Interpretation landscape of Sun Yuan and Peng Yu’s works: creation, curation, and popularization

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Content Copyright 2025 Jiayi Hou
Interpretation Landscape of Sun Yuan and Peng Yu’s Works:
Creation, Curation, and Popularization
by
Jiayi Hou
A Thesis Presented to the
FACULTY OF THE USC ROSKI SCHOOL OF ART AND DESIGN
UNIVERSITY OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA
In Partial Fulfillment of the
Requirements for the Degree
MASTER OF ARTS
(CURATORIAL PRACTICES IN THE PUBLIC SPHERE)
May 2025

TABLE OF CONTENTS
Abstract……………………………………………………………………………………………ii
Introduction ……………………………………………………………………………………… 1
One or All (2004) …………………...…………………………………………………………… 5
The European Exhibitions: A Dialectic Approach ……………………………………... 12
Curatorial Interpretation through 2004 Gwangju Biennale ……………………………. 17
Can’t Help Myself (2016) ……………………………………………………………………… 20
Exhibition Contexts ………………………………………………………………….… 27
Social Media Responses ……………………………..………………………………… 32
Conclusion ………………………………………………………………………………...…… 40
Bibliography …………………………………………………………………………………….43

ii
Abstract
This thesis examines the multifaceted interpretation landscape surrounding the works of
Chinese artist duo Sun Yuan and Peng Yu, focusing on their installations One or All (2004) and
Can't Help Myself (2016). Through these case studies, I investigate how meaning is constructed
when artists deliberately resist providing fixed interpretations of their work. The research
analyzes how Sun Yuan and Peng Yu's philosophical stance—rooted in Chan Buddhist principles
of emptiness and their focus on material mechanisms rather than symbolic content—creates a
unique space for multiple interpretations across different contexts.
By tracing the trajectory of these works from their creation through various exhibition
contexts to their reception in both traditional art institutions and digital platforms, this thesis
reveals the complex ecosystem of meaning-making in contemporary art. The artists' emergence
during China's post-1989 period of artistic experimentation and their subsequent international
recognition offers insight into how contemporary Chinese art can transcend cultural specificity
while maintaining critical edge.
This research challenges the artists' claim of complete detachment from social contexts
while examining how curators, scholars, and social media users develop distinct interpretations
of their provocative works. Particular attention is paid to Can't Help Myself's unexpected viral
popularity during the COVID-19 pandemic, illustrating the tension between institutional curation
and digital engagement. Through this analysis, the thesis contributes to our understanding of
contemporary art interpretation in the digital age, revealing how meaning evolves across
different platforms and suggesting new possibilities for curatorial practice that acknowledges
these multiple channels of reception.

1
Introduction
There is no Bodhi-tree,
Nor stand of a mirror bright.
Since all is Void,
Where can the dust alight?
-Huineng, The Platform Sutra of the Sixth Patriarch
From Huineng, the sixth patriarch of the Chan, or Zen, Buddhism, this stanza strikes the
essence of emptiness at core of Chan principles. If everything is empty and has no real substance,
then everything you see, or think, are reflections and echoes of your own minds.
When Chinese artist duo Sun Yuan (b.1972) and Peng Yu (b.1974) quoted this Chan
Buddhist stanza in a 2016 interview with Paul Gladstone, they were making a profound
statement about artistic interpretation. As one of the most controversial pairs in Chinese
contemporary art, they suggested that all interpretations of their works are merely reflections of
viewers' own contexts and prejudices—like dust settling on a mirror’s surface.1 This stance of
intentional ambiguity, coupled with their reluctance to provide definitive interpretations of their
own works, creates a unique space for examining how meaning is constructed in contemporary
art.
During interviews, their ambiguity can make formal interviews with them seem
performative and meaningless. For example, Jerome Sans, director of Ullens Contemporary
1 Paul Gladston, “Collaboration as Struggle and Non-Cooperation,” in Deconstructing Contemporary Chinese Art
(Springer, Berlin, Heidelberg, 2016), 129–32.

2
Center of Art in Beijing in 2008, interviewed Sun Yuan and Peng Yu for his book China Talks, a
compilation of interviews with 32 prominent Chinese artists and artist groups. During the
interview, the artists did not directly answer many questions around their choice of materials and
subjects. Instead, their answers were often along the line of: “If we need to use real body parts,
we will; if we need to use fake bodies, we can do that as well.”2
During my research through art historical articles, exhibition catalogues, and various
interviews, I found myself increasingly drawn to understanding what is behind their rejection to
explanation. This led me to seek a first-hand conversation with the artists themselves. First
connected through public contact information on their website, I visited the artists in January
2025 at their studio in Beijing's 798 Arts District. In our informal conversation, as they recounted
their creative process for One or All (2004) and Can't Help Myself (2016), case studies for this
thesis, their philosophical stance became clearer. The artists articulated a deliberate approach to
installation art that focuses on understanding the fundamental mechanisms of ideas and materials
while consciously stepping away from socially embedded meanings and symbolism. This direct
encounter not only confirmed their documented resistance but also revealed the thoughtful
intentionality behind their seeming reluctance to assign specific interpretations to their work.3
This thesis investigates the complex dynamics of interpreting Sun Yuan and Peng Yu's
work across multiple contexts and platforms. Precisely because the artist duo actively resists
fixed interpretations of their artworks, their works have proved remarkably adaptable to various
theoretical approaches as they are being featured in exhibitions by curators, studied by scholars,
and shared and developed through social media users. Through case studies of One or All (2004)
2 Jérôme Sans, Yun Chen, and Michelle Woo, “Sun Yuan and Peng Yu: Beauty and the Beast,” in China Talks :
Interviews with 32 Contemporary Artists = Dui Hua Zhongguo : Yu 32 Wei Dang Dai Yi Shu Jia Fang Tan -
University of Southern California (Hong Kong: Timezone 8, 2009), 79–83. 3 Sun Yuan and Peng Yu, In-person conversation with the author, January, 2025.

3
and Can't Help Myself (2016), this analysis provides insights into how meaning-making in
contemporary art operates through various stakeholders and multiple layers of interpretation.
The artists emerged at a crucial juncture in Chinese contemporary art history, graduating
from the Central Academy of Art in the post-1989 period—a time marked by both political
transformation and artistic liberation in China. Their entry into the art world coincided with a
significant shift away from academic traditions toward more experimental forms of expression,
particularly in installation and performance art. While their contemporaries, especially when
given attention by western scholars and curators, often engaged with cultural symbolism and
representations of Chinese-ness, Sun Yuan and Peng Yu deployed institutional critique and
focused on themes, such as mortality and power, which could provoke interests universally and
inviting distinct interpretations in different contexts. Their collaboration, formalized in 2000,
coincided with China’s increasing integration into the global art world, and their participation in
major international exhibitions helped establish a new paradigm for Chinese contemporary art
that transcended national and cultural boundaries while maintaining a distinct critical edge.
As a curator with an art history background, I am interested in the contexts and curation
of Chinese contemporary art. Through analyzing the selected artworks in their contexts of
creation, this thesis also challenges the artists’ claim of complete detachment from social
contexts. From their choice of materials to their mechanical focus, their works inevitably bear the
marks of their time and place. This thesis further investigates how curators, mainly out of China,
interpret the works by this artistic duo. The case of Sun Yuan and Peng Yu is particularly
intriguing because, while the artworks are controversial and political, they exist in a situation
wherein any party in this interpretation process is given close to equal authority by the artist.

4
This thesis will also investigate their works’ unique position at the intersection of
traditional institutional curation and contemporary digital discourse. Their installations, such as
Can’t Help Myself (2016), exemplify how an artwork can exist within the formal framework of
institutional exhibition—in this case, the Guggenheim Museum—while also generating
widespread engagement through social media platforms like TikTok and Instagram during and
after the COVID-19 pandemic. The thesis will examine how these parallel channels of reception
influence and interact with each other to shift the reception of Sun Yuan and Peng Yu’s art, and
the tension between the work’s internet virality and its material contexts in traditional curatorial
practices.
Through this analysis, the thesis contributes to our understanding of meaning-making in
contemporary art while inspiring crucial questions about curatorial considerations in the digital
age. It demonstrates how artwork interpretation can evolve across different contexts and
platforms, suggesting new possibilities for understanding the relationship between traditional
institutional curation and emerging forms of digital engagement.

5
One or All (2004)
Sun Yuan and Peng Yu’s installation, One or All (2004) in All Under Heaven: China Now! 20
March–30 May, YEAR OF EXHIB., Antwerp , Belgium
A cylindrical pillar, nearly four meters long, was propped against the wall. The diameter of
the pillar is 40 centimeters.4 Sun Yuan and Peng Yu defines their piece One or All (2004) as a
giant piece of chalk.5 Although it is hard to connect the colossal piece to the hand-sized chalk
used in everyday settings, the mark made by the chalk on the wall during installation suggested
the functionality of the work. The work’s physical presence in the gallery space immediately
4 “One or All”, SUN YUAN & PENG YU, accessed October 29, 2024, http://www.sunyuanpengyu.com/270.html. 5 Ditelyu, “Casual Conversation with Sun Yuan about the Big Chalk 20 Years Ago,” Douyin, accessed October 27,
2024, https://www.douyin.com/user/MS4wLjABAAAA0kG6VcQSE8spl3Uvvp1-
CkcM64ODBVC1QM4Q1Sgmn1A?from_tab_name=main&modal_id=7334611061955415308&vid=73346110619
55415308.

6
commands attention through its stark monumentality. Propped against the wall at an angle, the
chalk pillar creates an immediate tension between stability and precariousness. Art critic Fei
Dawei commented on the paired contrary forces within this work, connecting the rising and
falling force with the artwork’s theme of life and death.6
As noted, this positioning is not merely aesthetic but functional, as evidenced by the mark
it leaves on the wall—a trace of its own existence and perhaps the only instance where the chalk
performs its intended purpose. The artists initially wanted to use the chalk to write on the gallery
wall, even involving the audience members in the action of writing. However, the plan was later
forfeited because of the fragility of the chalk, along with the artists’ choice to not incorporate any
written language, which carries specific cultural significance and diminishes the abstraction and
unlimited possibilities of interpretation within the piece.7 The mark left from installation
comments on the chalk’s transformed utility: a writing implement rendered unusable by its
massive scale, yet still capable of leaving its trace.
The installation’s play with light and shadow adds another layer of complexity to its
visual presence. While the chalk itself maintains a singular, monolithic form, it casts multiple
shadows across the gallery space. This multiplication of shadows creates a visual paradox: the
heavy, solid form of the chalk appears to generate ethereal, weightless duplicates of itself. The
contrast between the physical weight of the object and the lightness of its shadows serves as a
powerful metaphor for the work’s deeper conceptual concerns with mortality and permanence.
Upon close reading of the artwork, however, the massive size of the piece is not the most
astonishing aspect of it. It is rather the fact that the material from which this piece of chalk was
6
Dawei Fei, “One or All.” In Can’t Have It All (Hong Kong: Timezone 8, 2009), 143–48. 7 Ditelyu, “Casual Conversation with Sun Yuan about the Big Chalk 20 Years Ago.”

7
made is the ashes of human bones collected from cremation sites in Northern China.8 Realizing
the material upon a closer look at the label for the piece fundamentally alters the viewer’s
perception, transforming what might initially be read as a minimal sculptural intervention into a
meditation on mortality, memory, and the social processes surrounding death.
The complexity of the artists’ process of acquiring materials, as documented by scholar
Meiling Cheng, adds another crucial layer to its interpretation. According to Cheng’s research,
the artists spent over a year collecting these human ashes from various crematoriums, engaging
in a complex process of obtaining legal approvals from families where necessary.9The extensive
documentation of these legal proceedings becomes an invisible but integral part of the work,
speaking to the bureaucratization of death in contemporary society and the complex networks of
permission and consent that govern the handling of human remains.
However, these documentations were never a part of the exhibitions where One or All
was featured. In a casual conversation with Sun Yuan from Ditelyu, an art journalist’s account on
Douyin, a Chinese short video social media platform, Sun told the story of how they got to know
a cremation site owner in Heilongjiang, China, where the artist Peng Yu is from. Because the
bone ash urn or box which can contain all the remains can be costly for most families, the
amount of bone ash families can take is usually only a small portion of the remains of their loved
one’s body. The rest of the ashes are usually sold to mix in fertilizer because they contain
phosphorus, or are used in producing fish feed because they are rich in calcium. The artists were
able to obtain a truckload of remaining human ashes which supplied the materials for One or
All.10 In this social media account of the conversation, Sun Yuan did not mention the consent
8 Meiling Cheng, “Indexing Death in Seven Xingwei and Zhuangzhi Pieces,” Performance Research 11, no. 2
(January 1, 2006): 36-37. 9 Ibid. 37. 10 Ditelyu, “Casual Conversation with Sun Yuan about the Big Chalk 20 Years Ago.”

8
process. While the artists reportedly obtained legal permissions, the sheer volume of human
ashes they acquired—reportedly enough to fill a truck—raises questions about the thoroughness
of this consent process. Moreover, since there are usually remaining bone ashes after the
families’ collection, and it is a common practice to sell them for other use, the process of
obtaining approvals and consents for all the bone ashes used for the work seems unrealistic.
During my January 2025 conversation with the artists, Sun Yuan clarified that they
initially sought formal consent from the families. However, most families they asked showed a
dismissive attitude towards the artists’ requests—because they cannot take all the remains, the
ashes left behind become something they no longer feel attached to. The artists decided that the
consenting process does not add to the work they are trying to create, so they worked more
directly with the cremation sites. The artists view the ethical considerations of non-consensual
ash collecting as peripheral to the work’s core meaning. They also pointed out during our
conversation that, in comprehending the work, the wonder about ethics should be left behind,
since the time when bone ash collecting process situates should not be hold to the increasing civil
and ethical standards of today.
11 In another word, the work and the artmaking process are both
products of its time. Although the artists never directly interpreted the meaning of the artwork,
with their artmaking approach and the controversial material, studies about the artwork cannot
neglect the creation context. The amount of bone ashes collected by each method is not clear, but
the lack of clarity in relation to the attribution of the material also adds to the complicated
meaning of One or All: if the artists had collected names and consent for all the bone ash used,
the work would have been a more thorough record of the individual lives lived; however, if the
11 Sun Yuan and Peng Yu, In-person conversation with author, January 2025

9
bone ash was bought and sold en masse for a lump sum, the work becomes a collective memorial
of all the people and of the processing of the bone ash.
The work's materiality speaks directly to class divisions within Chinese society,
particularly regarding death rituals and cremation practices. Since the founding of the People's
Republic of China in 1949, the government has promoted cremation and simplified funeral
ceremonies to maximize productive land use. This policy faced significant resistance,
particularly from those whose religious beliefs require whole-body preservation for positive
reincarnation. The 2000 mandatory cremation policy sparked particular pushback in rural areas,
while wealthy families could circumvent requirements through bribes and fake cremations.12
Even after cremation became unavoidable, class distinctions persisted through the sizes of bone
ash boxes families could afford, with complete remains requiring expensive 2-cubic-foot
containers costing over 20,000 RMB. Sun Yuan's discovery during research that single-person
cremators cost five to six times more than those accommodating three to four bodies
simultaneously further emphasizes these socioeconomic divisions.13
Given this context, the creation of the work in 2004 can be situated in relation to
struggles with implementing this policy among many places in China. In interpreting One or All
(2004), Meiling Cheng also brought attention to the controversy and trauma around procremation policy in China at the time. Cheng interprets the work as the artists’satire at the forced
cremation policy, which controls people even after their death and expands differentiations in
class even after a person dies.
14 In this context, the choice of how one’s body will be treated after
one’s death is no longer a personal choice, but forces a collectivization of the ashes of the poor
12 Jiatian Cui, “From ‘Chaos’ to ‘Regulation’: A Historical Sociology’s Research about the Reform of Funeral and
Interment” (Jiangsu, China, Suzhou University, 2005). 13 Ditelyu, “Casual Conversation with Sun Yuan about the Big Chalk 20 Years Ago.” 14 Cheng, “Indexing Death in Seven Xingwei and Zhuangzhi Pieces,” 37.

10
for maximizing productivity: the wealthy and the powerful have the choice to be buried or
cremated either with the ashes kept together or with them mixed, while the majority of the
population will be mixed together, like the bone ash forming this chalk, to make room for the
government planned modernity.
One or All also marks a significant evolution in Sun Yuan and Peng Yu’s artistic practice,
particularly in their handling of corporeal materials. As noted by critic Fei Dawei, this work
represents a departure from their earlier, more explicit use of corpses in works such as Body Link
(2000) or their individual works such as Human Oil (2000) and Honey (1998).
15 In those works,
the artists directly work with human corpses, from that of an old person to that of a dead fetus.
Sun Yuan and Peng Yu were among a group of Chinese artists in 1990s that was called “The
Corpse School.”16 Incorporation of corporeal materials in these artists’ artworks made the works
controversial and difficult for commodification—which was purposefully done to challenge the
capitalist art system. The members of the Corpse School were also heavily criticized and
dismissed as mere attention seekers making works as only provocations by many audiences and
art critics. In One or All, the use of cremated remains rather than intact bodily materials suggest a
move toward more abstract engagement with human mortality, while still maintaining a direct
connection to the corporeal. The artist’s interests in the materiality of bone ash and its similarity
to chalk in its chemical components, along with exploring what the chalk can or cannot write,
adds rich dimension to the possibilities for interpreting the artwork.
Explaining why there is no designated interpretation of the piece, the artist described
their experience of watching scripture debates in Tibetan Buddhist temples.17 Lamas engage in a
15 Fei, “One or All,” 143-44. 16 ⼫体派
17 Fei, “One or All,” 146-48.

11
unique practice of striking each other’s heads, where those asking wise questions earn the right
to strike, and sometimes a Lama strikes without speaking to indicate a question is too
elementary. Through this anecdote, the artists question whether the true essence of these debates
lies in the intellectual discourse and wisdom exchange, or if perhaps some participants simply
find joy in the physical act of striking their debate partners. In the contexts of their artworks, the
artist rhetorically questions the possibility of finding a final and ultimate true meaning of the
work based on the artists’ intentions, inviting the audience to see the artists’ intentions and the
form of the artwork as no more than pretentious gestures and encouraging them to produce their
own interpretations to further expand the pieces. This approach deliberately resists fixed
meanings, allowing the work to operate on multiple levels simultaneously. Within such a context,
the chalk can be seen as a writing implement (suggesting narrative or history), a monument
(speaking to commemoration), or a burial marker (referencing funerary practices), simply a
compilation of bone ashes, and so on. None of the meanings are correct; none of the meanings
was prescribed by the artist.
Beyond cultural contexts and policy environments, this work also speak to the philosophy
of seeing death as an individual’s destination or the shared destination for all forms of life. The
form of the work shows the duality. While each particle of ash represents a larger body and thus
a singular, unique life once lived, these individual remains have been merged into a unified form,
suggesting the ultimate dissolution of individual identity into a collective destiny—precisely as
crematoriums mix individual bodies into collective piles of ash. Moreover, it is one piece of
chalk casting multiple shadows. It is a collection of individual human bone ashes but became
inseparable. The chalk made marks, but the marks are not associated with any specific culture,
but rather with the universal language of mark-making, speaking to how death serves as both a

12
personal endpoint and a shared cultural touchstone. The work thus positions death not merely as
a biological cessation but as a complex interweaving of personal finitude and collective
experience.
From the creation context to the scholarly research that have been completed on the
piece, this work can be interpreted in many different ways. In order to address the way in which
different audiences and contexts of exhibition align the work differently and produce different
interpretations, the next section presents an analysis and comparison among three exhibitions
featuring One or All under different curatorial frameworks.
The European Exhibitions: A Dialectical Approach
In 2004, three significant exhibitions presented Sun Yuan & Peng Yu’s work within
distinct curatorial frameworks, each producing different layers of meaning through their unique
approaches. These exhibitions are All Under Heaven: China Now! in Antwerp, Belgium, The
Monk and the Demon: Contemporary Chinese Art, the 2004 Lyon Biennale in France, and A
Grain of Dust, A Drop of Water, the 2004 Gwangju Biennale, South Korea. Through distinct
curatorial frameworks, each exhibition illuminated different facets of the work while
contributing to an ongoing dialogue about cultural translation, artistic autonomy, and collective
memory.
All Under Heaven and The Monk and the Demon are similar in their curatorial contexts. It
is not only because of the geographical adjacency and close timeline. They were also connected
through curator Fei Dawei and the support from Ullens Foundation. The European exhibitions
presented two complementary approaches to Chinese contemporary art. While sharing a
foundation, they expressed their themes in opposing directions: Antwerp pushed toward

13
universality, challenging the exoticization of Chinese ideas, while Lyon focused on individual
artistic expression.
All Under Heaven: China Now! at MuHKA (March 20–May 30, 2004)
The exhibition at Antwerp’s Museum of Contemporary Art (MuHKA) aimed to break
from the conventional approaches in European exhibitions presenting Chinese art as exotic and
“other” to western contemporary art. To this end, the framework of curators Fei Dawei and Bart
De Baere centered on the Chinese philosophical concept of tianxia (天下, "all under heaven"),
proposing Chinese art not as an exotic cultural artifact but as a universal lens for understanding
human experience. Tianxia represents more than mere imperial territorial expanse; it embodies a
philosophical understanding of existence where heaven, earth, and humanity exist in dynamic
equilibrium. 18
This curatorial approach deliberately challenged the existing perspectives embodied by
Western exhibitions of Chinese art: either excessive emphasis on cultural difference or forced
universalization that erased cultural specificity. All Under Heaven focuses on how contemporary
Chinese artists are not merely responding to their immediate social context but are engaging with
fundamental questions of human existence that transcend cultural boundaries.19 This is the first
exhibition where One or All was featured. Contextualized through the curatorial statement, All
Under Heaven particularly valued One or All’s discourse on mortality. The chalk column’s
imposing presence in the exhibition space created a physical manifestation of tianxia’s concept
18 Xudong. Zhao, “All under heaven: Tianxia as a Chinese Cosmology,” in All Under Heaven, ed. Jan De Vree et al.,
eds., (Antwerpen: MuHKA, Museum van Hedendaagse Kunst, 2004), 164-65. 19 Conversation between Bart De Baere, Fei Dawei, and Jean-Marie Simonet, “A kind of conversation, on other ness
and congruence,” in All Under Heaven, 18-25.

14
of wholeness, where individual elements combine to form a unified entity.20 The chalk was also
presented such that it spoke to the universal experience of mortality while drawing on Chinese
burial traditions. The work’s materiality—the transformation of human remains into a writing
implement without specific language context—suggested both the universality of death and the
potential for knowledge transmission across cultural boundaries. The exhibition, however,
avoided diving deep into specific Chinese social contexts. Thus, whether the work is a response
to the pro-cremation policy at the turn of the century or whether the consent of the families of
those whose ashes comprise the object had been collected is not important. Rather, the piece
becomes a memento mori, reminding all viewers of our final destination with its multiplied
daunting shadows on the gallery’s white wall.
One or All at All Under Heaven: China Now! at MuHKA, Belgium, 2004
20 Ibid.

15
The Monk and the Demon, Lyon Biennale, France (June 9–August 15, 2004)
The Lyon exhibition marked a decisive shift toward individual artistic expression,
explicitly rejecting the presentation of Chinese art as a collective cultural phenomenon. Thierry
Raspail’s characterization of the exhibition as “a jumble of individualities” set the tone for an
approach that prioritized personal artistic vision over cultural representation.21 The title of the
exhibition, The Monk and the Demon, comes from the Chinese proverb, "道⾼⼀尺，魔⾼⼀丈
dao gao yi chi, mo gao yi zhang," or "as virtue (dao) rises one foot, vice (or demon; mo) rises
ten." It points out that when you grow in your own virtue or skills, you will also be facing greater
challenges. Curator Fei Dawei explained the choice of the title’s emphasis on showing not only
the artworks, but the specific context and forces that had shaped each artists’ creation. The
exhibition turned away from generalizing the meaning of contemporary Chinese art based on
social context, and examined how individual artists navigate their own practice in the social
change and rise of contemporary art in China since 1990s.22
21 Tierry Raspail, “Beginnings: How to Record the Present and Make History,” in The Monk and the Demon:
Contemporary Chinese Art, ed. Feng Boyi and Qiu Zhijie (Milan: 5 Continents, 2004), 7–10. 22 Dawei Fei, “Plural Singularities,” in The Monk and the Demon: Contemporary Chinese Art, ed. Feng Boyi and
Qiu Zhijie (Milan: 5 Continents, 2004), 11–13.

16
One or All 2 (2004) at The Monk and the Demon, Lyon Biennale, France, 2004
At the exhibition, One or All was presented alongside One or All 2, a concrete mixer
work that processed bone ash into bricks, expanding the installation’s scope. This pairing
emphasized the artists’ interest in material transformation and the relationship between individual
and collective identity. The concrete mixer’s continuous process of converting human remains
into building materials paralleled the chalk’s function as a writing tool, both suggesting ways in
which individual identity becomes subsumed into larger structures of meaning and memory. In
One or All, individual identities are combined into the big chalk with the potential of writing and
drawing, expressing meaning as a uniformed entity, contributing to civilization development. In
One of All 2, remains of individuals are packed into bricks, the shape of which can be used for
construction and contribution to the economic growth and urban transformation.

17
To provide the audience with more guidance on understanding the two pieces, Fei Dawei
pointed out in his essay that there was no one correct assigned meaning to the artwork,
encouraging viewers to form their own meanings rather than seeking definitive interpretations
from the artists.
23
Curatorial Interpretation through 2004 Gwangju Biennale
A Grain of Dust, A Drop of Water, Gwangju Biennale, (September 10–November 11, 2004)
The Artistic Director of the 2004 Gwangju Biennale, Kerry Brougher, argue that dust, in
most contexts, symbolizes destruction and death, while water symbolizes the nurturing of life
and creation. However, a tricky balance between dust and water is critical since a desert can look
like the ocean and a tsunami contains destructive power too. The 2004 Gwangju Biennale
featured artists whose art navigates metaphors of the dust and water, exploring the delicate
balance between destruction and creation, death and life.24 The selection and curatorial approach
were unique—curators organized viewer-participants from the public to recommend and curate
artists to be included for the biennale. The exhibition’s structure deliberately challenged
traditional curatorial authority and subverted the elitism prevailing in biennales by emphasizing
and empowering viewer participation in meaning-making. Sun Yuan and Peng Yu’s work was
curated by Li Tian, a Chinese filmmaker, in the Dust section of the exhibition.25
One or All gained new resonance through its material connection to the exhibition’s
theme. The bone ash column embodied both the destructive aspect of dust—as remnant of human
23 Fei, “One or All,” 147-48. 24 Kerry Brougher, “Dust and Water” in 2004 Gwangju Biennale Catalog, a Grain of Dust, a Drop of Water (Seoul
Yŏrŭmsa, 2004), 12-15. 25Yong-woo Lee, “The Spectators, Who Are They?” in 2004 Gwangju Biennale Catalog, a Grain of Dust, a Drop of
Water (Seoul Yŏrŭmsa, 2004), 4-8.

18
life and symbolic of death—and its potential as a building block for new meaning. Moreover, as
an attitude towards death, the original biblical saying “dust to dust, earth to earth” is also widely
used in Chinese to show how death can settle everything in the end.26
As a response to the curatorial prompt, Li Tian wrote a letter to the curators of the
biennale accounting his observation of Sun Yuan and Peng Yu’s daily life and personal
interpretation of One or All. The letter clearly showed that he was fascinated by Sun Yuan and
Peng Yu’s installation, while realizing he could not understand the work completely despite his
meeting with the artists. “I tried to analyze their work to get a rational explanation, but in the
end, even my understanding of the two human beings become blurry.”27 His reflection
represented his interpretation of the piece as a Chinese filmmaker—he sees the collectivity in the
chalk showing a combination of personal history, social context, the narrative from the artists,
the requirement from the biennale, etc. Li sees the chalk as a new meaningful collective being,
with each body’s contribution inseparable from whole, writing: “The chalk stick has everything
of one (person) or everything of everyone" demonstrated how the work’s ambiguity enabled
multiple interpretations while maintaining its core investigation of individual and collective
identity.28
In a material sense, One or All functioned differently within each exhibition context. In
Antwerp, because of the context, it emphasized universal human experience through its
connection to mortality. In Lyon it demonstrated individual artistic innovation through its
transformation of corporeal and controversial materials. In Gwangju, it became a metaphor for
the relationship between individual and collective expression and allowed more individualized
26 尘归尘，⼟归⼟
27 Li Tian, “writing about Sun Yuan and Peng Yu,” 2004 Gwangju Biennale Catalog, a Grain of Dust, a Drop of
Water, 374 28 Ibid. 374.

19
interpretation through having selected public members participating as curators in the
construction of meaning. The column’s material presence—simultaneously monumental and
fragile, individual and collective—allowed it to contribute meaningfully to diverse curatorial
narratives without losing its core provocations.
All claim to defy the traditional stereotypes in curating exhibitions and interpreting
Chinese art, these exhibitions emphasize different aspect of the meaning of the work for in
response to their curatorial statements respectively. The different shows raise questions: In these
contexts, is the artwork an expression from the artists? Or did it become a building block for
each exhibition’s language?
The interpretations of One or All still took place mostly in a pre-social media
environment. In the next case study of Can’t Help Myself (2016), the internet adds another way
to convey expression and render meaning.

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Can’t Help Myself (2016-2019)
Sun Yuan and Peng Yu shifted away from using organic materials after One or All (2004),
experimenting with synthetic materials and more mechanized forms of expression. While their
earlier pieces had been known for their provocative use of corporeal materials, their transition to
robotics maintains their characteristic ability to evoke strong emotional responses while
exploring the boundaries between material and artificial experience.
The artists’ evolution toward mechanical subjects can be traced through works like Old
People’s Home (2007). This installation featured thirteen hyper-realistic life-sized replicas of old
men of different ethnicities in motorized wheelchairs, wearing formal costumes as if there were
at a conference. Their costumes suggest they are religious, political, and military leaders of
various nationalities, representing the most powerful people in the world. As the motorized
wheelchairs moving together and apart, the figures convene but do not communicate. Some stare
into the void, while some doze off with blankets on their legs. Energy and liveliness have been
extracted from these figures. They are simply being carried away by the movements of their
wheelchairs. This work creates a tension between power and helplessness, questioning the type
of decisions being made in the current world while leaders seem to already incapable of taking
care of themselves.
The strong and direct messages from the hyper-realistic works are different from their
other works, such as One or All. Sun Yuan distinguishes these two types of works by explaining
his understanding and practice of painting and installation art. For him, painting is a presentation
of a final state, where he is more inclined to include clear references and direct messages, simply
for the audience to take away. Installation, on the other hand, is to present a brick they produced
in order to attract gem, citing a Chinese idiom “pao zhuan yin yu,” attracting more valuable

21
development from others by putting forward one's own modest ideas to get the ball rolling.
29 For
the artist duo, works such as Old People’s Home were being treated as painting, while Can’t Help
Myself (2016) is an attempt to transfer their interest in robotics into a piece of installation by
their definition.30
The artists employ a distinctive approach for their installations that deliberately
decontextualizes mechanical elements from their usual industrial applications. In works like
Freedom (2009), where an uncontrolled water hose becomes a meditation on autonomy, the
artists began to explore how mechanical elements could transcend their utilitarian origins while
remaining true to their basic functions. As Peng Yu pointed out in interviews, she was
particularly drawn to robots’ ability to execute basic tasks with minimal communication costs
and reliable programming, and their artistic approach takes these basic skills and replaces the
problem landscape of daily life or technology advancement.
31 Sun Yuan described their interest
in material as an interest in the mechanism of the world, similar to the First Principle in
philosophy and science. The artists duo believe that the artists’ job is to deduce the mechanism
from any assumptions and symbolic meanings, and solely work with the fundamental physical
tensions. And it is the curators, writers, and audiences’ job to assign meaning based on their own
contexts. “Artists should practice rational thinking and act like scientists, while the audience are
welcome to be poetic,” as Sun Yuan said to me.32 When interviewed about their choices in
balancing the utility and aesthetics of the materials, the artists emphasize that “art absolutely
cannot be created as decoration, and every material in the work, including the framework, should
29 抛砖引⽟
30 Sun Yuan and Peng Yu, In-person conversation with author, January 2025. 31 Da Fang. “亲爱的彭禹——艺术家彭禹访谈录/Dear Peng Yu--Interview with the artist Peng Yu.” TencentBeijing News, December 24, 2023. https://news.qq.com/rain/a/20231224A02EDM00. 32 Sun Yuan and Peng Yu, In-person conversation with author, January 2025.

22
not be created to appeal to traditional aesthetics, but must exhibit its physical necessity, thereby
generating beauty.”33 This approach is particularly evident in Can’t Help Myself, where each
element serves both a functional and conceptual purpose.
Can’t Help Myself (2016-2019), commissioned by the Guggenheim Museum in New
York for the 2016 exhibition Tales of Our Time, consists of several key components that work
together to create a powerful viewing experience. The central element is an industrial robot arm,
similar to those found on manufacturing production lines, mounted on a circular base within a
transparent enclosure. The robot is programmed to contain and control a viscous red liquid
within an invisible line. The liquid is cellulose ether in colored water, which bears an unsettling
resemblance to blood in both consistency and color.34 As the robot shovels the liquid towards
itself, the liquid also follows its natural tendency to spread evenly across the floor, making the
robot arm’s cleaning never-ending. The artist took inspiration from the human instinct of
stopping, wiping, and squeegeeing as water spilled on a surface. They distilled movements and
programmed the robot arm to make sure it can be repeated through the three-month exhibition
period. 35
33 Naohuilu/脑回路. “ArtForum Art-Ba-Ba 中国当代艺术社区-侧写 | 孙原&彭禹：原来艺术还可以这样做/Sun
Yuan & Peng Yu: You Can Make Art Like This?,” February 21, 2021. http://www.art-baba.com/main/main.art?threadId=198164&forumId=8. 34 Sun Yuan & Peng Yu Website. “Can’t Help Myself-SUN YUAN & PENG YU.” Accessed November 22, 2024.
http://www.sunyuanpengyu.com/291.html. 35 Sun Yuan and Peng Yu, In-person conversation with author, January 2025.

23
Can’t Help Myself at Guggenheim, New York, 2016
The installation space is defined by a structure featuring acrylic walls with aluminum
framing and an integrated lighting grid equipped with visual-recognition sensors. The lighting
design creates a stark, clinical atmosphere within the enclosure, notably colder and more intense
than the ambient gallery lighting. This arrangement produces an effect similar to viewing a
production line through a window or observing an open restaurant kitchen at a restaurant –
giving a clear view of the action but simultaneously creating a sense of separation between the
viewer and the mechanical performer that is producing a spectacle.
The robot arm’s movements are both purposeful and expressive. It was programmed for
two sets of movements: firstly, it was programmed to shovel inward, triggered by the visual
recognition system, which monitors the spread of the liquid and directs the arm to respond and
keep the liquid within the range of the space; in addition, the robot arm was taught to perform
thirty-two distinct movements unrelated to its function or productivity, such as dancing,
scratching an itch, waving. These movements allow the audience to assign emotions to the robot

24
arm and produce emotional responses. The combination of utilitarian function and seemingly
emotional expression creates a complex narrative about control, automation, and the boundaries
between mechanical and organic behavior.
As with many of Sun Yuan and Peng Yu’s works, the artists did not write a statement
about their intentions to suggest an interpretation. Moreover, because it is a relatively new work,
little art historical research has been conducted on the piece. The artists’ interpretation of the
artwork can only be pieced together from few published interviews with them, and even with
these, they still welcome audiences to interpret in their own ways.
36 Like many of the works by
the artist duo, Can’t Help invites multiple interpretations depending on how viewers position
themselves in relation to the work. In the following section, through three distinct viewing
perspectives, we can uncover layers of meaning that emerge from this complex human-machine
interaction.
The most immediate perspective is that of an ordinary viewer observing the installation
from outside the transparent enclosure. From this vantage point, the work presents itself first as a
technological spectacle – an industrial robot performing an endless task within a controlled
environment. The transparent walls create a distinct separation between the viewer’s space and
the performance space, producing an experience similar to that of watching animals in a zoo or
machines in a factory through a window.
Surrounding the acrylic box and observing the robot hand and work, the audience is
prompted to think about the involvement of robots and technologies on production lines and in
every aspect of our lives. From the perspective of the audience, they gaze the robot hand as an
object, maintain emotional distance while observing the interplay between mechanical precision
36 Da Fang, “亲爱的彭禹/Dear Peng Yu.”

25
and apparent chaos. With the size of the machine two to three times of a human’s height, the
robot arm which is first employed as a helper could also be threatening if humans lose control of
it. The red liquid’s resemblance to blood might create an immediate visceral response, while the
clinical, industrial setting generates a sense of unease about the nature of the activity being
witnessed. However, the metaphor of violence is mitigated by the robot arm’s dance moves. As
the robot arm waves and wiggles, cleaning the red liquid becomes a movement with surreal
humor like Charles Chaplin’s Modern Times (1936). Viewers might become aware of their own
role as observers in an institutional setting, witnessing but separated from the drama unfolding
before them, denied from participation or intervention. The physical barrier of the enclosure
serves both to protect and to create a psychological distance that influences how we process and
interpret the mechanical performance within.
The robot’s movements such as dancing and waving makes it relatable, allowing the
audience to project emotions and feelings of their own onto the robot arm. When viewers
identify with the robotic arm itself, the work transforms into a meditation on existential futility
and endless labor. Like Sisyphus eternally pushing his boulder up the mountain, the robot is
condemned to an endless task of containing an ever-spreading liquid. This parallel to the Greek
myth becomes particularly poignant as the robot performs its programmed shovel movements to
contain the liquid, creating a mechanical version of Sisyphus’s eternal punishment. If the viewers
are not completely occupied by the reflection of their own exhaustion, they might identify the
key difference between the robot arm and Sisyphus, lying in the robot’s lack of awareness of its
condition – or does it lack awareness? The programmed moments of seeming exhaustion,
through slowing down and glitches between the movement as the sticky liquid gets into the

26
machine, and its dance-like movements between tasks suggest a kind of mechanical
consciousness.
The structure housing the robot arm becomes both stage and prison, with the transparent
walls reveal and separate the perpetual performer and its audience. The robot’s repetitive actions,
punctuated by moments of apparent frustration or resignation, create a narrative of eternal
struggle that resonates deeply with human experience. This perspective transforms a seemingly
simple mechanical process into a powerful metaphor for human persistence in the face of futility.
Taking the perspective of the liquid being shoveled and contained, while constantly
trying to spread and smudge the white floor, reveals a different dynamic altogether. The red fluid
becomes an agent of chaos and resistance against mechanical control. Its constant seepage
represents organic unpredictability challenging technological attempts at containment. The
liquid’s behavior – its tendency to spread, separate, and resist collection – demonstrates the
fundamental tension between organic systems and mechanical control.
From this vantage point, the robot’s actions appear as manifestations of institutional
power attempting to impose order on natural chaos. The liquid’s persistent escape from control,
despite the sophisticated technology deployed to monitor and contain it, suggests the ultimate
futility of perfect containment. This reading particularly resonates with contemporary discussions
about surveillance and control systems, where organic human behavior constantly evades or
exceeds mechanical systems of monitoring and regulation.
Moreover, the sensor in the installation also sets up an invisible border to enforce precise
surveillance such that, once the liquid touches or crosses the line, the robot arm will be activated
to shovel the liquid back. Such invisible yet strictly maintained borders also appear in
international political contexts. For instance, national borders are strictly defended, and any

27
action violating the border lines might lead to wars. When immigrants cross the border without
the permission of the higher powers, the state border guards act like the sensor in the installation,
shoveling them back to their country. Under political systems, individuals do not have much
freedom of choice; the direction to look, the information to consume, the place to live, and so on
are all determined.
Although the work was commissioned by Guggenheim for Tales of Our Time,
interpretations of the work continued to develop and diversify as it was featured at the 2019
Venice Biennale, and as videos of the installation became viral on social media in 2021, possibly
because they convey the robot arm as relatable and almost human. In addition to the typical
exhibition contexts, the virality of the artwork on the internet added another dimension to
interpreting artworks where the audiences do not have direct access to the piece yet
comprehending through others’ interpretations and everyone on social media could produce their
own meaning. Although still bears the mark of relationship between artists, curators, and
institutions, the right to interpret the artworks is presented more directly to the audience, thus
presents a new landscape of understanding and interpreting artwork in a digital age.
Exhibition Contexts
Tales of Our Time, Guggenheim New York, November 4, 2016–March 10, 2017
Within the Guggenheim’s 2017 Tales of Our Time exhibition, Can’t Help Myself takes on
heightened significance through its exploration of surveillance, control, and territorial politics.
The installation’s placement within this exhibition focused on challenging conventional

28
understandings of place and geography, which transforms the work into a powerful metaphor for
contemporary border control and surveillance systems.37
Given this curatorial context, the transparent enclosure housing the robotic arm becomes
particularly significant when viewed through the lens of surveillance politics and what Eyal
Weizman terms the “politics of verticality” (2002).38 Politics of Verticality, an idea cited by the
curator as fundamental in framing this artwork within the exhibition, argues that modern
territorial control and surveillance operate in a three-dimensional volume rather than on a flat
plane. With the politics of verticality, power is exercised through the complete domination of
airspace, surface, and subsurface realms, creating a complex matrix of observation and control
that extends both above and below ground level.
39 The clear walls metaphorically mirror the
architecture of modern border control facilities, where visibility serves both as a deterrent and a
means of control. This architectural choice creates a viewing experience that implicates the
audience in the act of surveillance, as they observe the mechanical performance from all angles
and heights through the transparent barriers.
The spatial arrangement of the installation takes on deeper significance when considered
through Weizman’s theoretical framework. Just as Weizman describes how modern control
systems operate through three-dimensional space rather than traditional two-dimensional
territorial mapping, the installation’s transparent enclosure creates a sophisticated vertical
surveillance apparatus. The mechanical arm’s movements within this transparent cube operate
not just on a horizontal plane, but through a complex series of vertical gestures – reaching,
37 Xiaoyu Weng and Hanru Hou, Gu shi xin bian = Tales of our time, (New York: Guggenheim Museum
Publications, 2016,) 122-24. 38 Weizman, Eyal. “Index to the Politics of Verticality, ‘Introduction to The Politics of Verticality.’” openDemocracy,
April 23, 2002. https://www.opendemocracy.net/en/article_801jsp/. 39 Weng & Hou, “Gu shi xin bian = Tales of our time.”, 18-39.

29
bending, and sweeping through space. Along with the motion sensor that directs the movement
of the robot arm from the top of the structure, this three-dimensional choreography of control
reflects Weizman’s analysis of how modern power structures exercise authority through
volumetric rather than planar space. The robot’s attempts at containment involve not just
horizontal sweeping motions but also vertical gestures of dominance – reaching down from
above to control the substance below. This vertical relationship between controller and controlled
reflects broader patterns of technological surveillance and control in contemporary society,
where authority is increasingly exercised through command of vertical space. However, the
audience can only view the work on the ground level at Guggenheim. While possibly noticing
the ceiling structure with the sensor, the audience were kept a distance from the tools of
surveillance from higher level. On the other hand, the mechanical arm’s movements demonstrate
both the awesome power and inherent limitations of technological control, as it struggles
perpetually with its impossible task of perfect containment.
The spreading red liquid takes on multiple meanings in this context, representing various
forms of movement that power structures attempt to control: population movements, cultural
influence, information flow, and territorial disputes. Its persistent escape from containment,
despite the robot’s tireless efforts, in the context of the exhibition suggests the fundamental
futility of absolute border control. This dynamic becomes particularly poignant when considered
against the backdrop of contemporary global migration and information flow.
The installation thus raises critical questions about the nature of authority and control in
contemporary society. The automation of the system prompts viewers to consider questions of
agency in surveillance – who or what is really in control when systems become automated? The

30
robot’s programmed responses reflect the bureaucratic systems that govern border control, while
the absence of human operators highlights the increasing automation of these systems.
When viewed through this lens of the violence of automated state control, the installation
reveals itself as a commentary on how modern surveillance systems operate through
sophisticated spatial hierarchies. The transparent enclosure becomes more than just a container; it
functions as a model of contemporary surveillance architecture, where power is exercised
through the ability to observe and control space at multiple levels simultaneously. The
transparent nature of the enclosure also speaks to the alienating nature of being within the
modern surveillance systems, where control is exercised through visibility and the threat of
observation. However, the work suggests that this transparency is itself a form of control, as it
creates a space where behavior is modified by the very fact of being observed.
The installation’s themes resonate powerfully with current global issues surrounding
immigration control systems, digital surveillance, and automated border protection. The work
suggests that technological solutions to human movement may be fundamentally ill-conceived,
as they attempt to impose mechanical order on organic chaos. This tension becomes particularly
relevant when considered against the backdrop of increasing global mobility and the
technological infrastructure developed to monitor and control it.
May You Live in Interesting Times, 58th Venice Biennale, May 11–November 24, 2019
The 2019 Venice Biennale’s curatorial framework emphasized the multiplicity of
interpretations and challenged existing habits of thought. The title May You Live in Interesting
Times revealed to be a fabricated “ancient Chinese curse” born from Western imagination rather

31
than actual Chinese cultural heritage.40 This curatorial decision immediately establishes a critical
dialogue about cultural misinterpretation and the construction of narratives. Exhibiting Can’t
Help Myself in this context, the interpretations are not limited to one perspective, which arguably
the Guggenheim exhibition tended to do, but focuses on how the work can be interpreted in
various ways.
The exhibition’s unique structure, featuring two distinct presentations of works by the
same artists in different venues, encourages viewers to develop more nuanced and complex
readings of each piece. While Can’t Help Myself was placed in the Central Pavilion at Giardini,
interpretations of the work benefits from the broader curatorial strategy of encouraging multiple,
sometimes contradictory readings of artworks.
The installation’s physical presence—a transparent acrylic cube housing an industrial
robotic arm—creates an immediate tension between containment and display, control and
vulnerability. The robot’s programming with 32 distinct movements, including anthropomorphic
gestures like “bow and shake,” “scratch an itch,” and “ass shake,” introduces an unsettling
element of personality into what is ostensibly an industrial machine.41 This programmed
repertoire of movements transforms the mechanical arm from a mere functional device into a
performer engaging in what appears to be compulsive, almost ritualistic behavior.
The transparency of the enclosure takes on particular significance in this context, serving
not just as a practical containment solution but as a theatrical device that frames the robot’s
performance. The robot’s movements, alternating between utilitarian fluid management and
40 Ralph Rugoff, “May you live in interesting times”, in May You Live In Interesting Times: Biennale Arte 2019
Short Guide. (Prima edizione. Venezia: La Biennale di Venezia, maggio 2019), 36. 41 “Sun Yuan and Peng Yu”, in May You Live In Interesting Times, 209.

32
seemingly spontaneous gestural expressions, create a complex choreography that blurs the line
between programmed functionality and apparent autonomous behavior.
The central dynamic of the installation—the constant struggle between the mechanical
arm and the spreading red liquid—becomes particularly poignant within the exhibition’s broader
theme of interesting times. The liquid’s persistent seepage and the robot’s programmed responses
create a perpetual cycle that speaks to larger systems of control and their inherent limitations.
This interaction between fluid (organic) and robotic (mechanical) elements manifests as a visible
metaphor for contemporary societal tensions between natural processes and technological control
mechanisms.
The work’s title, Can’t Help Myself, takes on multiple layers of meaning in this context.
On one level, it refers to the robot’s programmed compulsion to contain the spreading liquid.
However, within the Biennale’s framework of challenging existing thought patterns, it also
suggests a broader commentary on societal systems and their often-futile attempts to impose
order on naturally occurring chaos. The robot’s inability to achieve permanent control, despite its
sophisticated programming and precise movements, becomes a reflection on the limitations of
technological solutions to organic problems. Compared to the daunting vertical surveillance
technologies highlighted by the Guggenheim interpretation, the interpretation produced by
curators of the Venice Biennale grants humans more agency in the tension between human power
and technology.
Social Media Responses
Unlike its presentations at the Guggenheim and Venice Biennale, where institutional
frameworks guided interpretation through carefully curated contexts, Can’t Help Myself has

33
found a new life and meaning through social media platforms such as TikTok and Instagram.
This digital afterlife presents a shift in both the work’s reception and interpretation,
demonstrating how contemporary art meaning can be transformed through social media
discourse.
The viral TikTok comparison video by user @2k.kxoll in 2021, contrasting the robot’s
movements from 2016 and 2019, exemplifies this shift.42 Although the original account has been
deleted, the video reposted by @spaghettandmeatballs in 2022 has 30.5 million views and 22.9k
comments so far.43 The viewing number for the video has far exceeded the amount of audiences
able to experience the work in-person in any institutional exhibition setting. While the
institutional presentations emphasized the work’s theoretical implications and its dialogue with
contemporary sociopolitical issues, social media interpretations have gravitated toward
emotional and personal readings. The video contrasts the robot’s lively movements of dancing
and shoveling in 2016 with its slow and seemingly rusty movements in 2019, while the floor and
acrylic structure have been smudged by the red blood-like liquid. The narrative of the videos
emphasizes the disappearing of dance moves and how tired the robot has become from three
years of endless shoveling. As I explored the comments under these videos, I read many users
sharing their feeling of empathy towards the overworked robot arm. This transformation in
interpretation reveals how different contextual frameworks can highlight different interpretation
of an artwork thus emphasize the flexibility of meaning especially for Can’t Help Myself.
42 Hampsink, Iris Olde. “Can’t Help Myself: How a Relatable Robot Offers a Critical Reflection on Modern
Society,” February 23, 2022. https://www.diggitmagazine.com/papers/can-t-help-myself-how-relatable-robot-offerscritical-reflection-modern-society. 43 @spaghettandmeatballs. “He Looks Tired.” TikTok, September 14, 2022.
https://www.tiktok.com/@spaghettandmeatballs/video/7143143272410516782?q=can%27t%20help%20myself%20
robot%20now%202024&t=1732133758785%3Fq%3Dcan%27t%20help%20myself&t=1732133749357.

34
Where the Guggenheim and Venice Biennale presentations framed the work within
theoretical discourses about automation, control, and systemic relationships, social media
interpretations have overwhelmingly focused on anthropomorphizing the robot. Comments like
“it looks so tired and unmotivated” and desires to “let it ‘rest’” reveal a fundamental shift from
viewing the machine as a metaphorical device to seeing it as a surrogate for human experience.44
These kinds of emotional projection stand in marked contrast to the more analytical frameworks
of institutional presentations. While the Venice Biennale’s curatorial framework encouraged
multiple readings, it still maintained a critical distance that the social media context has largely
abandoned in favor of direct emotional identification.
The social media reception has transformed the work into a powerful metaphor for
contemporary labor conditions, but in a more personal and immediate way than its institutional
presentations. Comments like “I see myself” and references to “continuously cleaning up the
pieces of [themselves]” demonstrate how viewers are using the work to articulate their own
experiences with burnout and repetitive labor.45
The narrative of the video implies that the work had been running continuously from
2016 to 2019. The restless shoveling led to burnout, which supposedly showed through in the
slowing down and rustiness of the movements. In the video, moreover, the robot was dancing at
first in the 2016 clip, but was only shoveling and with no energy for entertainment in the 2019
clip.46 The reality, however, is that Can't Help Myself installations at Guggenheim (2016) and
Venice Biennale (2019) were two different editions of the same work, each only run for the
44 Comment section, @spaghettandmeatballs. “He Looks Tired.” TikTok, September 14, 2022.
https://www.tiktok.com/@spaghettandmeatballs/video/7143143272410516782?q=can%27t%20help%20myself%20
robot%20now%202024&t=1732133758785%3Fq%3Dcan%27t%20help%20myself&t=1732133749357. 45 Ibid. 46 Ibid.

35
duration of the exhibition, four and seven month respectively. The artist duo has tested and
trialed the design to make sure that the robot arm would not get rusty during the run of show.47
After Guggenheim commissioned and collected the first edition, the artists made the second
edition for Venice Biennale. The artists have always planned three versions for most of their
installations.
48 For the second edition, the artist actually programmed more dance moves for the
robot arm, an increase from 30 to over 100. Many of these new movements took inspirations
from slow-motion kung fu movements often shown in action movies, creating a starker contrast
with the rational and diligent shoveling movements.49 When only viewing a few seconds of the
video clips, the prolonged movements might be interpreted as rusty, especially compared with
the movements from the first edition.
The social media discourse around the perceived degradation of the robot’s movements
between 2016 and 2019 reveals an interesting tension between popular interpretation and fact.
While art historical research on an artwork and curatorial work can also only infer from the
contexts and facts accessible to the researcher and curator, the production of interpretations in the
digital world can be completely detached from what is “real”, through cherry picking facts to
form a compelling narrative. Another example—the red liquid on the floor, because of its
resemblance to blood, is often interpreted by social media reposts as the fuel for the machine.50
As a result, the robot arm’s motivation to shovel was interpreted as to collect fuel in order to
continue its movements, a vicious cycle of fueling endless work. The existence of the sensor,
47 Sun Yuan and Peng Yu, In-person conversation with the author, January 2025 48 Da Fang, “亲爱的彭禹/Dear Peng Yu.” 49 Sun Yuan and Peng Yu, In-person conversation with author, January 2025. 50 @vanessastjohn. “‘Can’t Help Myself’ by Sun Yuan and Peng Yu.” TikTok, September 28, 2024.
https://www.tiktok.com/@vanessastjohn/video/7419817916171947295?q=can%27t%20help%20myself%20robot%
20blood&t=1732684364041.

36
since it is not directly seen from the videos, is often neglected. Through these edits to the stories
about the robot arm, the audience on the internet sympathize with the robot even more.
In addition to the reposting and direct emotional response to the artwork, social media
users and scholars of art and pop culture have also produced further interpretations of the
artwork, including restaging the installation in various ways and referring to theories and other
realms of knowledge. Because of the repetitive and non-self-motivated nature of the work that
the robot arm is doing and how the program is forcing it to stay in operation, Iris Olde Hampsink
(2022), when analyzing the internet virality of the piece in her online magazine article, refers to
David Graeber’s book Bullshit Jobs (2018).51 Graeber defines “bullshit jobs” as paid positions
that are so completely pointless that even the employees themselves cannot justify their
existence, yet they must pretend their roles hold value because they cannot exit from the
capitalist-driven society.
52 This framework particularly resonates with the robotic arm's perpetual
task—while it diligently performs its programmed duty of containing the liquid, the futility of
this endless labor becomes apparent as the liquid inevitably spreads again, mirroring the
psychological condition of workers trapped in meaningless bureaucratic roles. Hampsink
compares the emotions of people experiencing burnout because they are not fulfilling their
purposes to robot arm’s life duty does not allow it to live a life of meaning.
53
The social media context has sparked new philosophical interpretations, particularly
through the lens of Albert Camus’s The Myth of Sisyphus (1942).
54 According to Camus, life is
meaningless to begin with and absurdity lies in trying to find meaning in a meaningless world. In
51 Hampsink, “Can’t Help Myself.” 52 Graeber, David. Bullshit Jobs: A Theory. New York, UNITED STATES: Simon & Schuster, 2018.
http://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/socal/detail.action?docID=5685401. 53 Hampsink, “Can’t Help Myself.” 54 Alison Cutler, “Macabre Chinese Art Piece Has TikTok in a Tizzy — Still. What Is It, and Why?” Miami Herald,
August 31, 2022. https://www.miamiherald.com/news/nation-world/national/article265159971.html.

37
the essay, Camus recognizes Sisyphus as the absurd hero, who never stops to struggle through
his punishment of pushing the boulder up the hill even if it does not align with what he initially
seeks with his life. However, through conscious acceptance of the absurdity, Sisyphus, to Camus,
is fulfilling his life.55 The robot’s actions of endless shoveling share the same absurdity and
repetitiveness as Sisyphus’s labor. Because it is already stuck in the capitalist order which defeats
personal purposes and ultimate meaning, the robot’s life can only be fulfilled if it surrenders and
suffers through its endless job.
While the sympathetic and emotional responses to the piece are sometimes dismissed by
other comments saying “it’s just a machine” and “try unplugging it and plugging it back in,”
comparing the work to Graeber and Camus’ theoretical frameworks poses a powerful response to
these comments.56 When viewers project their feelings on to the robot, they empathize with the
robot’s compulsive movements to keep the liquid contained, which many internet viewers
believes as to fuel the machine. Since the fluid was to keep the robot alive, the robot cannot just
quit its shoveling job and exit the system. If the robot arm did that, it would stop working, thus
not exist anymore. Similarly, when a person is participating in the capitalist society, even if they
find their job repetitive and rewardless, they cannot simply quit without another way to support
themselves. Although humans, in contrast to machines and robots, should have authority and
liberty to make life choices freely, many viewers feel under the control from the capitalist society
like how the artists program the robot arm to perform its job and have no other choice but stay in
the situation to make a living.
The relatability of the robot continues to be emphasized through the emergence of
creative responses on social media, such as humans pretending to be the robot arm, recreating the
55 Albert Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus. (Great Ideas. London, Penguin, 2005). 56 Comment section, @spaghettandmeatballs. “He Looks Tired.”

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action of shoveling or doing other chores. For example, the robot arm was replaced by a mop
where the main character in the video was trying to contain a pile of liquid on their lab floor,
only finding the liquid to be spreading farther in the opposite direction.5758 Through re-learning
the machine moves as humans, the humans in these videos embody the sympathy the audience
have been feeling for the robot. These participatory interpretations represent a form of
engagement impossible in traditional institutional contexts. While the Venice Biennale
encouraged multiple readings, it did not facilitate this kind of active reinterpretation and
recreation.
In some other cases, the artwork as a symbol of the hopeless burnout in capitalist society
was used as a tool to promote other religious and spiritual solutions. For example, a user named
Carlos Aguiar on Instagram made a post about how the leaking of the fluid is like sin in people’s
lives. No one can save themselves without being dragged into it. Only God can save and heal
people.59 With this conclusion drawn without any logical deduction from facts, this artwork
might enter another extreme in the interpretation process—when artists grant unlimited right to
interpret to anyone, most who have not experienced the artwork within its material context and
have only seen the work with obscured internet view, the work can be manipulated and utilized
to support any message and any meaning.
While the curators for Guggenheim’s Tales of Our Time emphasized the work’s
commentary on surveillance, control, and the politics of verticality, and the curators of May You
Live in Interesting Times at Venice Biennale focused on technological critique and the limits of
57 @cubemarsmotor. “Can’t Help Myself. A Work of Art,” November 22, 2022.
https://www.tiktok.com/search?q=can%27t%20help%20myself%20robot%20human&t=1732684960365. 58 @televisionzoo. “‘Can’t Help Myself’ by Sun Yuan and Peng Yu,” March 1, 2022.
https://www.tiktok.com/@televisionzoo/video/7070138565887511854?q=can%27t%20help%20myself%20robot%2
0human&t=1732684960365. 59 Carlos Aguiar, “Carlos Aguiar on Instagram.” Instagram, September 12, 2024.
https://www.instagram.com/reel/C_1BXSXyF2R/.

39
mechanical solutions to organic problems, social media interpretations have highlighted the
work’s emotional resonance through anthropomorphizing and its metaphorical relationship to
labor in capitalist society. Like the Buddhist stanza the artists quoted, the interpretation from the
internet users reflected their own concerns and their headspace, which places the artwork within
an interesting exhibiting context. However, the internet presence of Can’t Help Myself seems to
be detached from its creation and material context. Without experiencing the artwork in person to
hear the sound and squirt of the red liquid, the viewer can only respond to some aspects of the
work. These limited perceptions, however, are further obscured by the misleading information
included in the video to produce a complete and compelling narrative. As a result, the users are
actually interpreting and reacting to the video inspired by the artwork, instead of the artwork
itself.

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Conclusion
Sun Yuan and Peng Yu’s artistic practice presents a complex interplay between stated
intention and contextual resonance. While the artists consistently resist assigning specific sociohistorical meanings to their works, their material and formal choices inevitably reflect their
temporal and social context. The use of cremated remains in One or All coincided with China’s
mandatory cremation policy implementation, while the industrial robot arm in Can’t Help Myself
mirrors the increasing automation of contemporary Chinese society. Here a contradiction
between stated intent and contextual resonance suggests a more nuanced artistic strategy at play,
one that creates deliberate space for multiple interpretations while potentially serving as a
protective mechanism within China’s complex landscape of cultural politics and censorship—if
the interpretations do not come from the artists directly, they cannot be censored and can
continue to create works in the Chinese context.
The adaptability of their works to different curatorial frameworks demonstrates the
richness of their artistic practice. Rather than viewing various interpretations as competing
narratives, they could function as complementary layers of meaning that accumulate through
each exhibition context. This multiplicity aligns with the artists’ belief that any descriptive
language cannot fully capture the experiential nature of their art. 60 Each curatorial framework
illuminates different aspects of the work, contributing to a more comprehensive understanding of
its significance in contemporary culture. The works’ ability to sustain multiple readings across
different cultural contexts speaks to their success in creating truly polysemic artworks that
generate new meanings as they move through time and space.
60 Da Fang, “亲爱的彭禹/Dear Peng Yu.”

41
The internet-based interpretations add another layer of complexity to the understanding
of Sun Yuan and Peng Yu’s work. While these interpretations often disconnect from the material
context of the artwork and sometimes build upon partially accurate narratives, they contribute
significantly to contemporary discourse around the works. The viral spread of Can’t Help Myself,
for instance, generated strong emotional responses that, although based on simplified narratives,
revealed how the work resonates with contemporary experiences of burnout and labor
exploitation under capitalism. In this case, the question of whether and how we can still consider
these interpretations in conducting scholarly research about the artist duo and the artwork is
worth further exploration.
The internet’s role in expanding the reach and impact of their works suggests new
possibilities for audience engagement with contemporary art. However, it also presents
challenges for curators and scholars working with non-digital art. How can institutions and
curators effectively utilize digital platforms to engage with the audience and support the artists,
while maintaining the integrity of the artwork’s material and conceptual foundations?
As I write this thesis, it leaves me with more questions than answers about Sun Yuan and
Peng Yu’s artmaking and interpretation of their art, along with how to navigate the dynamic
between the public (in reality or on the internet), the artists, the institution, and the curators.
While Sun Yuan and Peng Yu’s case might be special that they are actively resisting assigning
meanings to their work and hold spaces for interpretation for the curators, scholars, and viewers,
discussions about these dynamics are not only valuable for this artist duo’s practice. changing of
interpretations and emphasis of an artwork as any artist’s career develop and their social context
changes is not unique. In curatorial practices, featured artworks are like language components
where they collectively contribute and respond to the curatorial thesis. Through selection,

42
arranging, and writing about the artworks, the curators are producing their own meanings
through research, utilizing artworks and meanings the artists present. Certain aspects of the
artworks will be emphasized with different exhibitions as analyzed in the case studies above.
Physical exhibitions also allow the curators and exhibition designers to convey to the viewers
through intentionally set the scenes and creating dialogues among the artworks and space. In
comparison, viral exposures of artworks on the internet situates the artworks in a different virtual
context—without careful curation and design, the artworks are directly exposed to algorithm
often designed and driven by capitalist logic. Through the research process for this thesis, I have
become more aware of these dynamics. Like the brick metaphor Sun Yuan uses to describe the
purpose of their installation art practice, this analysis not only aims to demonstrates
contemporary artworks and exhibitions’ role in addressing complex social, political, and
philosophical questions, but also raise further questions on navigating artistic intention,
curatorial practice, institutional frameworks, and public engagement in the digital age.

43
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Asset Metadata

Creator Hou, Jiayi (author)

Core Title Interpretation landscape of Sun Yuan and Peng Yu’s works: creation, curation, and popularization

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School Roski School of Art and Design

Degree Master of Arts

Degree Program Curatorial Practices and the Public Sphere

Degree Conferral Date 2025-05

Publication Date 04/10/2025

Defense Date 04/09/2025

Publisher University of Southern California (original), Los Angeles, California (original), University of Southern California. Libraries (digital)

Tag Can't help myself,contemporary Chinese art,curatorial practice,exhibition,installation art,Internet,One or all,social media,Sun Yuan & Peng Yu

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Advisor Jones, Amelia (committee chair), Chio, Jenny (committee member), Hudson, Suzanne (committee member)

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Abstract (if available)

Abstract This thesis examines the multifaceted interpretation landscape surrounding the works of Chinese artist duo Sun Yuan and Peng Yu, focusing on their installations One or All (2004) and Can't Help Myself (2016). Through these case studies, I investigate how meaning is constructed when artists deliberately resist providing fixed interpretations of their work. The research analyzes how Sun Yuan and Peng Yu's philosophical stance—rooted in Chan Buddhist principles of emptiness and their focus on material mechanisms rather than symbolic content—creates a unique space for multiple interpretations across different contexts.
By tracing the trajectory of these works from their creation through various exhibition contexts to their reception in both traditional art institutions and digital platforms, this thesis reveals the complex ecosystem of meaning-making in contemporary art. The artists' emergence during China's post-1989 period of artistic experimentation and their subsequent international recognition offers insight into how contemporary Chinese art can transcend cultural specificity while maintaining critical edge.
This research challenges the artists' claim of complete detachment from social contexts while examining how curators, scholars, and social media users develop distinct interpretations of their provocative works. Particular attention is paid to Can't Help Myself's unexpected viral popularity during the COVID-19 pandemic, illustrating the tension between institutional curation and digital engagement. Through this analysis, the thesis contributes to our understanding of contemporary art interpretation in the digital age, revealing how meaning evolves across different platforms and suggesting new possibilities for curatorial practice that acknowledges these multiple channels of reception.