Cindy Leung, To Betray(California Dream), 2024, wood, ceramics, sand, and found objects, 183 × 122 × 61 cm (72 × 48 × 24in)
Cindy Leung
Leung’s practice centers on materially hybrid objects and installations that investigate the intersections of consumerism, colonization, and cultural hybridity. She frequently works with silk, tea, and porcelain — materials deeply entwined with the history of British colonization in China and their movement through systems of trade and conflict. For Leung, these materials are both personally resonant and historically charged, serving as conduits for reexamining how narratives of power and exchange remain embedded in everyday objects.
Language is also central to her work. By incorporating poems in both Chinese and English, Leung reflects on the complexities of bilingual education and the shared experience of code-switching. More recently, her practice has turned toward universal experiences of loss, guilt, and grief. Through this exploration, she examines how emotional expression differs across Chinese and American cultural contexts, creating a dialogue that bridges distinct perspectives while illuminating shared human experience.
A: There are many unspoken codes in society. I want to share my perspective as a Chinese immigrant in America. After immigrating to the U.S., I noticed that I had to play by a new set of rules and expectations. As a new American, I felt pressure to be independent in many ways. For example, spending time with a large group of Asian Americans was often seen negatively, as if it meant we could not assimilate into mainstream white American culture. I also observed that Americans require more personal space in public than the Chinese, and they value privacy much more. Even in small interactions, such as being asked “How are you?”, anything beyond a simple “I’m good, thanks for asking” is often viewed as excessive.
Because of these observations about independence, personal space, and privacy, I changed my behaviors for the sake of assimilation. I gradually became more physically and emotionally distant than I had been in Hong Kong. I stopped making Asian friends, ate less Asian food, and shared less about myself. At one point, I felt out of touch with my own culture.
At the same time, as a person shaped by two cultures, I was also subject to Chinese expectations. For a long time, I felt pressure to succeed because my family had invested so much in my education. Success, to me, meant moving to different places for new professional opportunities, creating the appearance of constant progress both professionally and personally. What struck me most, however, was the grief that came with this movement — grief in leaving places, jobs, friends, and lovers behind. Even when I finally had a reason to settle down somewhere, it took years before it felt normal.
In navigating these unspoken codes, I have learned to look within myself again, to figure out who I am and what I value regardless of culture. I have learned to build communities over and over again, to code-switch and mask when moving between spaces, and — most importantly — to process grief in different ways, including through my art practice.
Q: How does your practice, or this particular work, engage with or respond to these codes?
A: In responding to these unspoken codes, I focus on trade relations between China and Western countries, my personal relationships, and my experiences of grief. My small, materially hybrid objects were initially made from Chinese exports — silk, tea, and porcelain — to reference the trading history between China and the West in the nineteenth century. Later, I shifted to using packing materials and found objects, such as packing peanuts and gifts from friends, to create hybrid objectFe (Self-Portrait) are direct responses to my grief over constant movement and my struggle with existing between two cultures.
Q: How do you navigate the balance between individuality and collective life — finding and standing by your own voice while also being connected to and supported by others?
A: This is a difficult question, and I’m not sure I can answer it fully. As I grew older and spent more time in America, I became more comfortable making my own decisions and standing by them. I no longer feel the need to seek “approval” from my family or consult them before deciding. The shame or guilt that once came from acting independently has lessened, if not disappeared. I also grew more comfortable being alone; in that sense, I became my own individual and began enjoying my own company.
Even though I value my “me time,” I’ve tried to balance individuality with a collective life by interacting with students, colleagues, and joining new social groups (mostly through mahjong). In doing so, I’ve been able to clarify my own values and voice while also staying connected to, and supported by, both old and new friends, colleagues, and students.
Q: What has your path as an artist revealed to you about resilience, belonging, or empowerment in your own life?
A: A friend once shared a mantra with me: “Apply, apply, until I die.” As an artist, I face rejection on a constant basis. Rejection only hurts if I allow it. Maybe I’m not the right fit for a particular opportunity, but that doesn’t mean I never will be. Rejections can also redirect me to opportunities that suit me better. In the meantime, I treat them as chances to prepare for the next one by asking artist friends and colleagues for feedback.
Still, I’m human, and disappointment creeps in. That’s why my second mantra is “learn to rest, not to quit.” I give myself grace and compassion when I feel disappointed so I can keep going. I share these two mantras with friends and students because they help with other kinds of rejection in life as well. In this way, being an artist has helped me grow professionally and personally, become more resilient and consistent, and feel empowered in my life.
When it comes to belonging, I often struggle to find my footing in either culture. This was especially true during a summer artist residency in China: I struggled with the culture, the language, and the weather. I felt both an insider and an outsider because I’m not always familiar with Chinese unspoken rules or expectations since I formed my adulthood in the U.S. Yet I find a sense of belonging in my studio, where I create a world in which my values stand out and the two cultures collide, forming a place where I truly belong through making art.
Q: Can you share what guided your choice of the work included in Unspoken Codes, and what you hope it might evoke for viewers?
A: In choosing the works for Unspoken Codes, I was guided by my own experiences of navigating between two cultures and the grief, dislocation, and resilience that come with that process. The hybrid objects I create — whether made from traditional Chinese exports such as silk, tea, and porcelain, or from contemporary materials like packing peanuts and gifts from friends — carry the traces of movement, memory, and relationships. They are both personal and historical, tying my story as a Chinese immigrant in America to broader exchanges between China and the West.
I included works like To Betray (California Dreaming) and To Grieve (Self-Portrait) because they embody this negotiation of identity, the push and pull of assimilation and cultural expectations, and the grief of constant changes. I hope viewers will sense both the vulnerability and the strength in these works, that they will see how objects can hold not only cultural histories, but also the weight of personal transitions, losses, and resilience. Ultimately, I want my work to evoke reflection on the unspoken codes we all navigate, and to create space for viewers to consider their own negotiations of belonging, distance, and connection.