In the vibrant, ever-shifting landscape of the New York art scene, certain voices emerge with a clarity and depth that demand attention. Lunjia Hu is one such artist. Based in the city that thrives on dichotomies, Hu’s work is a masterful exploration of contrast—navigating the vast expanse between the cosmic origins of life and the quiet beauty of a handcrafted meal. Her canvases serve as a meeting point for raw, abstract expressionism and tender, detailed representation. Using oil and mixed media with a confident and dynamic hand, she dissects the fundamental elements of human experience, from the chaotic swirl of primordial creation to the profound ecstasy of joy, and the simple, grounding pleasure found in the everyday.
Her 2024 series, featuring standout pieces like Primordial Soup Before Life, Handmade Sandwich, Downtown LA, and Lost in Joy, has garnered significant acclaim for its intellectual rigor and emotional resonance. Hu’s journey as an international artist in the United States informs her unique perspective, allowing her to deconstruct and reassemble themes of identity, anxiety, and fulfillment. In her work, vibrant colors clash and harmonize, figures emerge from and dissolve into abstraction, and the viewer is invited into a profound dialogue about the nature of order and chaos. New York Art Life had the distinct pleasure of sitting down with Lunjia Hu to discuss her process, her philosophical underpinnings, and the compelling narratives woven into her captivating art.
NYAL: Lunjia, thank you for joining us. Your work masterfully balances abstract and representational elements. How do you navigate the relationship between these two seemingly opposing styles, and what does this duality allow you to express?
Lunjia Hu: Thank you for having me. For me, the relationship between abstraction and representation isn’t one of opposition, but rather of symbiosis. They are two different languages to describe the same world. Representation can ground a concept in a shared reality—we all recognize a sandwich, a human form. It provides an anchor, an entry point for the viewer. Abstraction, on the other hand, allows me to capture the internal, the emotional, the atmospheric—the things that are felt but not always seen.
In a piece like Lost in Joy, the representational figures of the two people embracing provide the narrative core. We understand the context is human connection. But the swirling, chaotic background of reds and blues—that’s the abstraction that expresses the feeling of joy itself: its overwhelming, passionate, and sometimes disorienting nature. If I only painted the figures realistically, I might capture a moment. But by merging it with abstraction, I feel I can better capture the full, boundless experience. This duality allows me to create a more holistic portrait of reality, one that acknowledges both the tangible world we inhabit and the intangible, emotional universe within us. It’s a way of making the invisible visible.
NYAL: Your piece Primordial Soup Before Life is a powerful, abstract work. Could you walk us through the conceptual and technical process behind creating such a piece, which tackles the very origin of existence?
Lunjia Hu: Primordial Soup Before Life came from a period of deep contemplation about beginnings. I was thinking about the scientific concept of abiogenesis—that chaotic, energetic, and seemingly random chemical slurry from which life eventually emerged. I wasn’t interested in a literal, scientific illustration.
Conceptually, I started by meditating on words like “churning,” “flux,” “heat,” and “creation.” The circular forms that appear throughout the canvas represent the fundamental building blocks—molecules, cells—beginning to coalesce, but not yet forming anything recognizable. They are suggestions of order within a sea of chaos.
Technically, this piece was about letting go of control. I used mixed media—oil paints, acrylics, sand, and modeling paste—to build up layers of texture. I wanted the canvas to feel as turbulent and complex as the subject matter itself. The process involved a lot of pouring, scraping, and layering. The bold red backdrop was essential; it represents the primordial heat, the raw energy, the lifeblood of a nascent world. The blues and turquoises layered on top are the cooling, organizing forces. It was a very physical painting process, a dance between my intention and the unpredictable behavior of the materials. In a way, the creation of the painting mirrored its subject: an act of organized chaos.
NYAL: In stark contrast, Handmade Sandwich, Downtown LA elevates a mundane object to a subject of fine art. What inspired you to focus on something so simple, and what message about beauty and value do you hope to convey?
Lunjia Hu: The inspiration for Handmade Sandwich was a direct result of my personal journey. As mentioned in my biography, I was once caught in a relentless search for universal truths, which can be an abstract and exhausting pursuit. I made a conscious decision to ground myself in the present, to find meaning in my immediate surroundings. One day, I was at a small, family-owned café in Downtown LA, and I was struck by the care with which my sandwich was made. I saw the artistry in it—the deliberate layering of ingredients, the balance of colors and textures.
In that moment, the sandwich was no longer just food; it was a testament to craft, to human effort, and to the quiet beauty we often overlook in our fast-paced lives. By painting it, I wanted to freeze that moment of appreciation. I used softer, more textured brushstrokes and a warm, inviting palette to convey a sense of comfort and intimacy. This piece is my argument that beauty and value are not exclusively found in grand, cosmic themes. They are also present in the small, tangible, and lovingly crafted details of our daily existence. It’s a reminder to slow down and savor the artistry in the everyday, to find the profound in the profane.
NYAL: Your artist statement mentions an interest in the “play between order and chaos,” noting that it initially caused anxiety. How has your artistic practice transformed this anxiety into a source of creative exploration?
Lunjia Hu: That’s a very perceptive question. Early on, the tension between order and chaos was a source of great personal anxiety. As an international student in a demanding academic environment, I felt immense pressure to structure my life perfectly, to follow a pre-defined path. This desire for control bled into my early art, where I would try to meticulously plan every brushstroke. But art, like life, resists absolute control. A drip of paint, an unintended blend of color—these “mistakes” would frustrate me immensely.
Gradually, I realized that my anxiety stemmed from fighting against this inherent chaos instead of engaging with it. My artistic practice became a safe space to confront this fear. I started to intentionally introduce elements of chance into my work. I would let paint drip, use unconventional tools, or begin a piece with no final image in mind. Instead of trying to dominate the chaos, I began to dance with it. I found that within this chaos, new and unexpected forms of order would emerge—a beautiful composition born from a spontaneous gesture.
This process has been therapeutic. Art has taught me that chaos is not something to be feared, but a vital force of creation. It is the raw material from which order is born. Now, I see my canvases as arenas where this dynamic tension plays out. I can explore the anxiety, the excitement, and the eventual harmony that comes from embracing both forces. It has transformed my relationship with uncertainty, both on the canvas and in my life.
NYAL: You’ve also written about releasing the “stereotyped paths of the foreign identity.” How has living and creating in New York, a city of countless intersecting identities, influenced this aspect of your personal and artistic growth?
Lunjia Hu: Immensely. When you first arrive in a new country, there’s a subtle but pervasive pressure to conform to certain expectations. People have a pre-existing box for “the international student” or “the Chinese artist,” and it’s very easy to start subconsciously performing that role. For a time, I felt my identity was defined by what I was not—I was not American. This created a sense of “otherness” that was constricting.
New York City was the antidote to that. It’s a city built on “otherness.” Everyone comes from somewhere else, everyone brings their unique history, and no single identity is the default. Here, I wasn’t just a “foreign” artist; I was simply an artist among millions of other individuals with complex stories. This environment gave me the freedom to shed those stereotyped layers. I stopped feeling the need to make art that was explicitly about my cultural background, unless it was a genuine, personal impulse.
I started engaging with my immediate environment—the energy of the subway, the architecture of the Lower East Side, the diverse faces I saw every day. My identity became something fluid and multifaceted, shaped by my experiences here as much as my heritage. My art began to reflect this, focusing on universal human themes—joy, creation, anxiety—rather than feeling obligated to perform a specific cultural identity. New York gave me the space to discover and express who I am as an individual, not as a representative of a category.
NYAL: Your work often features a very vibrant and emotive color palette. How do you approach the use of color? Is it a planned, symbolic process, or more intuitive and emotional?
Lunjia Hu: It’s both, in a delicate balance. My initial approach to color is deeply intuitive and emotional. When I begin a piece, I’m usually chasing a feeling, and certain colors are inextricably linked to those feelings for me. Red is passion, energy, life, but also danger. Blue can be serene and calming, or it can be melancholic and vast. I will often start by laying down broad fields of color that capture the core emotional tone of the piece. This is the spontaneous part of the process, where I let my subconscious guide the palette.
However, as the composition develops, my approach becomes more deliberate and symbolic. I start to think about color theory—how adjacent colors will interact, how to create focal points, and how to build depth. In Lost in Joy, the dominant red and blue are not just thrown onto the canvas; they are woven together. The red pushes forward, conveying intensity, while the blue recedes, suggesting depth and introspection. The small flashes of yellow or white act as points of light, moments of pure euphoria breaking through the emotional swirl. So, while the initial impulse is raw and emotional, the refinement is a very conscious, almost architectural process of building a chromatic structure that best serves the painting’s narrative.
NYAL: Congratulations on your recent and upcoming exhibitions, including the “Utopian Herexhibition” in Carlsbad and shows in New Mexico and at Arts Illiana. How does preparing for an exhibition influence your creative process, and how does it feel to send your work out to be seen in different parts of the country?
Lunjia Hu: Thank you. Preparing for an exhibition is an interesting catalyst. It imposes a deadline, which can be a powerful motivator, but it also creates a moment for reflection. When I know a body of work is going to be shown together, I start to see the connections and conversations between the individual pieces more clearly. It forces me to think curatorially about my own art. I might realize a series needs one more piece to complete its narrative arc, or I might see a recurring theme that I hadn’t consciously noticed before. This period of preparation is often a time of intense focus and can lead to significant breakthroughs.
Sending the work out across the country is both thrilling and nerve-wracking. My studio is an incredibly intimate space, and my paintings are, in many ways, extensions of my own thoughts and emotions. Releasing them into the world feels like sending a part of myself out. However, the true life of a painting begins when it is seen by others. I love the idea that a piece I created in my New York studio, like Fem Valley Splash, will be having a conversation with viewers in Carlsbad, California. Art transcends geography. It’s a profound honor to know my work is resonating with people in different communities, sparking new interpretations and emotions that I could never have anticipated. It completes the creative cycle.
NYAL: The materials you use are quite diverse, from oil on canvas to mixed media. What dictates your choice of medium for a particular piece?
Lunjia Hu: The choice of medium is entirely dictated by the core concept of the artwork. Each material has its own voice, its own set of possibilities and limitations. For a piece like Handmade Sandwich, oil on canvas was the only choice. Oils have a rich, buttery quality that allows for subtle blending and the creation of soft, luminous textures. I wanted to capture the gentle play of light on the bread and the delicate sheen of the ingredients, and oil paint excels at rendering that kind of tactile realism and warmth.
On the other hand, for Primordial Soup Before Life, a smooth oil surface would have felt completely wrong. The subject matter demanded texture, grit, and a sense of geological time. That’s why I turned to mixed media. By incorporating sand and modeling paste, I could build up a physical topography on the canvas. The layers aren’t just visual; they are tangible. You can almost feel the chaotic formation of matter. The unpredictability of mixed media—how acrylics might crackle over a thick paste, or how sand absorbs pigment—was integral to conveying the theme of a world in tumultuous flux. The story I want to tell determines the tools I use to tell it.
NYAL: Your biography mentions contemplating “the future, as a dying or a living entity.” This is a heavy, powerful idea. How does this contemplation manifest in your art?
Lunjia Hu: This contemplation is a foundational undercurrent in much of my work. It’s the ultimate expression of the order versus chaos theme. Is the universe, and our place in it, moving toward greater complexity, connection, and life? Or is it moving toward entropy, decay, and eventual heat death? This question isn’t meant to be answered, but to be explored.
It manifests in my art through visual tension. In Primordial Soup, you see the birth of potential—it is a vision of the future as a living, creative force. There’s an upward, generative energy to it. Conversely, I have worked on other series that explore themes of decay or fragmentation. I might use a fractured composition, a muted or muddied color palette, or imagery that feels like it’s breaking apart. These pieces touch on the “dying entity” aspect—the anxieties of social decay, environmental collapse, or personal loss.
Ultimately, most of my paintings exist in the ambiguous space between these two poles. They contain elements of both growth and decay, construction and deconstruction. I believe this reflects the human condition. We live in a constant state of becoming and unbecoming. My art seeks to capture that fragile, dynamic, and often contradictory state of existence, leaving the viewer to contemplate where on that spectrum—between life and death—a particular moment or feeling resides.
NYAL: Who are some of the artists, past or present, who have influenced your thinking and your practice?
Lunjia Hu: I have a wide range of influences, as I believe in drawing inspiration from many sources. The Abstract Expressionists have been foundational, particularly Willem de Kooning. I am captivated by his ability to merge figure and ground, and the raw, violent energy of his brushwork. His work gave me permission to be messy, to be bold, and to let emotion drive the painting process. I also deeply admire Joan Mitchell for her incredible use of color to convey complex emotional landscapes. Her synesthetic approach to painting—translating feeling and memory into color and gesture—is something I continually strive for.
On the representational side, I am drawn to the quiet intimacy of Giorgio Morandi. His still lifes are meditative and profound. He demonstrated that you can explore monumental ideas through the most humble of subjects, which was a direct inspiration for a piece like Handmade Sandwich. In the contemporary sphere, I am inspired by artists like Dana Schutz, who masterfully combine figurative narrative with a wonderfully chaotic and expressive painting style. Her ability to build complex, often unsettling worlds on the canvas is a huge source of inspiration. These artists, though stylistically different, all share a profound commitment to the expressive power of paint itself, and that is the tradition I hope to be a part of.
NYAL: Many artists speak of being in a state of “flow” during creation. Can you describe what that state feels like for you and how it relates to the themes of losing oneself, as seen in Lost in Joy?
Lunjia Hu: The state of “flow” is absolutely central to my practice; it’s the space where the real work happens. For me, it feels like a dissolution of self. The intense, analytical part of my brain—the part that worries about technique, composition, and meaning—goes quiet. Time seems to warp; hours can pass in what feels like minutes. My hand, the brush, and the paint feel like a single, unified entity. It’s less about me making a painting and more about me being a conduit for the painting to emerge.
This state is directly related to the theme of Lost in Joy. The painting depicts two figures losing their individual boundaries in an embrace, melting into each other and into the ecstatic energy surrounding them. That is a perfect metaphor for the creative flow state. The artist, in that moment, is also lost in the act of creation. The separation between subject and object, between creator and creation, dissolves. There is no anxiety, no self-consciousness, only pure, present-moment engagement. Lost in Joy is as much a self-portrait of the creative process as it is a depiction of human emotion. Achieving that flow state is the goal of every session in the studio, because it’s where the most honest and authentic art is born.
NYAL: Finally, what’s next for you? Are there any new themes, subjects, or techniques you are eager to explore in your upcoming work?
Lunjia Hu: I feel like I’m at a really exciting juncture. The exploration of cosmic, emotional, and mundane themes in my 2024 series has opened up several new avenues I want to pursue. I’m becoming increasingly interested in the idea of memory and how it functions—not as a perfect recording, but as a fragmented, emotional, and often abstract reconstruction of the past. I want to create works that explore this, perhaps by physically distressing the canvas or using layers of translucent paint to suggest the hazy, dreamlike quality of memory.
Technically, I’m planning to work on a much larger scale. I want to create immersive paintings that the viewer can almost step into, enhancing the dialogue between the abstract environment and any representational figures within it. I’m also drawn to incorporating pure black more intentionally in my work. In my artist statement, I touch on how it “guides the gaze,” and I want to explore its power more deeply—not as the absence of color, but as an active, positive space that can be both grounding and terrifying.
Ultimately, my goal is to continue pushing the synthesis of my ideas. I want to create a painting of a memory that feels as vast and chaotic as the primordial soup and as intimate and tender as a handmade sandwich. The journey continues to be about bridging those worlds, finding the universal in the specific, and capturing the beautiful, anxious, and exhilarating experience of being alive.
NYAL: Lunjia, your perspective is incredibly insightful. Thank you for sharing your time and your profound vision with us today.
Lunjia Hu: The pleasure was all mine. Thank you for the thoughtful conversation.
Our conversation with Lunjia Hu reveals an artist of remarkable depth and sensitivity, one who is as much a philosopher as she is a painter. Her work serves as a vibrant testament to the power of art to hold seemingly contradictory ideas in a beautiful, dynamic tension. In her canvases, the vast, impersonal chaos of cosmic creation and the quiet, intimate craft of a simple meal are not opposing forces, but different notes in the same complex chord of existence.
By navigating her own anxieties and experiences of identity, Hu has forged a visual language that is at once deeply personal and universally resonant. Her ability to translate the abstract nature of emotion into visceral, energetic compositions while simultaneously honoring the profound beauty of mundane marks her as a significant and compelling voice in contemporary art. As her work continues to be shown in galleries across the nation, from California to New Mexico, it is clear that Lunjia Hu’s exploration of life’s intricate tapestry is one that will continue to captivate and challenge audiences for years to come.
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