GREATEST: Ruohan Wang
The Berlin-based artist on creative boundaries, missed flights and the beauty of deep-sea creatures.
When Ruohan Wang joins our Google Meet chat, she’s at her home and studio in Berlin, sitting in front of two large unfinished paintings. Since moving to the German capital in 2012, the Beijing-born illustrator and painter has developed a striking visual language that fuses bold colors, playful shapes and surreal characters. Whether it’s a comic for a newspaper, a silk-printed poster for a museum or an animation for a festival, Wang’s enthralling scenes are throbbing with energy; the subjects appear to be in a state of flux.
Initially, Wang was drawn to Berlin because its ethos was a refreshing change from the cities she knew in China. Despite having lived in the German capital for nearly a decade, she still maintains a sense of warmth and curiosity towards the place she now calls home. Berlin has long been a haven for artists of all stripes. Historically, its countercultural spirit, vibrant arts community and comparatively lower costs of living have made it attractive to those seeking alternative lifestyles. Nowadays, Berlin's identity is inextricable with the many creatives and cultural icons that have left a mark on the city.
Ruohan spoke to GREATEST about how Berlin has influenced her creative practice, why she loves people-watching and what’s in store for her upcoming solo exhibition in Chongqing, China.
You moved from Beijing to Berlin to study visual communication nine years ago—and have been based in the German capital ever since. Can you talk about the path that led you to where you are today?
My plan was to study abroad after high school. When I decided to go to study in Berlin, I began learning German through weekend language courses. It was hard and intense but I got there. Looking back, I’m happy that I didn’t give up because of the exams. Then, I came here to study at the Berlin University of the Arts (UdK). In the beginning, I was very shy and lonely at school. Step by step, I learned a lot from German friends and my classmates. As a student, I eventually got my first commission from the Deutsches Museum in 2014. After that, every small project led to another project. I didn’t have a long-term plan. I was just open to what came and tried to do my best at any given moment.
Of all places, why did you choose Berlin? Did you visit the city before moving here?
I travelled to Europe with my family before settling in Berlin and visited many different cities. I like German culture. I think Berlin is very different from China, which is more modern with skyscrapers and high-tech [elements] everywhere. During that time, I might have also been going through a phase where I was anti-anything-fancy. I was drawn to bold things, and also natural things. Also, I think my English was already at the level it’s at now and I thought it would be cool to learn another language. If you’re interested in a place but don’t know what people are saying around you, you can feel like an outsider. To me, it was a good decision to learn another language, it’s like you have more hands.
Growing up in Beijing, were you always interested in drawing and the visual arts? Are there any early memories of creating artworks that stand out to you?
I’ve been drawing since I was a little kid... Maybe it's because it’s an activity I’ve never stopped doing [but] it makes me feel like everything is easy and I just have fun doing it. I was also very active all throughout my primary, middle and high school years, creating graphics for classrooms and posters for festivals. The practice felt totally free. This experience was very important for my illustration background and graphic design, and I think it helped me get a spot at the UdK.
Previously, you’ve mentioned that Berlin plays a crucial role in your creative process. Can you talk about how the city’s cultural landscape and community have shaped your practice and aesthetic sensibility?
I think a particular society can impact someone’s personality quite a lot, or maybe it can help you discover a side of yourself that you weren’t familiar with before. In Berlin, I try to be more independent, or selbstständig. I really like the part of German culture that values function—objects are based on function and sometimes even on the material itself. For me, there’s a very bold aesthetic here that is different from other cities. Whether it’s the typography on the highway or posters on the street, the words and symbols are clear and big enough so you can understand the information being communicated quickly. This informs the way I use shapes and colors in my own work. At UdK, I learned how to use colors and do silkscreen printing in a more professional way from my professor Henning Wagenbreth as well as my classmates. The environment that I’m in and the city’s art and culture landscape both constantly influence my view of making art.
Your work spans illustration and painting to animation and public art installations. How do you decide which form an idea will take?
When I studied visual communications at UdK, I took illustration classes but also some graphic design, information design and animation classes. People often think about illustration as a print medium but, at the time, I really wanted to try new things. It was very exciting to see my work grow out of paper, place it into another medium and create new possibilities. It’s more challenging, but I think the characters in my artwork wouldn’t allow me to stick to one medium.
Looking at your colorful work feels like a refreshing visual break from the typical images we’re often inundated with in daily life. I’d be curious to hear about where you think these surrealist and playful elements that pulse through your work come from?
I think reality can be recorded best by a camera, whereas surreality can only come from artworks. It seems like our duty to bring people from reality to surreality through art. It’s kind of like going to the sea... If you swim deep down into the water, you can see creatures down there that are beautiful. And if you’ve had enough, you go back up and get out. As creators, I think we need that moment of surprise. I think I’m the kind of person who likes to go 20 meters deep into the water to discover more benthos [organisms that live at the bottom of the oceans], while bearing the water pressure. For my work, I think the surreal elements emerge when I try to go to the max—or get to a point where I feel sick and can’t do it anymore. It’s the best boundary for me in terms of work. In the end, it’s a bit extra but feels nice.
In terms of the playful characters in my work, that’s from me watching people when I go on walks, which I find really enjoyable and relaxing. Somehow, it feels like I’m recording all these memories in stop-motion. Some repeat again and again, and then I choose which ones I want to realize in my work. It’s so fun to observe people—whether they’re working or interacting with others. I think the things that we don’t pay a lot of attention to, or that we don’t think are special, can actually be a source of artistic inspiration. I mean, why don’t we observe ourselves and each other more carefully?
It seems like our duty to bring people from reality to surreality through art. It’s kind of like going to the sea... If you swim deep down into the water, you can see creatures down there that are beautiful.
Ruohan Wang
I love that. Are there any philosophies, people, ideas or activities that have deeply molded the way you see the world and create your work?
Looking back, I think a lot of things that feel familiar to me—like what I saw at a Chinese palace or museum growing up—which I may not have been perceptive to back then, or didn’t think much of, have actually impacted my view on the world. For example, like paintings by Jiao Bingzhen, a Chinese artist from the Qing Dynasty, or by Utagawa Hiroshige, a Japanese ukiyo-e artist. I love that these kinds of paintings are large natural scenes that focus on big mountains, trees and rivers—and then you see a very small fisherman in the piece. I interpreted the scenes in three ways. First, the painters wanted to get out of secular society and find utopia at the time. Second, perhaps some of them aspired to higher goals while looking at the highest mountains. Lastly, the paintings seem to embody the modesty and elegant demeanor of Asian culture.
I wanted to talk about the ‘place’ from which you create and how that influences the final outcome. For some artists, it can be the primary physical site where a piece was created, a feeling from which one creates, or an alternate reality in your imagination. What does ‘place’ mean to you in relation to your creative practice?
For me, place is more psychological. It’s a moment [when] I feel motivated. But everywhere can be a good place to start an idea or finish something. One time, I did some freelance work for The New Yorker while waiting at JFK International Airport in New York and I missed my flight because I was sitting at a cafe finishing something up. I guess I was so focused that I lost track of time. Another time, I was working on an animation for the big LED screens on the Bund in Shanghai during a flight from Berlin to Beijing. I didn’t sleep for the entire 10 or 11-hour flight and just worked the whole time. I also noticed that a lot of ideas are realized in bed [laughs]. These special places bring an impressive story and memory to every piece of work.
Having lived in Berlin for so long now, would you consider the city your home?
Yeah, I feel at home. I feel loved and I feel cared for here. I just feel totally free. Nobody cares about what you do, and that’s also good. I guess I have a romantic image of Berlin. Every time I bike around, it feels like there’s a camera recording everything in the city and I’m imagining the film Wings of Desire. I feel grounded here. Of course, you see different sides of the city, but generally it’s very down-to-earth.
Do you miss anything about being in China and immersed in Chinese culture?
I wanted to go back to Beijing in 2020 but COVID-19 happened so I couldn’t go back. I miss a lot of things in China—the people, the noisy city, karaoke, the folk culture. Also, I find it incredibly touching to watch old Chinese grandmas and grandpas get up really early to do water calligraphy. I usually can’t get up early, but once I got up early with my grandparents in the summer and we went to the park around 6:30 a.m to watch them. As the sun rose, you saw the words evaporate slowly from the floor, like nothing had happened. It was so beautiful. Meanwhile, there are other people in the park doing a kind of tai chi or kung fu. They looked so happy. And I miss Chinese food, of course.
I wanted to ask you about your upcoming solo exhibition at the Yuan Art Museum in Chongqing, China which is supposed to be your biggest one yet. Can you talk a bit about the show and what it means to you in your evolution as an artist?
Yeah, the museum is huge. I have two floors and each one is 500 square meters. I really like the space and I want to show my work there. It’s that simple. There are a lot of challenges, but I’m trying to develop the best concept for the space. Right now, I’m working very hard on paintings as well as other visual art pieces and installations. The idea is to exhibit the pieces in a different way, and not just by hanging them on the wall. Actually, we haven’t visited the museum because of the strict quarantine rules there, so I’m trying to use 3D software to get an idea of how the exhibition will look. There is so much excitement that comes with realizing the show. Of course, it’s a good thing to have my first museum show—and it’s huge. It’s like a gift… Every step of the way has been like a gift.
Writer: Charmaine Li
Photography: Rachel Israela