.aesthetic talk
SUN YUAN & PENG YU
*The Last Laugh
written + interview HANNAH ROSE PRENDERGAST
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust—everything returns to its original state, endlessly transforming. Art, too, is reborn with each encounter.
If you are lucky, you will find yourself as a Sun Yuan and Peng Yu original—a couple from Beijing who have been making art together for twenty-five years.
There are many great options.
If we look to Civilization Pillar (2001) for answers, what binds us is nothing more than liposuction fat. Yet you are far more complex—a silicone human capable of floating on water, soaring through the sky, and falling flat on land (not necessarily in that order).
From a dead fly on the wall to an industrial robot trapped in an infinite loop: the choice is yours.
At least, that is the idea.
(c) Sun Yuan & Peng Yu
Teenager Teenager, 2011
(c) Sun Yuan & Peng Yu
Teenager Teenager, 2011
“The distance between me and weapons is the distance between me and freedom.”
Sun Yuan speaks with Hannah Rose Prendergast
for LE MILE Ephemeral Edition - SS 2025 Nr. 38
(c) Sun Yuan & Peng Yu
Teenager Teenager, 2011
(c) Sun Yuan & Peng Yu
Can't Help Myself, 2016-2019
(c) Sun Yuan & Peng Yu
Can't Help Myself, 2016-2019
Hannah Rose Prendergast
When the U.S. presidential election results were announced, you reposted Hey Brother (2022) with the caption, “Although the future is full of uncertainty, we are together.” Why is it important for you to show solidarity with the American people?
Sun Yuan / SY
Unity may not be so important, but people of different races and beliefs living in the same country and on the same planet must always face their relationships with one another. This is an eternal theme. The same piece of cloth connects two shovels; they wrestle with each other but cannot be separated. The tension created forms the internal relationship of a work. Likewise, the relationships between people within a country are the same.
Peng Yu / PY
People’s emotions were twisted with excitement and nervousness. Many countries, including China, delayed decisions and policy changes until the results were announced. As a result, methods of warfare in different regions will also shift. The entanglement of forces for survival shapes human relationships. Being together may be helpless and unavoidable—it can mean unity or struggle.
Freedom (2009) and Dear (2015) feature violently animated hoses in confined spaces, symbolizing the chaos of unregulated authority. What is the ongoing dialogue between these two works?
SY: The basic principles of these two works are the same, but one is powered by a water pump and the other by an air pump. It is like two people with different temperaments responding in a confrontation. Freedom generates tremendous force to strike the iron plate, while Dear thrashes into the chair and glass, leaving scratches behind. The recurring theme of struggle appears in many of our works.
PY: Some people see Freedom as a trapped dragon, while Dear represents the soul of a person controlled by power. Both express a natural, uncontrollable force.
The tension running through Open Sesame (2012) and If Seeing Is Not an Option (2013) stems from the fact that private gun ownership is illegal in mainland China. In 2002, you started building arsenals abroad with the help of Taiwanese and Swiss collectors. What does this separation mean to you?
SY: I need to possess weapons in my own way. Without weapons, you cannot have freedom. The distance between me and weapons is the distance between me and freedom. The feeling of freedom is strongest when you do not yet have it. Therefore, I cannot touch guns. This is the stage when they hold the most meaning for me.
PY: The title Open Sesame comes from the magical incantation that unlocks a treasure-filled cave in fairy tales. It symbolizes the gateway to a new world. If Seeing Is Not an Option was completed in Kyiv, Ukraine, resembling a weapons training camp inside the art gallery. Looking back, it seems like an early warning, a crisis-awareness training for what might come. I hope the young volunteers who participated in this work are all doing well. Our weapons caches are like tentacles in consciousness, with which we can feel and care for the world across dimensions.
Your use of live animals started and stopped in 2003 with Keep Dogs Away and Safety Island. Was this a conscious decision, or did it occur naturally over time?
SY: That was a conscious decision because the following works used the most cunning animal: humans. Animals cannot perform falsely—they do not follow commands, and instinct determines their behavior. Human nature is more complex. Not only do they have the combative traits of animals, but they also adopt strategies and schemes to achieve their goals. This is politics. I have always focused on and been interested in exploring these complex and instinctive relationships.
What draws you to working with animal specimens, including taxidermy? What do you find rewarding or meaningful in using it as a medium?
SY: An artwork is, in essence, a specimen of art. Creating art with specimens does not bring a sense of accomplishment. However, animal specimens help us imagine how the animal looked when it was alive. Similarly, artwork enables us to imagine the process of its creation—how it looks when conceived or deconstructed in our minds. In this way, the artwork gains meaning.
“Art cannot always develop according to the artist’s original wish. Sometimes, it needs to leave the artist and introduce the will of others.”
Peng Yu speaks with Hannah Rose Prendergast
for LE MILE Ephemeral Edition - SS 2025 Nr. 38
(c) Sun Yuan & Peng Yu Old
People's Home, 2007
(c) Sun Yuan & Peng Yu Old
People's Home, 2007
Can’t Help Myself (2016) is a friendly reminder that humans program robots. How does this piece comfort us in an era of rapid AI development?
SY: This work explores a relationship of mutual control—a dynamic that permeates every corner of the world, including social interactions. When the machine operates, viewers can immediately sense the entanglement and constraint within this relationship. By engaging their own bodily experiences, they can either confront or relieve this tension. Ultimately, the viewer develops an understanding of the work: empathy through shared form. However, I do not seek to impose specific opinions or suggestions; the meaning is for the viewer to interpret freely. My role is simply to provide a framework for 'gazing.'
PY: I like the word 'gaze.' It is different from appreciation or simply watching. Gazing involves doubt, and where doubt arises, interpretation follows. Finding an answer is humanity's way of saving itself. The answer offers a form of comfort without a definitive right or wrong. We must also gaze, doubt, and judge when artificial intelligence arrives. People fear the unknown but will find comfort once they obtain some answers. When we proposed this project to the Guggenheim Museum in 2005, most people were unfamiliar with the concepts of artificial intelligence, programming, and robotics. Some feared the mechanical arm might shatter the glass and escape. Today, it stands as a representative work ushering in the era of artificial intelligence.
How often has the ‘uncanny valley’ of your replica humans gotten you into trouble?
SY: I do not attempt to explore the "uncanny valley." This effect attracts the public, but to me, it is shallow. Therefore, I do not have high expectations for the reactions caused by imitating reality in the work. It is merely a guide, making it easier for people to immerse themselves, just like watching a movie. The more vivid and specific the actor’s image, the easier it is for the audience to enter the story.
If I Died (2013) represents Peng Yu’s mother’s perception of death. What did it mean to construct this for her?
PY: Perhaps it is precisely because of her bold conception of death that she lives so happily. Art cannot always develop according to the artist’s original wish. Sometimes, it needs to leave the artist and introduce the will of others. By relinquishing authorship, the artist gains a certain freedom—not much, but enough to deceive oneself. It is like showing an elderly person herwish. For her, it is both illusory and comforting. It is like knowing a religious statue is just a sculpture, yet still able to strengthen one’s faith and find comfort in it.
How has your perspective of impermanence evolved over the years?
SY: Impermanence is an inherent method of artistic creation. Artists must constantly make their works unfamiliar to avoid falling into a fixed pattern. Therefore, changes in impermanence cannot be a regular evolution. Once the change has a pattern, it is no longer impermanent. A predictable trajectory surprises neither the creator nor the viewer.
As artists who have been labeled “controversial,” what are your thoughts on cancel culture?
SY: Although it may cause controversy, I try to maintain a certain distance from reality. This helps me observe clearly and avoid getting trapped in the meaning or interpretation of reality. The superficiality and extremism of cancel culture are both a human need and a defining characteristic. People do not completely hate their flaws; sometimes, they even take pleasure in them—like smelling their farts or scratching an itchy mosquito bite. So, I neither support nor oppose it; I simply observe. When humans think, God laughs. To keep God laughing, humans can think a little more.
Why do you think the world is a fine place to fight for?
SY: I actually have no answer. However, if striving keeps God laughing a little longer, I am willing to try.
What is next for you?
SY: I have no plans ahead.