Xiaorui Huang
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Xiaorui Huang is a Chinese human rights and social commentary artist based in New York. In 2012, she traveled to Ipswich, England, to attend St. Joseph's College, where she pursued her A-levels with a focus on Fine Art. She later moved to New York, earning her B.F.A. and subsequently completing her M.F.A. at the City University of New York in 2023.
Since the spring of 2019, Huang has worked as a supplemental painting instructor at CUNY. In fall 2023, she began teaching painting as an Adjunct Assistant Professor. In early 2024, she became a member of Bowery Gallery in Chelsea, NY.
Huang’s artistic practice centers on social justice and contemporary human rights, exploring themes such as children with disabilities, Asian feminism, and political resistance. Her work engages with equality movements across Asian societies and challenges societal norms through layered visual storytelling.
Her work has been featured in solo exhibitions at the Uniondale Public Library, the Walter & Joan Hobbs Art Gallery, and the Hewlett-Woodmere Public Library in New York. She has also participated in group exhibitions at venues including Powerhouse Arts, Theatre One Breezeway Gallery, Bowery Gallery, and the Shirley Fiterman Art Center in New York; the Holy Art Gallery in London; Las Laguna Art Gallery in Laguna Beach; Teravarna Art Gallery in California; Camelback Gallery (virtual) in Arizona; and Saatchi Gallery in London.
In merging your rigorous academic training in fine arts with your role as an educator, how do you believe your pedagogical approach influences your creative process, particularly in dealing with complex themes like human rights and social justice?
Teaching has shaped the way I approach my art. When I’m in the classroom, I’m constantly helping students learn how to use basic painting tools, materials, and observation to express both subjects from life and personal, meaningful ideas. That process reminds me to slow down and do the same in my work, especially when I’m dealing with complex topics like human rights or social justice.
Much of my art stems from personal experience, but teaching encourages me to think more critically about how I visually convey those experiences. My students come from diverse backgrounds, and their questions often challenge me to think differently and more openly. Their use of paint and their freedom in composing images feel so pure and intuitive. After spending time encouraging a student to take creative risks, I often find myself doing the same—rethinking how I tell a story, how I use materials, or how I compose a piece of art.
Teaching and making art are closely connected for me. Both are about finding ways to express something honest and real. And both remind me that people, whether students or viewers, are ultimately looking for connection, not perfection.
From your A-levels in Ipswich to your recent endeavors in New York, how has your artistic identity evolved? What pivotal moments have significantly reshaped your approach to themes of political resistance and Asian feminism?
Choosing Fine Art as my major at St Joseph's College in Ipswich introduced me to a different way of thinking. My early education in China focused on mastering techniques and templates rather than exploring personal expression. It wasn't until I studied in the UK that I began to question, "What is art?" Our teachers would assign a theme, and we were expected to develop and expand upon that idea independently. The final piece wasn’t simply a complete artwork; it needed to show our process to get there clearly. That experience taught me that art has a source and must be thoroughly explored and developed through personal inquiry and research.
However, my understanding of art deepened when I moved to New York and enrolled in studio art programs. Joining the contemporary art world made me realize that I am the source of my art. I asked myself, "What drives me to paint? "What stories do I need to tell? "I began to explore my passions, especially the ones tied to my identity and social experiences.
Two influential mentors shaped this critical phase of my development: Thaddeus Radell and Archie Rand. Thaddeus Radell was my most important mentor during my explorations, guiding me through the depths of painting and the language of art. Radell taught me to see what paintings are. On the other hand, Archie Rand expanded my conceptual horizon. He taught me that art has no settled form or boundaries. Art is a pure, subjective creation, free from judgment. They taught me the freedom to express myself personally, understand painting, and break free from conventional expectations.
As I found my voice, my work naturally aligned with themes of political resistance and Asian feminism. My practice has so far been divided into three bodies of work, each expressing my understanding of human rights in different contexts.
Initially, I focused on feminism and gender equality. Growing up in China in the 2000s, most families—including mine—were patriarchal. Witnessing that inequality made me deeply aware of the systemic prioritization of men, even when women were equally or more capable. I understood that no tasks are inherently reserved for men, and physical strength is not a limitation.
My recent feminist work, Construction Women Worker, reflects my experiences. It challenges viewers to reconsider societal roles and assumptions about women's work and capabilities, especially in traditionally male-dominated fields. Through my works, I strive to create narratives that honor and empower the often unseen women who navigate these roles daily.
Can you walk us through the conceptualization process of your recent series focusing on children with disabilities? What research, personal experiences, or philosophical frameworks guided your narrative choices in this body of work?
Can you walk us through the conceptualization process of your recent series that focuses on children with disabilities? What research, personal experiences, or philosophical frameworks guided your narrative choices in this body of work?
My recent series on children with disabilities emerged from personal experiences and deep philosophical reflections on vulnerability and social perception. Much of the inspiration comes from my family. I have two nephews—one diagnosed with Harlequin-type ichthyosis and the other with autism. Both are incredibly talented and gifted in their own ways, yet they often bear the weight of societal judgment, even in its most subtle and unspoken forms. Their experiences opened my eyes to how invisible these burdens can be and how profoundly they shape a child's sense of self.
This personal connection inspired me to create a work that addresses how society interacts with children with disabilities. In my art, these children are depicted as blank canvases—pure and untainted at birth. The people they encounter and the societal systems they navigate hold the brushes, painting shapes and colors on their canvas of self. Each interaction leaves a mark—sometimes beautiful, but often harmful. Despite the strength we try to instill in these children, they remain profoundly sensitive, and the world around them can wound them in ways we cannot fully undo. We may attempt to "clean up" or repair the damage, but we can never erase all the harm that has been done. That recognition forms the emotional core of the series.
My artistic statement for this series is rooted in these experiences and is presented in pieces like 'Disability Child with Society Emotions' (2021). This performance painting was a collaborative project created for children with exceptional needs. I was fortunate to work alongside Kilusan Tagle Bautista, an Asian performance artist whose practice also centers on children with disabilities. In this piece, I dressed entirely in white to symbolize a newborn child with disabilities—innocent and unmarked by the world. As the performance unfolded, Kilusan splashed paint on me, with each color representing an emotional or societal force: love, fear, prejudice, hope, and neglect. Gradually, my clothes and the surrounding space became chaotic, almost aggressive, illustrating how societal forces inevitably shape and sometimes overwhelm the emotional and psychological development of children with disabilities.
This performance emerged from my desire to capture the impact of external perceptions and the inner emotional worlds these children inhabit. Immanuel Kant's Critique of Pure Reason profoundly influenced the philosophical framework that guides this series. In a previous collaboration with my autistic nephew, I reflected on Kant's idea that we perceive the world not as it is but as we are conditioned to understand it. Through that lens, I aimed to underscore these children's challenges and vast potential—how they reinterpret and reshape the world through their unique perspectives.
I continue this work by integrating children's drawings into my portraiture. Many of my latest pieces feature my nephew and niece as central figures, with their marks and lines layered over my painting to create a truly collaborative process. This approach allows their voices and creativity to be part of the visual language rather than just subjects. It's important to me that they are co-creators in the work, expressing their perspectives instead of having their stories told for them.
Along with my studio practice, I teach creative art part-time to children aged 4–12. Working with them has reinforced my belief in the power of art as a tool for empowerment and self-expression. In these moments of teaching and collaborative creation, I see how art can become a safe space, a place of healing, and a means to reclaim one's narrative.
How do you navigate the line between art as a form of advocacy and art as an aesthetic pursuit, especially when addressing sensitive subjects such as human rights abuses or inequalities in Asian societies?
So far, art has never been merely an aesthetic pursuit for me; it has always functioned as a language for self-expression. What exactly defines the standard of aesthetics in art? Who determines what is deemed beautiful, acceptable, or refined? For me, art as language doesn’t need to conform to traditional notions of beauty or harmony. Like spoken language, it can be elegant and poetic, but it can also be plain, direct, straightforward, violent, bloody, or aggressive.
When I tackle sensitive topics like human rights or social inequalities, I don’t prioritize making my work pleasing in a 'traditional' sense. I want my art's visual language to embody its subject's complexity, rawness, and sometimes brutality. If the themes I explore—whether they relate to political resistance or gender inequality—are uncomfortable, then the work should convey that discomfort.
At times, an artwork’s formal beauty or visual impact can serve as an entry point to a much deeper and more uncomfortable conversation. However, my ultimate goal isn’t to create something "beautiful" but rather to produce a truthful representation of the experience I’m expressing and to utilize my art as a form of advocacy. I want the viewer to feel something, confront an issue they may not have previously considered, and create space for reflection.
My responsibility is to stay true to the work I present, especially when it involves marginalized communities or vulnerable groups.
Your art spans multiple mediums and techniques. Could you elaborate on your choice of mediums and how they serve to enhance the thematic messages of equality and rights movements in your works?
My choice of media is closely tied to the themes I explore. I often work with acrylic paint, oil pastels, and mixed media, combining traditional techniques with more expressive, raw approaches. I feel that acrylic gives me the most spontaneity in my work because it allows for rapid changes without ruining earlier layers of creativity. On the theme of children with disabilities, I incorporate children's free-hand drawings into my compositions as a way to highlight innocence, vulnerability, and the need for protection. In particular, when addressing topics such as political concussion, I used newspapers as one of my media to show the connection between chaos and my artistic expression and society. Using different textures and layering methods helps me express emotional depth and tension.
I also work directly with my hands at times, opting for informal tools to create a more personal and direct connection to the canvas. This physical approach is a way to push back against rigid traditions and speak more honestly about issues like gender expectations or social inequality. The blending of media allows me to shift between clarity and chaos, structure and disruption, mirroring the struggles and resilience present in the themes I represent.
Each material I use plays a role in building that emotional language. It’s less about finding a perfect form and more about letting the medium serve the message.
As both an artist and an educator shaping the next generation of artists, what legacy do you hope to leave through your teachings and your artistic contributions to discussions around human rights and social justice?
As both an artist and educator, I hope my art practice can give students the confidence to trust their vision and stay true to their ideals, especially when it comes to subjects like beauty, identity, culture, and social justice. I want them to know that their personal experiences, voices, and perspectives matter, even when they challenge dominant narratives.
Through my teaching, I've seen students grow not only technically but also in their ability to express meaningful ideas. I aim to create a contemporary space where they feel empowered to explore complex topics with honesty and courage. In my art practice, I strive to embody the same commitment, addressing human rights, disability, and political resistance with care and conviction.
If there's a legacy I hope to leave behind, it's that both my students and viewers of my work feel encouraged to speak up, ask questions, and use art as a way to connect, reflect, and advocate for a more just and compassionate world.