Ziggy Yang
“Andy Warhol once said, ‘Machines have less problems. I’d like to be a machine.’ That idea resonates with me because honestly sometimes I wish I could be one, too.”
Could you tell us a bit about yourself and your background?
I’m from Xi’an, China—a city rich in history and cultural traditions. My early background was in mechanical engineering, influenced by my father, who is also an engineer. While engineering shaped my analytical thinking, I gradually found myself drawn to more expressive and subjective forms of creation. This shift led me to explore design, initially through interior spaces, before expanding into conceptual and installation art.
Relocating to New York marked a turning point. Immersing myself in an environment where technology and art intersect, I began experimenting beyond conventional design frameworks, incorporating interactive elements and spatial storytelling into my work. Over time, I transitioned fully into installation art, where I could blend technical precision with creative expression. My practice now explores the intersection of space, perception, and engagement—bridging structured logic with emotional and sensory experiences.
My path wasn’t linear, and looking back, it’s incredible to see how much has changed. This unconventional journey continues to shape the way I approach creative projects. Each experience—from engineering to design to installation art—has given me a unique perspective on expressing myself through art and technology.
Your work combines mechanical aesthetics with themes of human emotion, creating a tension between cold efficiency and personal expression. How do you approach material choices and design elements to reinforce this contrast in your installations?
Growing up in mainland China, I’ve always felt that people have strong and real emotions, but many of us were never taught how to express them. There were no outlets, no guidance—I was the same way. So, a lot of my work is about expressing emotions I never had the chance to before. I often use objects that have symbolic meaning in Chinese culture to represent these unspoken feelings. I always start with something I’ve personally experienced, whether it’s tied to religion or Eastern traditions.
At the same time, I was raised in a highly competitive environment where efficiency and discipline were valued above all else. As the eldest child, I was expected to set an example, to perform, to meet expectations without hesitation. Over time, this led to a fascination with precision and machinery. I developed a fascination with precision—which led to my obsession with machines. Andy Warhol once said, ‘Machines have less problems. I’d like to be a machine.’ That idea resonates with me because honestly sometimes I wish I could be one, too. Machines are cold, yes, but they’re also incredibly efficient. They follow programmed instructions and keep running without hesitation. But we are human beings after all. This intense conflict between human emotion and mechanical precision is what inspires my work.
𝘉𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘰𝘮, 2024
Emotion Protocol, 2024
Many of your installations feature repetition and mechanical movements, such as synchronized sculptural elements or screen-based imagery. How do these repetitive or automated gestures relate to the themes of emotional detachment and societal conditioning in your work?
Absolutely. Growing up in China’s traditional education system, academic performance was everything. Every test result was publicly ranked, and a student’s worth wasn’t measured by their character or creativity but by their scores. With 60 students per class and over 20 classes per grade, competition was relentless. If you performed well academically, nothing else seemed to matter.
Beyond academics, daily life was highly structured and repetitive—waking up at 6 AM, studying until 1 AM, repeating the same routine day after day. Individuality wasn’t encouraged; we wore the same uniforms, followed the same schedules, and moved in sync, conditioned to conform rather than stand out. This sense of enforced repetition and synchronization deeply informs my work.
In my installations, mechanical movements, synchronized elements, and looping sequences reflect these experiences. The repetition serves as both a visual language and a conceptual tool—mirroring societal conditioning, emotional detachment, and the loss of individuality within rigid systems. By automating these gestures, I highlight the tension between structure and autonomy, questioning how much of our behavior is truly our own and how much is shaped by external forces.
Given your focus on emotional expression in an increasingly mechanized world, do you see your work as an act of resistance against societal pressures, or more as an observation of how people adapt to these expectations? How do you want viewers to engage with the emotional undercurrents in your installations?
I think it’s both. When I create, I don’t necessarily have a specific vision for how the audience should interpret my work. People bring their own experiences, and that shapes their reactions.
For example, my piece Nirvana was originally centered on Buddhist teachings, particularly the idea that achieving enlightenment requires detachment from emotions. To me, it was a quiet, serious reflection on that philosophy. But when it was exhibited, some viewers interpreted it as rebellious, even humorous. Others weren’t focused on the meaning at all—they were more intrigued by the mechanics, fascinated by how the wooden fish were striking in perfect unison. That surprised me, but when I stepped back and reconsidered, I could see how all these interpretations were valid.
That’s what makes the process interesting. Every time I revisit my work, I discover new perspectives as well. Rather than dictating a fixed meaning, I want my installations to create a space where viewers can bring their own emotions and thoughts, allowing the work to evolve through engagement.
Nirvana, 2024
The Fruit, 2023
Tell us a bit about how you spend your day/studio routine? What is your studio like?
I don’t have a fixed routine. I usually dedicate a period of time to focus intensely on a project. During that time, I’m constantly thinking about it all the time, day and night.
What artwork have you seen recently that has resonated with you?
I love Wong Kar-wai’s films, especially 2046 and Chungking Express. Metrograph in New York recently did a screening, and I went to watch them again. Every time I see them, I notice something new. I really admire his unique storytelling style, how he captures the fragility of human connections in urban life, and his use of color and cinematography.
I’m also a big fan of Ang Lee’s early films, especially The Wedding Banquet. It tells the story of a Chinese immigrant in New York who’s deeply influenced by his family back in China. It really resonated with me.
Is there anything new and exciting in the pipeline you would like to tell us about?
Right now, I’m working on an interactive installation that incorporates AI to explore emotional repression in East Asian culture. I’m also developing an LED-based installation inspired by Traffic in Manhattan, New York City. Both projects are in progress, and I’m excited to see how they evolve—stay tuned!
All images courtesy of the artist
Interview publish date: 10/03/2025
Interview by Richard Starbuck
