XIYAO
WANG
In
the
Flow
of
Time
4 February 2025
A conversation with Xiyao Wang about home, nature, and the search for inner freedom
A conversation with Xiyao Wang about home, nature, and the search
for inner freedom
Ahead of her solo exhibition LIGHTLY FLOATS AND DRIFTS THE BOAT at KÖNIG MEXICO CITY (4 February – 27 March 2025), Xiyao Wang reflects on the themes shaping her art –movement, memory, and nature’s fleeting beauty. Inspired by Tao Yuanming’s poem Ah, Homeward Bound I Go!, she explores the tension between stillness and motion, belonging and departure. Her work, influenced by recent travels in China, intertwines poetry, philosophy, and personal experience. Accompanying her reflections are photographs by her partner, Tizian Baldinger, capturing landscapes that echo the quiet lyricism of her paintings.
KÖNIG GALERIE: Your new body of work seems to be deeply rooted in ideas of homecoming, nature, and introspection. Could you tell us more about the origins of these themes and how they found their way into your paintings?
XIYAO WANG: Of course. This series is closely tied to my reflections on nature, poetry, and personal memory. One of the key inspirations is a Chinese poem from 405 AD, in which the poet, Tao Yuanming, leaves behind a secure position to return to his homeland. He makes a deliberate choice to withdraw from the pressures of public life, seeking instead a life of simplicity and inner peace.
His journey isn’t just about stepping away from society; it’s about reconnecting with something more essential – something unspoiled, both within himself and in the natural world. That idea resonates deeply with me. The way he describes his surroundings, the way he perceives the world anew upon his return – it reminds me of my own experiences when I visit my homeland. There’s a sense of recognition, but also of rediscovery, as if seeing things with fresh eyes each time.
KG: Would you say this idea of returning – both physically and spiritually – acts as a metaphor for personal liberation in your work?
XW: Yes, I think so. But it’s a subtle kind of liberation, not a dramatic escape. It’s not about running away, but rather about allowing yourself to be in a place where you feel inner peace, fully connected with nature and the universe.
In the poem, the poet returns home, yet everything feels transformed – not because the landscape has changed, but because he has. That’s something I relate to deeply. Every time I return to China, the rivers, the forests, the quiet villages – they remain as they always were, but I experience them differently depending on where I am in my life. It’s this shifting perspective, this continuous dialogue between past and present, that I try to capture in my paintings.
© Image Tizian Baldinger
KG: The poet made a radical choice to leave behind his status and career. What was his original role, and what do you think compelled him to give it up?
XW: He held a position as county magistrate and other official positions – something that, at the time, meant security, power, and social prestige. But he found himself increasingly disillusioned by the constraints of political life. He no longer wanted to compromise who he was just to meet the expectations of those above him.
Instead, he chose to turn away from ambition and status, seeking a life more in tune with nature. His decision wasn’t about rejecting responsibility – it was about choosing authenticity over conformity. There’s something incredibly powerful in that, even today. That quiet defiance, that willingness to let go of what the world deems important in order to preserve one’s own sense of self, is something I think about a lot, both as an artist and as a person.
KG: During your recent trip to China, were there moments when you felt an especially strong connection to the themes of the poem?
XW: Yes, many moments. One that stood out was seeing Mandarin farmers working in a small mountain village. They moved slowly and deliberately, carrying baskets filled with fruit, their rhythm guided by the land itself. It reminded me of the way the poet describes returning to a life of simple labor – of working with the earth, rather than against it. There was something deeply grounding about that scene.
Another moment was standing by a river at sunset, watching the water shift and reflect the changing light. The way the river moved, constant yet never the same – it made me think about impermanence, about how everything is always flowing, even when it appears still. That’s something I try to bring into my work: this quiet movement, the sense that nothing is truly fixed, that everything exists in a state of gentle transition.
© Image Tizian Baldinger
KG: Your work often evokes a sense of fluidity and weightlessness. Does the poem influence that visual language?
XW: Yes, very much so. There’s a passage where the poet describes returning home, traveling on the river, enjoying the immersion in nature, his clothes moving with the wind. It’s such a vivid image – this sense of lightness, of surrendering to the movement of the water. That’s something I try to translate into my paintings.
The way I paint isn’t rigid or controlled. It’s about letting the brush follow its own rhythm, letting the forms emerge naturally, almost like waves forming and dissolving. I want the viewer to feel that sense of drifting, of being carried along by something unseen.
KG: You’ve mentioned that Daoist philosophy also informs your work. How does this influence your approach?
XW: Daoism is about harmony – moving with the natural flow of things rather than resisting them. There’s a concept called wu wei(无为)which means effortless action. It’s not about passivity, as in doing nothing or being idle, but rather about aligning with the natural flow of life. Instead of struggling against circumstances or forcing things to happen, Daoism encourages adapting and responding fluidly, much like a river that carves its path effortlessly over time. Wu Wei and Daoist principles do not mean inaction but rather a harmonious way of engaging with the world.
That’s how I approach painting. I don’t overthink or overplan – I let the brushstrokes unfold intuitively, responding to what’s already on the canvas. There’s a spontaneity in that process, a kind of openness. I think that’s why my paintings feel fluid – because they come from a place of movement rather than control.
However, I don’t simply let go – I have to control how I let go. There is a lot of preparation involved in being able to surrender to the process. All painters love to paint, but it takes discipline and control to know when to stop. I have to observe carefully, to be attentive to the right moment. I need to know when to start, when to step back, and which movements need refining. But all of this happens in my mind – there are no preliminary sketches, just mental preparation. It’s like yoga: to let your body move into a headstand, you first have to visualize it. You need to imagine how your muscles will engage and trust that your body will rise. Letting go requires control, and achieving control requires the ability to let go. It’s a delicate balance – one I work on every day.
© Image Tizian Baldinger
KG: That’s a beautiful philosophy, both in life and in art. How do you hope viewers experience this sense of movement and impermanence in your work?
XW: I hope my paintings create a feeling of presence – of stepping into a moment that’s already in motion. Just like a river is never exactly the same from one moment to the next, I want my work to feel like it’s shifting, breathing.
For me, painting is about holding onto something fleeting, but also accepting that it can never be fully captured. That tension, that balance between presence and impermanence, is what I want to share.
KG: This has been such a wonderful conversation. Thank you for sharing your thoughts with us.
XW: Thank you – it’s been a pleasure.