Korea, which might be misunderstood. I hired a Japanese voice actor to narrate in Japanese, which was expensive. As a super patriotic artist, I have my considerations. Many artists want young people to see their work but worry about misinterpretation because it’s easy to be misunderstood.
People are used to quickly browsing art online, which is understandable given the dopamine-driven internet content. When online and offline paces align, it won’t matter (the exhibition medium).
**B:** How has online dissemination changed performance art?
**Zou Yaqi:** The changes are minimal. Although the dissemination format seems different, I still use my body. Like how journalists documented Yoko Ono and Lennon’s “Bed-In for Peace,” it was a form of live broadcast. The difference is in the audience, shifting from elites to the general public. Historically, art served centralized power: initially for worship, then for nobility, later for merchants post-Renaissance. Now, the public can enjoy various forms of art on different platforms.
**B:** What online situations require you to compromise?
**Zou Yaqi:** For example, censoring low-cut dresses to pass review, which I find absurd. Wearing a normal dress with a certain neckline shouldn’t be an issue, yet male streamers without shirts aren’t regulated. Despite my frustration, I have to comply and censor across all platforms. Sometimes I explain certain restricted terms.
I split a 15-minute episode into three parts, resulting in lower traffic, but it wasn’t entirely censored.
**B:** Do you experience creative bottlenecks?
**Zou Yaqi:** I do, and I worry about running out of inspiration. But I have over five project ideas, enough for at least five years. During the creative process, previous ideas might get overturned. The works I conceived at 21 and 22 are different, and I keep them in mind if I run out of ideas. My teacher said artists go through several growth stages: as a student creating various works, then a new artist, then specializing in a field, achieving success in that field, and finally becoming a top artist. I think I’m in the fourth stage.
A Royal College of Art professor outlined 13 steps for artists, like entering auctions and signing with galleries. My teacher and I think that’s too commercial and outdated. Money follows good work. I’m well-off now. Friends joke that I’d make more as a beauty vlogger, and I agree, but that’s not what I want. I love fame and fortune but would choose to be a great artist. The creative process is more exhilarating than people imagine. Only I know the joy of editing videos or shooting at night—it’s a thrill money can’t buy.