Artist Highlight - Kai Hsuan Chang (London Design Festival 2026)

1. The Curve through Grain, the Interstice Dream under it begins with wood veneer and repeated acts of tearing, bending, folding and fixing. What drew you to these particular forms of pressure?

I was drawn to tearing, bending, folding and fixing because, for me, these processes closely echo the historical process of colonisation and assimilation. They are not only formal or technical gestures, but ways of applying pressure onto the material, allowing the material itself to embody this process. Through repeated force, the wood is redirected, altered and held in a new condition. I see this as a way of making an abstract historical experience physically visible, not through direct representation, but through what happens to the material under pressure.

2. You describe wood as a living material rather than a passive surface. How does this belief change the way you work with it?

Each piece of wood has its own unique grain direction, fibres and even pores. It breathes, shrinks, expands and reacts to its environment. Because of this, I cannot treat it as a completely stable or passive surface. During the making process, I need to accept that instability may appear: the wood may split, bend differently, resist pressure or change over time. This uncertainty becomes part of the work. Rather than trying to fully control the material, I try to work with its unstable state and allow that unpredictability to remain visible.

3. The wood in your work is forced into curves, yet the final form can appear quiet or natural. Are you interested in that moment when pressure becomes difficult to see?

Yes, very much. I am interested in the moment when force has already happened, but the result begins to appear natural, quiet or even beautiful. For me, this is close to how assimilation works. Pressure does not always remain visible as violence. Over time, it can become normalised as habit, identity or belonging. In the work, the curve looks organic, but it is produced through force and fixing. I want viewers to sense that what appears natural may actually contain a long history of redirection.

4. Your process connects to questions of Paiwan Indigenous identity, memory and cultural assimilation. How do you approach these histories through material action rather than direct image making?

I approach these histories through material processes because I do not want to simply illustrate identity or loss. Instead, I use wood as a body that can be pressured, redirected and held in a changed form. This allows me to think about assimilation as something that happens gradually, through repeated forces. My Paiwan identity is connected to stories from my grandmother, displacement from the mountain to the plains, and the feeling of living between cultures. Material action lets me hold these histories indirectly, through tension, residue and trace.

5. The title suggests grain, curve and interstice. What does the space between things mean in this work?

The interstice is the space where things do not fully belong to one side or another. For me, it reflects my position between Paiwan and Han Chinese histories, between the mountain and the plains, between inheritance and distance. It is not only a gap or absence; it is also a place where memory continues to move. In this work, the space between materials, cultures and forms becomes a site of pressure, but also of imagination. It is where something fragile, unfinished and still alive can exist.

6. There is a tension between control and survival in the way the veneer is shaped. Do you see the material as resisting you, yielding to you, or negotiating with you?

I see the material as negotiating with me. It does not simply obey, and it does not only resist. Wood has its own grain and direction, so every bend involves a limit. If I push too hard, it breaks; if I do not push enough, it returns. This negotiation is important because it mirrors the tension between control and survival. The final form is not entirely mine, and not entirely the material’s. It is produced through pressure, delay, failure and adjustment.

7. The work includes wood, fabric, chain and bell. How do these added materials change the rhythm or meaning of the installation?

The wood carries pressure and memory through its grain and curve. The fabric introduces softness, colour and a bodily quality, almost like clothing, skin or ceremonial fragments. The chain brings weight, restraint and a sense of suspension, while the bell adds the possibility of sound, even if it remains quiet. Together, these materials change the work from a wooden form into something more ritualistic and bodily. They create a rhythm between hardness and softness, silence and sound, restraint and movement.

8. You mention that cultural forms can continue to take shape under pressure. How do you understand survival when a form has already been altered?

For me, survival is not the same as remaining unchanged. A form can be altered, redirected or even damaged, but still continue to carry memory. In Indigenous histories, culture often survives through fragments, adaptation, translation and incomplete transmission. I am interested in that condition: when something has already been shaped by external force, but still holds its own direction underneath. In this work, the wood can no longer return to its original straightness, but it still carries the memory of where it came from.

9. The piece does not simply represent loss. It holds redirection, force and endurance. Was it important for you to avoid making the work only about damage?

Yes. Damage is part of the work, but I did not want it to be the only reading. I am more interested in how pressure produces complicated forms of endurance. Assimilation, displacement and cultural loss are painful, but they also create uncertain spaces where memory, identity and beauty continue to take shape. The work holds force and fragility, but also transformation. I wanted to avoid making a monument to loss. Instead, I wanted to create a trace of something that continues to live under pressure.

10. When viewers see something curved, delicate or organic in this work, what hidden pressures do you hope they begin to recognise?

When viewers see something curved, delicate or organic, I hope they begin to ask what kind of force made that form possible. The curve may look soft or natural, but it contains pressure, fixing, delay and resistance. I hope this leads them to think about broader cultural conditions: how identities, landscapes and histories can be redirected until those changes appear normal. The hidden pressure I want to reveal is not only physical, but also historical—the slow force that shapes how people, cultures and memories survive.