Multidisciplinary artist Michele Chu explores how human bodies interact and express our deep and often hidden emotions. Through performances and interactive installations, her practice engages with the tensions and societal norms that govern the public space and our cultural customs. Delicate and subtle, her work also involves sharing parts of her own intimacy and personal memory as an invitation for viewers to journey inward and question the threads that bind us to one another and the world we inhabit.
Caroline Ha Thuc: Your practice revolves around the ideas of intimacy and personal emotion. What triggered this interest? Michele Chu: My interest in intimacy dates to my graduate school, where I became aware of how many of my friends were struggling with loneliness. The juxtaposition of connection [through friendship] and isolation prompted me to question the nature of intimacy and what fosters closeness between people.
Because intimacy is so inherently human-centred, in conjunction with doing academic research, I also conducted fieldwork through street interventions with strangers. These insights directly informed the design of one of my earliest projects, inti-gym – [short] for “intimacy gymnasium” – which was my response to the loneliness epidemic. The concept was to create a space where people could train their intimacy muscles, much like how we work out physical muscles. I created an architectural model with zones for intimacy training, with different levels of interaction – with the self, one on one and one to many. The one on one installation was built to scale during my final year of graduate school and later evolved into inti-gym version 2.0, which was exhibited at Tai Kwun in 2021.
Intimacy remains a central theme in my work and is something I want to keep exploring throughout my life. Feeling connected, belonged and seen is a universal human need. Fleeting intimacy with strangers can bring emotional resonance and meaning, and break our monotonous routines, [but] actually [causes] more vulnerability due to the lack of commitment.
CHT: How our bodies respond to these feelings is also at the core of your work. MC: My interest in somatic memory began when I started therapy. I was feeling very disconnected from my body. My therapist guided me through exercises that helped me recognise intense emotions, identify where they were stored in my body and release them through physical actions.
This experience and reading Bessel van der Kolk’s The Body Keeps the Score got me thinking about how emotions and memories live within different parts of the body. Clog in Throat (2021), Purge (2021), as well as my series of cyanotypes shown at 1a Space in 2021, stem from this exploration.
For Clog in Throat, for example, I reflected on a childhood memory that felt like hairballs stuck in my throat, similar to clogged drains. I made a glass cast of my décolletage and neck area, and used resin to stick hair to the throat area to embody this sensation in the sculpture. When I described this to my therapist, she asked what I wanted to do with that sensation and I said I wanted to vomit it out. She had me imagine purging this energy, which I visualised as a black pool of liquid ink. For the work Purge, I used an inflatable pool reminiscent of childhood and filled it with ink and other black liquids to embody that release.
CHT: The performance Take a Seat, Make a Friend (2021) worked as an invitation to meet a stranger in the street. To make friends is also at the core of Tozer Pak’s practice: do you think that this topic is specifically linked to the Hong Kong urban and cultural context?MC: I really like Tozer Pak’s practice, especially his waiting works [in which he waits in a given place in case a friend passes by], which I think are very romantic. I love their tension between public and private, friend and stranger, and this quiet, hopeful sense of waiting for something magical to happen.
At the core of these works, and of Take a Seat, Make a Friend, is a response to the pervasive sense of loneliness that is common in major cities. In Hong Kong, loneliness is amplified by the way people navigate public spaces, maintaining strict personal boundaries. People avoid eye contact, minimise unnecessary verbal exchanges and often retreat into their own private bubbles in daily life. This behaviour, though, is essential for psychological survival in such crowded conditions.
In my street interventions, I attempt to disrupt the monotony of daily life, offering moments of unexpected connection. I see these interventions as an effort to engage with the city in small, targeted ways – what I think of as a form of urban acupuncture. It’s an attempt to nudge people to engage with one another, to exercise their “intimacy muscles” and open themselves to the possibility of connection, despite the city’s fast-paced rhythm.
Courtesy the artist.
CHT: What about the cultural resonance of touching someone you do not know? MC: This restraint ties into [anthropologist] Edward Hall’s concept of proxemics, which explores how physical distance correlates with different types of relationships. In many Asian societies, the comfort zone for physical closeness tends to be more expansive, particularly with strangers or acquaintances. This cultural norm creates a different resonance around touch – its rarity makes it more intentional and potentially more meaningful when it does occur.
In my practice, I try to challenge and explore these norms through participatory works, such as street interventions or inti-gym.
CHT: The skin, in particular, seems to be an important source of inspiration: as a veil, a membrane, a plastic film and so on. How do you approach this part of our bodies? MC: For me, skin represents both touch and connection. It acts as a barrier that protects us yet it’s also what brings us closer together. Touch, to me, is one of the most primal and universal forms of non-verbal communication. It can express reassurance, comfort, love and countless other emotions. Touch also has positive effects on the body – it’s known to trigger [bonding hormone] oxytocin, boost mental and physical well-being, and convey meaning through body language without words.
A significant part of my research examines how barriers, paradoxically, can foster intimacy and connection. They offer a sense of safety by allowing people to opt in or out of interactions. This principle inspired part of the design of inti-gym, where a fabric membrane divided participants into separate sections of the installation. Participants couldn’t see each other and the dim lighting added to the sense of anonymity and trust, akin to a confessional. The choreography encouraged touch through this fabric membrane, followed by conversation through prompts, and ended with a reveal moment when a window flap was opened, allowing eye contact.
In the installation, I used mesh nylon fabric to create an organically shaped cocoon that invites and envelops you in its soft embrace, inspired by [Brazilian artist] Ernesto Neto [known for his large experimental sculptures and installations]. In my work, I often use nude tones reminiscent of human skin. This choice is a reminder of our shared humanity at its most basic level. My goal is to create environments where people feel safe enough to take an emotional risk – sharing a brief, magical moment of intimacy with a stranger, despite the initial vulnerability it might require.
During the Covid-19 pandemic in Hong Kong, I adapted this idea to work with the acrylic barriers used in restaurants for sanitation. These barriers, often associated with disconnection, were transformed into tools for connection. In one street intervention, I invited strangers to wear LED light gloves and trace light patterns with their fingers on one side of the acrylic barrier, while I mirrored their movements from the other side. Together, we followed each other’s light paths, creating a shared moment of interaction through the barrier. This simple, playful interaction transformed the barrier from something isolating into a medium of shared experience.
CHT: Many of your artworks make me think of Yoko Ono: not only the emphasis on touch but also instruction. Is she an artist you have been influenced by? MC: Since many of my works are participatory and require clear instructions for viewers to follow a choreography and engage physically with the piece, I’ve been experimenting with various methods of delivering instructions – auditory [via audio recordings or live voice], visual [via written words and prompt cards] or purely through body language and actions. In exhibitions, I often use written instructions but I enjoy experimenting with tone, word choice and detail. It’s always fascinating to see how individuals interpret and adapt these instructions, often contributing their own unique physical and personal responses to the work.
While I enjoy Yoko Ono’s work, I wouldn’t consider her a direct influence. I’ve rather drawn inspiration from figures like [American experimental composer] Pauline Oliveros, particularly her deep listening exercises. Her humming exercise, for instance, in which she explores collective meditation as a form of music, inspired part of the choreography for Glitch (2022), a performance I did as part of Sound Forms at Tai Kwun, in collaboration with dancer Sudhee Liao. This piece explored the gap in expectations of touch, proxemics and social cues that emerged during the pandemic. Extended isolation rewired how we think and behave, creating both a craving for touch and a hesitancy to reconnect. Glitch celebrated the awkward stumbles and recalibrations of learning how to be physically and emotionally close again, showing that vulnerability and adaptation are part of human resilience.
Courtesy the artist.
CHT: Spacial design is paramount in how you prepare the audience to encounter your work, almost like a ritual. At PHD Group, with you, trickling (2023), you created a very meditative space, while for the exhibition The Embrace and the Passage (2024) at ParaSite, you played with the corridor and surrounding area. MC: I think the root of this is how I approach creating immersive installations. With my design background, I tend to think of the viewer’s journey as a whole – before, during and after the exhibition. I often draw on frameworks like Jacques Lecoq’s levels of tension [used by the stage actor to explore a character] to design these transitions, and I find inspiration in user experience design and immersive theatre, like Punchdrunk productions. These influences help me craft spaces that nudge viewers into specific states of mind.
At Para Site, I considered how visitors might pass the nearby funeral home and funeral flower shop on their way to the exhibition. For the performance Ghost of Raspberry (2024), for example, I placed an aroma diffuser with the scent of orchids in the exhibition hallway, inspired by the fragrance of funeral flowers at the back of the shop, in Para Site’s parking lot. Inspired by the funeral home’s blue neon light and the nearby water, I tinted the windows and light box blue, creating a contemplative link between the external journey and the exhibition space. These sensory elements serve as subtle cues for reflection, grounding viewers in the present and preparing them for the work.
Similarly, at PhD, the rooftop gallery’s secluded location and layout inspired me to create an intimate experience, employing the pre-journey of going up the staircase after the top floor, and [the fact] that you pass by four doors before entering the main gallery space, which builds anticipation. I was thinking about these lead-up spaces and designed a pre-exhibition space that served as a transition into the main gallery space. Visitors were first greeted by a fabric curtain with a slit, resembling a skin-like membrane – an invitation into my inner world. Inside, a hallway featured a mist shower to disorient and cleanse the senses, almost like a mood palette cleanser. After passing a row of heat lamps in the hallway that sparked discomfort and built tension, viewers were then guided to light an incense stick and walk through a circular fabric installation, and instructed to pay attention to the soles of their feet in a circular, meditative walk. They were asked to repeat this circular path until they felt ready to exit the circle.
I believe transitions are essential for entering a particular headspace. My installations often include spaces or rituals that encourage viewers to turn their attention inwards before turning outwards again, creating a natural rhythm of expanding and contracting tension and focus, just like breathing.
CHT: I guess such a space was needed to open up and be receptive to the emotions that stem from your artworks. Grieving, in particular, seems increasingly present in your recent installations. How do you approach this delicate emotion? MC: Recently, grief became a theme in my practice both personally and communally. On a community level, there has been an undercurrent of loss in this city. On a personal level, my mother passed away last year.
The solo show at PhD focused more on anticipatory grief with my mother and creating spaces for communal grief. Currently, my recent work explores the intersection of grief and gastronomy. At Delfina Foundation in London in 2024, I collaborated with chef Barney Pau through a workshop, inviting participants to map their emotions and pair them with specific flavours and textures of food he prepared. Lately, I’ve also been working with salt as a medium. Salt, for me, symbolises both tears and preservation, encapsulating the duality of grief: the pain of loss and the act of holding onto memories.
Courtesy the artist and PHD Group.
CHT: In Ghost of Raspberry, it felt as if we were at the same time sharing your loss and mourning our own deaths, in a very subtle way. MC: I wanted to recreate that duality – offering participants the space to explore their personal grief while fostering a sense of connection through shared actions. The performance was designed to offer a glimpse into my internal landscape while guiding you to reflect on your own emotions and experiences. This involved subtle communal moments, such as passing salt, drinking soup together or engaging in the same activity.
For me, processing grief has always been a tactile experience. I work through emotions with my hands and this naturally translates into my art practice. Creating work becomes a way to express and navigate grief when words may fall short.
CHT: Going back to the idea of intimacy, you include many personal elements in your work, such as family photographs and even your own menstrual blood. What do you expect from such exposure? MC: The intimacy of my artworks stems from their autobiographical nature. The materials I use must resonate with me personally before they can connect with others. While my physical body is absent, the emotions I aim to convey and my personal touch remain present, and I hope viewers feel that.
Sometimes, I literally incorporate parts of myself into my works, reflecting themes of time, memory and the body’s biological rhythms – like menstruation, nail clipping or shedding hair. This practice began during the disrupted sense of time in the Covid era, leading me to collect traces of my body as markers of transformation. Since 2020 I’ve gathered them, which culminated in a duo exhibition at 1a Space in 2021 [with Dave Chow] and later informed works for my PhD solo show.
I vividly recall the fear of publicly displaying my menstrual blood for the first time at 1a Space. Yet I’ve come to see fear as a compass – when I’m most scared to share something, it’s often the most meaningful. Vulnerability, to me, is what art should embody.
Similarly, my display of family photographs reflects a desire to share what moves me most. I focus on hands and gestures over faces, as they often capture intimate, non-verbal expressions of connection and emotion. My process involves selecting emotionally resonant photos, cropping them to emphasise these elements, printing them as Polaroids and transferring the emulsion onto glass or objects. Hands, for example, convey touch, care and memory in universally understood ways.
By incorporating personal elements, I explore vulnerability and the boundaries between self and others. These materials and themes – care, mortality, transformation and the cycles of existence – invite deeper connections with the viewer. My intention isn’t merely to expose personal details but to reflect on the fragility of life and shared human experiences.
CHT: You did a very moving piece about your mother’s skin, casting her sickness (tracing your scars I, 2023). How did you get the idea? MC: This series of metal repoussé works began when my ailing mother asked me to take photographs of her hand to document her symptoms for her doctor. As she underwent chemotherapy, she experienced blisters, sores and swelling, and the photographs helped track these changes. At the same time, I was going to a metalwork class and learned various techniques, including metal repoussé. While the teacher was demonstrating this technique, the idea to trace these patterns on her hand popped up in my mind.
I thought that the technique of metal repoussé was a perfect match to be able to intimately trace and record her permanently. Each hammer strike, each line was a painstaking, laborious effort to reflect the patterns of her hand. It’s almost like a gesture of care: an intimate act of tracing, like letters on a loved one’s skin.
CHT: Water, as an element and a symbol, offers another thread to enter your work. At PHD, we could hear the dropping of water all the time. What does it evoke to you? MC: Water has become so emotional for me. It’s about healing, grief and the memories it holds.
One memory stays with me: my family and I were walking by the beach, watching the waves in silence. My mother, almost to herself, said something wistful about stepping into the depths, letting the waves carry her far away – from all the pain. I remember the waves crashing against the rocks and noticing an empty lifeguard tower nearby. It was stark, cold and no one was on duty. That image stayed with me – the helplessness of it all. That’s when lifeguard towers began appearing in my work.
Water is unpredictable, like grief. A tap that isn’t properly closed: drip … drip … drip.
“rocking cradles, wet blankets” – that line came from a poem I wrote last year. Wet blankets remind me of childhood but also of the days before death: the discomfort of wet skin, wet socks, wet blankets. They remind me of bodily excretions, of the connection between mother and child, of life ebbing and flowing.
I’ve also been fascinated by the ritual of cleansing that comes with water. I was obsessed with onsens [Japanese bathhouses] for a while. They represent the duality of comfort and discomfort, the relationship between body and water, self and strangers. A few years ago, I wrote a poem about my first experience in an onsen that felt deeply cathartic. I tried to recreate that feeling at PHD, incorporating water in its many forms.
跨領域藝術家朱凱婷透過創作，探索身體的互動和內在情感的表達方式。她的創作涵蓋表演和互動裝置，討論主宰公共空間和文化習俗的張力與社會規則。她的作品細膩微妙，分享自己的親密經驗與個人記憶，引發觀眾反思，並思考我們與彼此及世界的連結。
Caroline Ha Thuc: 你的創作圍繞親密感和個人情感，是什麼激發起你這方面的興趣？朱凱婷: 我對親密感的興趣始於讀研究所的時期，那時我發現許多朋友都受孤獨感困擾。友情的連繫與孤立的對比，令我開始思考親密的本質，以及促成親密關係的因素。
親密感本質上與人息息相關，因此除了學術研究，我亦會走入街頭與陌生人交流進行實地考察。這些交流直接影響我的創作，其中一件早期作品《inti-gym》（「intimate gym親密健身房」的縮寫）就是我對孤獨變成流行病的回應。我的概念是創造出一個空間，讓人能夠像鍛鍊身體肌肉一樣訓練親密感。我設計的建築模型劃分成不同程度的親密訓練區，適合自我、一對一和多人互動。一對一裝置是我在研究所的最後一年按比例建造的，後來演變成2021年在大館展出的《inti-gym 2.0》。
親密感一直是我創作的核心，亦是我希望一直探索下去的主題。連繫感、歸屬感和重視感是人類的基本需求，與陌生人短暫的親密接觸能帶來情感共鳴與意義，打破單調的日常，但同時也因沒有承諾而更容易令人受傷。
CHT: 你的作品亦集中討論身體對這些感受的反應。朱凱婷: 我對身體記憶的興趣始於我接受心理治療。我曾經覺得自己與身體脫節，治療師以一系列練習，幫我意識到強烈的情緒，找出它們儲存的身體部位，再透過身體動作將之釋放。
這段經歷加上讀過貝塞爾·范德寇的《身體從未忘記》後，我開始思考情緒與記憶如何儲存於身體的不同部位。《Clog in Throat》（2021年）、《Purge》（2021年）和我2021年在1a Space展出的藍曬系列都源於此探索。
在《Clog in Throat》中，我憶起童年時曾經有過一種頭髮塞在喉嚨裡，像是排水管淤塞的感覺。我用玻璃鑄造了胸口與頸的形態，再用樹脂將頭髮黏在喉嚨位置，透過雕塑呈現當時的感覺。我向治療師描述這種感覺時，她問我當時想怎樣排解，我說想將那些頭髮吐出來。她讓我想像釋放這股能量的感覺，腦海中浮現出一灘黑色墨水的畫面。於是在《Purge》中，我將墨水和其他黑色液體倒入令人聯想起童年的吹氣泳池，象徵情緒的釋放。
CHT: 表演《Take a Seat, Make a Friend》（2021年）邀請路人認識街上的陌生人。白雙全的作品也涉及交友的題材，你認為這個主題是否與香港的城市及文化背景有關？朱凱婷: 我很喜歡白雙全的創作，尤其是他在特定地點等待，看會否遇見朋友的「等待」系列作品，我覺得非常浪漫。我喜歡作品在公共與私人、朋友與陌生人之間的張力，和那種安靜而充滿期盼的等待。
這類作品，包括《Take a Seat, Make a Friend》在內，都在回應大城市常見的孤獨感。在香港，孤獨感因為人使用公共空間的方式，嚴守個人界線。人會避免眼神接觸，減少不必要的語言交流，在日常生活中躲在自己的私人世界裡。然而，在如此擁擠的環境中，這種行為對心理健康來說是必要的。
我嘗試在我的街頭實驗作品中打破日常生活的單調，讓人意外地連結。我認為這些實驗是與城市小型精準的交流，我稱之為「城市針灸」。我嘗試鼓勵人們互動，鍛鍊他們的「親密肌肉」，在節奏明快的都市生活中打開與他人連結的可能。
CHT: 觸碰陌生人會產生怎樣的文化共鳴？朱凱婷: 這種限制與人類學家愛德華·霍爾提出的「人體距離學」呼應，「人體距離學」探討人與人之間的物理距離與不同關係類型的對應。在許多亞洲社會中，人們與陌生人或新朋友的身體距離往往較遠。這種文化規範讓「觸碰」變得更為罕見，從而使其更具目的和意義。
在我的創作實踐中，我嘗試透過街頭實驗或《inti-gym》這類參與式作品來挑戰和探索這些文化規範。
CHT: 你以面紗、膜片、膠膜等不同物料象徵皮膚，皮膚似乎是非常重要的靈感來源。你如何看待這個身體部位？朱凱婷: 對我來說，皮膚象徵觸碰與連結，既是保護我們的屏障，也是讓我們彼此接觸的媒介。觸碰是最原始和普及的非語言交流方式之一，可以傳遞安心、安慰、愛與無數情感，亦能激發催產素，促進心理和生理健康，甚至在無言中透過身體語言傳達訊息。
我的研究還探討屏障如何促進親密感與連結。屏障提供一種安全感，讓人選擇參與或退出互動，《inti-gym》的部分設計就是受此啟發。布簾將參加者分隔在不同區域，他們無法看見彼此，昏暗的燈光增添了一種匿名感與信任感，營造出一種類似告解室的氛圍。編舞鼓勵參加者隔著布簾互相觸碰，並透過提示對話。在最後打開窗簾的一刻，參加者才得以對視。
在這個裝置中，我以網狀尼龍布料打造出一個繭狀空間，柔軟地將觀眾包覆，靈感來自巴西藝術家埃內斯托·內托的實驗性雕塑與裝置藝術。我經常在作品中使用接近皮膚的裸色，在最基本的層面上提醒共同的人性。我希望營造出一個安全的環境，讓人們勇敢釋放情感，與陌生人分享短暫但奇妙的親密瞬間，儘管初時會感到脆弱和易受傷害。
在香港疫情期間，我將這個概念放在餐廳因防疫而使用的亞加力膠板之上，這些原本象徵隔離的屏障被轉化為連結的工具。在某次街頭實驗中，我邀請陌生人戴上LED發光手套，在亞加力膠板的一側用手指畫出光影圖案，而我則在另一側模仿他們的動作。我們彼此跟隨對方的光路，透過屏障共同創造了一個互動時刻，這個簡單而有趣的互動將屏障從隔離的象徵轉化成連結的媒介。
CHT: 你許多作品都重視觸覺和指示，讓我想起小野洋子的作品。她對你的創作有什麼影響？朱凱婷: 我許多作品都是參與式的，需要觀眾按指示跟隨編舞和與作品互動，因此我一直嘗試不同的指示方式，例如［錄音或現場指導的］語音、［文字或提示卡的］視覺提示和純粹的肢體語言。我經常在展覽中使用書面指示，但我也很喜歡在語調、詞彙選擇與細節上進行實驗。最有趣的是，每個人對這些指示的詮釋都不同，往往會為作品帶來獨一無二的身體和個人反應。
雖然我很喜歡小野洋子的作品，但她對我沒有直接影響。我的靈感源自［美國實驗音樂家］寶琳·奧利維洛，尤其是她的深度聆聽練習。她的哼鳴練習探索集體冥想作為一種音樂形式，啟發了我在大館《聲形》展覽中與舞者廖月敏合作的表演《故障》（2022年）的部分編舞。作品探討了疫情期間人們觸覺、社交距離與互動模式的轉變，長期的隔離改變了我們的思考與行為，使人們既渴望觸碰，又害怕重新與人連結。《故障》歌頌這種重新建立身體和情感親密關係的尷尬與調適，展現出人的脆弱與適應。
CHT: 你的空間設計就像一種引導觀眾進入作品的儀式。你在PHD Group的「with you, trickling」（2023年）營造了一個冥想空間，而在Para Site的「棲與渡」（2024年）則運用了走廊與周圍環境。朱凱婷: 這與我構思沉浸式裝置的方式有關。我的設計背景令我習慣考慮參觀者的整體體驗，從進入展覽前的心理準備，到觀看作品的過程，乃至離開後的餘韻。我經常參考雅克·勒科克提出的［舞台演員用來探索角色的］張力層次來設計過渡，也深受用戶體驗設計與沉浸式劇場（如暈眩劇團）的影響，這些概念幫我構建能夠引導參觀者進入特定心理狀態的空間。
Para Site的觀眾可能會經過附近的殯儀館與祭奠花店，因此我在表演《Ghost of Raspberry》（2024年）的展覽走廊放了一台香薰機，散發蘭花香，靈感源自Para Site停車場後方殯儀館的花香。我參考了殯儀館的藍色霓虹燈與鄰近的水域，將窗戶與燈箱染上藍色，使展覽空間與周圍環境微妙的連結。這些感官元素營造出一種沈思的氛圍，讓觀眾立於當下，為欣賞作品作好準備。
相似地，PHD天台畫廊的隱密位置與空間佈局啟發了我創造一種親密的體驗。觀眾要經過頂層樓梯，穿過四道門才能進入主要展覽空間，這個過程建立了期待感。我將這些前期空間設計成一個預展空間，作為進入畫廊的過渡。首先，參觀者會看到一道有狹縫的布簾，像皮膚般的薄膜，邀請進入我的內在世界。走進去後，煙霧瀰漫的走廊會打亂感官認知，猶如一道清理情緒的前菜。走廊一排加熱燈營造出不安與張力，參觀者走過後需要按指示點香，然後走進一個圓形布簾裝置，按指示專注於腳下的觸感，在圓形空間中冥想行走，直至他們準備好離開圈子為止。
我認為「過渡」對於進入特定的心理狀態非常重要，我的裝置通常都有一些空間或儀式，讓參觀者在轉向外在世界前先向內自省。這種張力和集中力的擴展與收縮，就像呼吸的節奏一樣自然流動。
CHT: 我猜這樣的空間能夠讓參觀者敞開心扉，感受作品所帶出的情感。在你近期的裝置作品中，「哀悼」這個主題似乎越來越常見。你如何處理這種微妙的情緒？朱凱婷: 最近，哀悼成為我創作的重要主題，既有個人也有社會的因素影響。在社會層面，城市一直籠罩著一種失落的氛圍；而在個人層面，我的母親在去年離世。
在PHD Group的個展中，我專注於預期的哀悼，即是面對母親的離世，同時創造出讓大眾共同哀悼的空間，而我最近的創作則正在探索哀悼與食物的交集。2024年，我參加了倫敦戴芬娜基金會的駐村計劃，與廚師Barney Pau合作了一場工作坊，邀請參加者將自己的情緒配對Barney特製食物的味道與質地。最近，我也開始以鹽作為創作媒介。對我而言，鹽象徵著眼淚和保存，體現了哀悼的雙重性，既是失去的痛楚，也是試圖握緊回憶的方式。
CHT: 在《Ghost of Raspberry》中，我感覺我們好像在以一種非常微妙的方式感受你的傷痛並哀悼自己的死亡。我想重現那種雙重性，為參觀者提供個人哀悼的空間，同時透過共同的動作產生連結。表演的目的是讓你一窺我的內心世界，同時透過傳鹽、飲湯，或一起進行活動等一些小動作，引導參觀者反思自己的情感和經驗。
對我來說，哀悼一直是一種觸覺體驗。我習慣用雙手處理自己的情感，這也自然轉化成我的創作。當言語無法承載某些情感時，創作便成為一種表達與梳理的方式。
CHT: 回到親密感的話題，你的作品經常融入個人元素，例如家庭照片，甚至是你的經血。你想透過這樣的公開展現達成什麼目的？朱凱婷: 我的作品之所以帶有強烈的親密感，是因為它們帶有自傳性。我用的材料必須先與我本人產生共鳴，才能夠與參觀者建立連結。即使我的身體沒有直接出現在作品中，我希望我所傳達的情緒與個人元素仍然能夠讓參觀者感受到我的存在。
有時我會將自己一部分融入作品，反映時間、記憶與身體變化，例如經血、指甲、掉落的頭髮等。疫情時期時間停頓，在那時起我開始收集身體的痕跡見證不同轉變。我從2020年起進行紀錄，在2021年於1a Space［與周睿宏］的雙人展中展出，影響了我PHD個展的創作方向。
很記得第一次在1a Space展出經血時我極度不安，但後來我意識到恐懼其實是一種指引。當我感到害怕的時候，往往代表那件事情很重要。對我而言，藝術正正應該承載著脆弱。
相似地，我選擇展出家庭照片，也是因為渴望分享內心的感動。我特別留意手與手勢，而不是臉，因為這些細微的動作往往能夠捕捉最親密、非語言的連結和情感。在創作過程中，我會挑選能夠產生情緒共鳴的照片，然後將它們裁剪以強調主題，再沖曬成寶麗來，最後轉印至玻璃或其他物件。手以一種通用的方式，傳遞接觸、照顧和記憶。
我在創作中加入這些個人元素，探索自我和他人的脆弱和界限。這些材料和關懷、死亡、轉變，以及生命循環等主題，讓參觀者與作品產生更深的共鳴。我不是單純想揭露自己的故事，而是希望反映出生命的脆弱與人的共同經歷。
CHT: 你創作了一件關於母親皮膚的動人作品，記錄她的病痛（《tracing your scars I》，2023年）。你的靈感源自什麼？朱凱婷: 這系列金屬浮雕作品的創作始於我生病的母親請我拍攝她的手，為醫生記錄她的症狀。在接受化療期間，她身體有水泡、膿瘡和腫脹，照片可以幫忙紀錄這些變化。那時我剛巧參加了一個金屬加工課程，學習了各種技術，包括金屬浮雕。當老師示範這種技巧時，我的腦海就冒出了描繪她手上圖案的想法。
我認為金屬浮雕技術是一種完美的配搭，能夠親密和恆久地描繪並紀錄她的身體變化。每一次錘擊、每一行線條都經過艱苦的努力，才能反映她手上的圖案。這個過程就像一種關懷的姿態，一種親密的繪畫方式，就像在愛人皮膚上寫字一樣。
CHT: 水作為一種元素和象徵，為你的作品提供了另一個線索。在PHD的展覽中常常聽到水滴聲，水帶給你什麼感覺？朱凱婷: 水對我來說變得很情緒化，它牽涉到治療、悲傷和承載的記憶。
我記得和家人在海灘散步，靜靜地看著海浪。我的母親自言自語說希望可以走進深海，讓海浪把她帶走，遠離所有苦痛。我還記得那天天氣寒冷，海浪沖擊著石頭，附近有一座救生塔，但沒有救生員當值。那個無助的畫面一直在我腦海中，從那時起，救生塔就開始出現在我的作品中。
水很難預測，就像悲傷一樣。只要水龍頭沒有關好，就會滴答滴答。
「搖籃，濕毛氈」——這句話出自我去年寫的一首詩。濕毛氈讓我憶起童年，也讓我想起死亡前夕，濕的皮膚、濕的襪子和濕的毛氈帶來的不適，讓我想起排泄物、母親與孩子之間的連結、以及生命的起伏。
我還對用水淨化的儀式很有興趣，曾經一度對溫泉著迷。溫泉代表了舒適與不適的雙重性，身體與水、自己與陌生人的關係。幾年前我寫過一首詩，描述我第一次泡溫泉的震撼。我嘗試在PHD重現這種感覺，以多種形式將水融入其中。
