NARRATOR:
For artist Hu Xiaoyuan, the finely painted faux wood grain of this work resembles the scars one may carry through life.

HU XIAOYUAN:
One day, I found a chunk of wood that looked as if it had been abandoned. I could tell from its cross section that someone had used a very powerful chainsaw to cut it up—that’s why it was messily sawed and had multiple deep and intersecting cuts on it. At the time, they looked like laceration scars to me.

So, I got myself a piece of raw silk fabric that was light and thin, almost translucent. I stretched it over the chunk of wood and traced and painted all those scars with my ink brush. By doing so, all of its wood grain and growth rings were brought to light.

NARRATOR:
The piece of fabric that the artist drew on is called xiao, which is woven from raw silk. Its thin and smooth texture can have a calming and soothing effect, but to get to the result harm must come to the silkworms.

HU XIAOYUAN:
Living cocoons first have to be boiled to death before the spinning and reeling of silk fibres can take place. This might seem like a quiet process, but those cocoons are in fact having their lives taken away from them bit by bit. As individuals, they’ve been deprived of things in life that they’re supposed to have.

NARRATOR:
The gap between school and society shook Hu deeply as soon as she graduated from art school. Overwhelmed by a feeling of loss and distress, she began to find herself empathising with things around her that were victims of brutality.

HU XIAOYUAN:
I don’t think brutality will ever cease to exist within the structure of society. But everybody is making efforts to ease the excruciating pain it brings. And for pain this immense to be bearable, you need something to soothe the wound. For me, wrapping things is a way to have this kind of paradox alleviated and exposed all at once. It’s the way I understand the world.

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