Illustrations & Crafts

Year:       2025
Material: plaster
Size:        16” x 9.25” x 10”

This plaster sculpture of a deer is inspired by some deer seen in Rochester, NY, and some of the Chinese mythical deer, such as the Nine-colored Deer and the mythical deer elements in Yao’s skins in the game Honor of Kings. This is the first time that I carved something out of a piece of hard material. I made it rough because of the softness of the plaster. When I dug holes under its body to make its legs apparent, the sculpture broke from the middle, and I used hot glue to fix it. It added a feeling of ancient broken sculptures, such as Venus de Milo, so I do not think it is a bad thing. 
This sculpture has a texture like weathered rocks because of the carving of the plaster tools I used. Ancient statues, such as the Sphinx of ancient Egypt, and the Sculpture of the Horse Treading Down Xiongnu of the Han Dynasty inspire this texture and thickness. I also used AI to generate some mythical deer as a reference. The thick antlers might break easily if I decided to make it thinner, so I stuck to this style to make the visual languages cohesive. 
I used plasticine to make a prototype, but the plasticine deer was too soft to stand up, so I poked some iron wires inside to strengthen it. The antlers tilted backward because of the gravity, causing me to make some misjudgments, so I designed it to make the deer look up into the sky, and that creates a more ethereal temperament within my ability range. I chose to make the four legs straight to add strength to the sculpture, and it looked more abstract because of the lack of details and the missing of some muscle, giving it a cute appearance.

Year: 2025 

Materials: foam, spray foam 

Size: 10” x 15” x 13”  

My work often explores the intersection of the ordinary and the mythic, seeking to uncover hints of the sacred in everyday forms. This squirrel sculpture stems from an interest in animism and the idea of animals as vessels for spiritual energy, echoing traditions where creatures embody unseen forces—reimagining them as quiet 神兽 (spiritual beings) in modern context. The choice to depict a squirrel came from their lively presence at RIT, but my aim was to transcend literal representation, inviting viewers to see beyond the familiar and consider these creatures as carriers of hidden meaning.  

The decision to use foam boards began with practical constraints, but the material’s lightweight, malleable nature soon felt fitting for a theme rooted in transience and the ethereal. Assembling six boards with spray foam was fraught with trial: three slid off the table, their spray foam bonds clinging stubbornly to the floor, requiring hours of careful removal. This struggle became a metaphor for the tension between control and intuition—how even flawed beginnings can shape the final form. I worked incrementally, building the sculpture in halves, first with three boards, then attaching the other three once the initial structure took shape.  

Carving the foam was a process of discovery. Early attempts with hammers and saws left rough, uneven edges, until a hot wire cutter transformed the workflow. The tool’s precision allowed me to sculpt the squirrel’s front-facing pose, paws cradling a fruit—a stance that feels both grounded and intentional, as if the creature holds a symbolic offering. I avoided detailing fur texture, opting for smooth, simplified surfaces to emphasize form over realism; the lack of ornamentation forces attention to the sculpture’s spiritual undertones, inviting viewers to project their own interpretations of its mythic significance.  

Working in the foundry room, surrounded by industrial tools, I focused on balancing solidity and lightness. After carving, sanding smoothed the foam into a sleek, almost otherworldly silhouette, softening angles to evoke a sense of gentle motion. The final piece isn’t a mere replica of a squirrel but a portal—hinting at a world where all beings hold unseen depth, where even a campus squirrel might be a guardian, a messenger, or a symbol of quiet magic.  

This sculpture marks my first venture into foam board as a medium, and it taught me to embrace material limitations as creative allies. The challenges—spray foam mishaps, tool frustrations, and the shift from planned to intuitive shaping—mirror the unpredictability of engaging with animist narratives, where meaning emerges not from perfection but from the interplay of intention and accident. For me, it’s a celebration of how art can transform ordinary materials into vessels of wonder, asking us to see the sacred in the everyday and the mythic in the mundane.