Zhang Yibei on "Murmurs of Water and Warblings of Birds"
Interview by Shen Yuting
*Originally published on the ARTFORUM website on June 16, 2026
In her UCCA-commissioned series *Murmurs of Water and Warblings of Birds*, Zhang Yibei continues her engagement with readymade objects while loosening her reliance on concept and narrative, shifting toward a lighter, more intuitive, and purely sculptural practice. The exhibition begins before one even enters the museum: a tree-shaped signal tower hints at the presence of nature-mimicking structures in the urban landscape, while a large saw blade points to the transformation of stone. Together, they reveal the subtle disjuncture between nature and technology. Inside the gallery, reproduced everyday objects, natural forms, and body parts are scattered like stars across bricks, wooden beams, and staircases, turning a linear viewing path into an organic process of wandering, approaching, and chance encounters. In this interview, Zhang traces the origins of the work and shares the surprises, disappointments, and incompleteness felt during the process. For her, this exhibition marks a significant turning point, helping her more clearly distinguish the respective roles and purposes of rationality and intuition, theory and feeling, in her practice. The exhibition continues at UCCA Clay through June 21.
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In my 2024 solo exhibition *Please No Helmet*, I focused on psychological defense mechanisms. At that time, I tried to work without activating these mechanisms—without resisting any of life's contingencies—but found it wasn't quite possible. Previously, my creative process was rather hybrid and diffuse: sometimes concept was part of the work, sometimes I simply followed the materials. When I received the invitation from UCCA Clay last year, I decided to work entirely by intuition this time, to trace the marks left by the environment as it "passes through" me—or to put it differently, to sculpt life itself. This was a new direction for me.
On my way back to Beijing after visiting the exhibition space in Yixing, I passed by the airport expressway and saw a tree-shaped signal tower. It gave me immediate inspiration. These "bionic tree signal towers" look very similar to real trees, yet appear somewhat incongruous in a natural setting. I decided right then to bring one into the exhibition, and I wanted it to appear as a kind of "standard component." I contacted a factory that makes signal towers and had a new one custom-built to the gallery's specifications. It is not a replica but a fully functional signal tower, complete with lightning rod, maintenance ladder, and access points.
I've always been interested in urban infrastructure—structures like water pipes and electrical wires, which I've also used before—that form the visible and invisible connective systems of a city. Communication towers don't rely on physical cables; they connect people through silent pulses and signals. And their bionic appearance allows infrastructure to blend with the natural environment. But my use of the signal tower this time was not a conscious continuation of these themes—it was an unintended result. Like the signals it transmits, it operates in silence, carrying an "audible" message within that silence, perhaps pointing to relationships between people, and between people and their environment, that are not always immediately apparent.
I had originally planned to place the "tree" inside the gallery, lying diagonally across the interior staircase. But due to external factors, that didn't work out, and it ended up outside the museum. This change led to a small incident: the owner of a shop near the museum felt that the tower's lightning rod was pointing at his store, which he considered bad feng shui for his business. He used AI to write a long protest letter. As a result, we had to adjust the tower's orientation. What's interesting is that a matter that could have been resolved in a few sentences became complicated after AI processing. For me, accidents like this are not entirely negative—they are part of the exhibition's vitality. Also placed outside the building was another sculpture, centered around a 2.6-meter-tall stone-cutting saw blade, which I discovered while cutting stone at the factory. Using a saw blade to separate stone from the mountain seems to bring the stone into a state of death; entering the processing plant, where it is cut and polished again, seems to grant it new life. This transformation fascinates me.
The repositioning of these two large-scale works indirectly shaped the exhibition. At first, I tried to approach everything with an open mind, without preconceptions, letting the work guide me and hoping everything would fall into place naturally. But when uncontrollable situations actually arise, you become tense, focused only on solving the immediate problem, and it becomes hard to stay in touch with your own emotions. When those emotions eventually return, and I look back from the present, I feel regret that I didn't quite achieve what I most wanted to do.
The second-floor space of UCCA Clay has a strong narrative character of its own. Unlike the conventional white cube, the layered wooden beams on the ceiling both connect and fracture the space, which aligns well with the relatively "fragmented" arrangement of this exhibition. All the works are scattered and floating, creating an overall sense of highs and lows, a mix of elevations. I also chose not to impose a viewing path, allowing visitors to wander freely. I reproduced many different objects: plant seeds, everyday items, tools, toys, discarded objects... but chose not to categorize or plan their display, simply presenting what I encounter and perceive in daily life, randomly, like a child. I modified some forms during production—many things look the same as their original forms but are actually quite different. For example, a large stone seed pod, originally only a centimeter or even a few millimeters in size, was magnified hundreds of times. Some of these enlarged forms were mistaken for human organs or something entirely different—which I was happy to see.
I haven't used stone much before. This time I chose different marbles, granites, and sandstones. Stone is a natural material constantly used in urban construction. Compared to glass, which requires deep processing like annealing, stone only needs cutting and polishing—to me, a more primal and authentic material. I also used some metals. I had initially wanted to use cast bronze, but due to international conflicts and war driving up raw material prices, I switched to aluminum. External changes, I think, also participated in shaping this work.
The title *Murmurs of Water and Warblings of Birds* came from a piece of light music I happened to hear. The title is a material in the exhibition, and the only text. All the commissioned works are unified under this title, without individual names. This perhaps stems from some realizations I've had recently: although many decisions appear carefully considered, they are often driven by the subconscious. So in this exhibition, I tried to remove the element of "decision-making," allowing the subconscious—even the unconscious—to drive my work. For me, to move "forward," I first need to "step back": to move from a mixed state of rationality and intuition toward pure intuition. During the making and installation, I found that with this premise, I felt much more at ease, closer to the work—and perhaps closer to the world as well.
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Like an interview: with a clear theme, we focus on the level of language; but without a theme, two people sitting together without any particular aim might draw closer to each other. When works and exhibitions move beyond explanation, they dissolve distance. Though the space is silent—without sound or text—I hope visitors can wander freely, getting closer to the space, to the works, and to themselves, and in this wordless exhibition, hear their own voices.
