Author/Zhang Xinzhu
*Original article was released on June 21, 2026
How can the traces of everyday objects be seen anew?
Taking "matter" as its starting point, the exhibition *Messages in Matter* at UCCA Clay is an invitation to relearn how to see. In the newly commissioned works of Zhou Xiaohu and Zhang Yibei, material is not a passive container waiting to be interpreted, but rather accumulates marks through formation, circulation, and endurance—bearing witness to time while intervening in history. The two artists approach this proposition through distinct paths.
The former works with historical materials such as shipwreck ceramics and maritime relics, tracing the imprints left by the flow of civilizations. The latter turns her gaze to the present, seeking the faint signals hidden within the everyday—at the intersection of nature and technology, life and information. Leaving Zhou Xiaohu's cultural field on the first floor, one ascends to Zhang Yibei's second-floor gallery, where a different kind of silence awaits. There is no flowing water here, nor birdsong. The exhibition is titled *Murmurs of Water and Warblings of Birds*, yet the space is nearly silent. Enlarged plant seeds, scattered repair tools, a plush bear dangling from the ceiling, two miniature cacti—all are scattered throughout the space. They seem both temporarily transported from daily life and as if they have always belonged here. As visitors enter, they feel a hesitation in the body—steps slow, gaze wanders, and the senses begin to search for what has not been spoken.
The Entry Point for Perceiving "Things"
We seldom lack information today. News on screens, distant wars, fluctuations in oil and gold prices, AI technologies iterating every few weeks—they continuously push us into new stimuli. Yet precisely because of this, perceiving what does not appear through language has become increasingly difficult: the brush of wind on skin, the state of a houseplant, the hidden connections between people and their environments in public spaces, or the actual weight, temperature, and texture of a material. The more overwhelming the information, the more our senses dull.
This dullness is not accidental. We have long grown accustomed to an endless supply of materials, yet rarely truly observe the materials that constitute objects themselves. Aluminum, glass, ceramic, marble—they serve as silent backdrops in daily life. We use them, but rarely feel them. They are processed, transported, consumed, forgotten, and eventually become a naturalized part of the order of life. In Zhang Yibei's practice, however, material is not passively shaped—it becomes an indispensable interlocutor. Materials possess a complex texture, situated between intuition and relationship, between technology, emotion, and lived experience. Zhang Yibei's work offers a path back to perception itself: materials, through their weight, temperature, form, and connections with one another, help people rediscover a more direct way of sensing.
Walking into *Murmurs of Water and Warblings of Birds*, the objects placed in the space carry traces of life, yet are not organized into a human-centered narrative. There is no clear hierarchy, no urgency to explain themselves. Instead, each seems to hold an unspoken experience, waiting for viewers to approach with their bodies. The silence of the space is itself part of the exhibition.
Material is matter, and matter has its own capacity for recording. Stone records geological time, plant seeds record seasons and climates. The information inherent in materials does not depend on human language—it accumulates gradually through sedimentation. In Zhang Yibei's *Murmurs of Water and Warblings of Birds* (2026), she focuses on the present, on the cyclical changes of nature, on information rooted in the environment. Just as phenology observes the ongoing connections between seasons, climate, and life—connections that subtly shape how we perceive the world—Zhang's installation, constructed from cast aluminum, marble, and found objects, allows viewers to move freely through it, re-establishing a bodily relationship with matter. Yet the work does not simulate nature through real sound. Silence is what pervades. This allows bodily experience and inner feeling to take precedence. As viewers weave between objects, pausing, approaching, keeping distance, the body is no longer merely a vessel for looking—it becomes a receiver, capturing the faint yet continuous signals in the space.
Material and Intuition
In discussions of Zhang Yibei's practice, she is often categorized as an artist who works from materials. Yet in her work, materials are neither absolute concepts nor passive tools—they grow with the artist, becoming the work itself.
Born in 1992 in Daqing, Zhang studied sculpture in London and now lives and works in Beijing. She does not understand sculpture as a stable, closed object. For her, sculpture is more like a relationship—between material and space, between object and body, between intuition and reality, in a state of constant negotiation.
Her materials span a wide range: aluminum, silicone, steel, glass, resin, marble, ceramic, found objects, and readymades. Outside observers often focus on material composition, but the deeper question is that materials do not merely serve the artist's creation—their properties also shape the artist in return, making her an extension and response to them. In her view, the artist selects materials, combining them into subconscious references; but simultaneously, the artist is also selected and moved by materials.
Aluminum's cold hardness, silicone's softness, glass's fragility, resin's solidity, marble's weight—none are neutral. Zhang enters a space by intuition, choosing materials that feel "right" in the moment, allowing works to take shape through reshaping, displacement, and improvisation. Sketches or models are not necessarily the first step; works often emerge through the process of engaging with materials. Her practice does not begin with a preconceived concept, then seek suitable materials to illustrate it. Rather, she enters a feeling not yet clear, and gradually pushes it toward visibility through materials.
This bidirectional relationship of shaping is also reflected in her perception of "signals." She is fascinated by the capture and reception of signals, not by the accurate translation of information into meaning, but by the sense of flow between sending and receiving. The outdoor installation at the museum extends this perception: the "bionic tree" inspired by a disguised signal tower emits frequencies inaudible to humans in reality, preventing birds from nesting and sustaining the functioning of base stations. Signals may arrive, or they may disappear midway—but as long as flow has occurred, a relationship already exists.
Relearning to Feel
In her creative process, Zhang Yibei does not always start from a clear theme or concept, but more often from the state, emotion, and sensation of the moment. Yet she is not an arbitrary creator—she trusts that feeling carries far more than consciousness can grasp.
What are recognized as certain knowledge and concepts often originate from chaotic,模糊 sensations, yet once solidified into language, they lose their original richness. Her works resist quick interpretation. She chooses cool materials like silicone, steel, glass, and resin, endowing them with organic vitality through melting and assemblage. She also connects her fleeting emotions to these inanimate materials, allowing all that is soft, cold, joyful, and melancholic to crystallize in the works, becoming something that needs no definition.
Confronting her work, viewers must first set aside the knowledge and concepts deeply embedded in consciousness. Instead of hastily asking "What does this work mean?" it is better to ask, "What do I feel here?" Is it cold, hard, hesitant, uneasy? Or some inexplicable intimacy?
It is not a rejection of understanding, but a deferral of it. Zhang Yibei always hopes viewers do not rush to interpret, but first place themselves in the experience. When you stand among those materials, feeling your body drawn by the space, surrounded by silence, suddenly struck by a detail—at that moment, you have already "connected" to her signal. The work is no longer merely an object to be viewed, but a relationship unfolding in the present.
As the noise of the age continually dulls our senses, Zhang Yibei's work offers a path back to perception. A seemingly scattered assemblage of materials constitutes a field not through external frameworks, but through the relationships between them—and it is these relationships that reopen the door to awareness. Here, there is no sound, yet we hear the flow between materials; no specific narrative, yet we read the record between objects and self. As information accelerates and perception compresses, Zhang Yibei reminds us to reopen our capacity to receive signals.
And so, in that silence, we finally begin to hear the unheard.
