April 4 2025
Is Fake Blood Blood?:
On Practicing a Philosophical Way of Living Amid Uncertainty
Are we willing to believe in something that only seems like blood? If it evokes a real experience—does that make it real?
Guest Yuanjie Chen Interviewer Yuchen Hou & Rachel Wang Written by Yuchen Hou Editor Rachel Wang Design & Layout Meredith Whisman Photo by Yuanjie Chen
Details of The Beloved Person Will Grow Flesh and Blood.
I was unsettled by the overwhelming red when I first opened Yuanjie Chen’s portfolio. The design was clean and deliberate, but what caught me was the density of emotion it seemed to carry. I was used to artist websites that felt clean and elegant, but this one didn’t. It felt urgent, almost aggressive; like a raw outpouring rather than a presentation. It unsettled me, which sparked my curiosity. I sent him an email.
A few weeks later, during our virtual studio visit, he showed me his sculpture, The Beloved Person Will Grow Flesh and Blood. Its surface—a thick, glossy, and visible flow—was made from synthetic blood, industrial glue, and other commercial materials. I had been immersed in the visceral, bio-mimetic texture of the work until he casually mentioned, “These materials are all from a supply store”, something in me flinched.
To be honest, it immediately struck a nerve in my mind: it doesn’t seem like handmade material. I used to believe that only materials shaped directly by the artist's hands could hold emotion—only then could they be considered “real.” Based on this thought, mixing synthetic blood with glue is also a form of bodily intervention. However at that moment, I instinctively resisted it, and a question slipped out:
“Is fake blood blood?”
Detail of The Beloved Person Will Grow Flesh and Blood.
The Beloved Person Will Grow Flesh and Blood. 2024, Acrylic, wood, spray foam, paraffin wax, plaster, bandage, glue, artificial blood. 75" x 27" x 21".
The question was not to challenge Yuanjie’s thoughts, but a reflection on myself:
Am I willing to believe that something that looks like blood can still move me? Should it be counted as real?
Right as the question formed, I remembered a word from his Instagram bio: philosophical.
I didn’t know exactly what he meant by that. In the world of contemporary art, “philosophical” has become turned into a go-to label that is overused and stripped of meaning. I wasn’t sure if he was simply following the trend by using this common label or if it actually held a deeper, more genuine meaning until he explicitly brought up the word: “I think philosophy is a progression of concepts,” he said.
“You don’t have to declare what you believe, but it shows in how you eat, how you live, how you make art.”
I started to understand that he wasn’t trying to advocate philosophy in his work. Rather, he was attempting to live it or live through it.
Detail of Unveiling Echoes.
Burring, 2021,ouache, cement, red paraffin, plexiglass. Dimensions variable.
He told me that during the undergrad stage, he wanted to explore themes like ancestry, family, and faith, but those topics were hard to express openly. The suppression didn't let the thoughts fade away; instead, they built up quietly over time. So when he moved to New York, his early works emerged as what he called “negative”, “violent”, and “bursting out.” However, he didn’t frame it as a stylistic decision.
“That’s just how it was,” he said.
It was a survival instinct rather than an aesthetic strategy—art making as a way to confirm, with the body, that something still remained.
Later, things began to shift. He mentioned his professor's encouragement, the healing power of motivational interviewing, and the constant support of his fiancée. These relationships helped him revisit the idea of connection, especially the meaning of “family.” His work moved from an overflow to a containment, the one from red on black, to a more bright, steadfast red. During this period, he created four pieces titled, Answer—something like a resolution, or a turning inward.
Details of Answer 4.
“Some feelings,” he said, “need to be retrieved.”
When he spoke about love, he described it as something subtle: eating together, living together, or suddenly feeling a quiet, indescribable bond in an ordinary moment. He didn’t choose to define and stabilize these feelings, but let them drift freely, either fading away or growing stronger, as long as they were felt.
He once said something that stayed with me:
“Concept is when you try to define what you’re doing. Philosophy is when you don’t know how to define it, but you’re doing it anyway.”
That clarified everything. His work isn’t meant to argue or promote a philosophical theory. It’s a record of staying connected with the world, the others, and with oneself, amidst chaos and uncertainty. It’s not a claim, but a resonance.
At one point, he shared an example:
“Take the term ‘French army’, it already includes infantry and armored units. But people still prefer to use ‘French armored units’ separately.”
It was the moment that he realized how much language is pre-structured—we always follow its logic without noticing we could break it.
He doesn’t try to dismantle language; instead, he constructs a system that makes people feel the red and the blood without relying on words. He experiments with the density, structure, arrangement, and temperature of materials, exploring the space between “looks like blood” and “is blood”, where the body, not logic, decides what’s true.
Installation view of Expanding the Panopticon, LatchKey Gallery, 2023.
His work doesn’t aim to explain philosophy, nor to build a worldview. It is something more subtle and insidious: When language fails, how else can we reach toward each other? It’s not about transmitting meaning through visuals, but about leaving behind a trace of sensation within the blur.
And, recalling back to that question: “Is fake blood blood?”
Or to put it another way: Is painting just pigment? Is sculpture just structure?
It was never a question waiting for an answer, nor a test of material authenticity.
It was an invitation to reorganize how we feel and to realize: if we are willing to believe something that looks like blood can still call up something real, then maybe, it is blood.
Answer 2. 2024, Acrylic, paraffin wax, glue, artificial blood, resin. 12" x 16" x 3".
Answer 1. 2024, Acrylic on canvas. 12" x 12" x 1.5".
Answer 3. 2024, Acrylic on canvas. 12" x 12" x 1.5".
Answer 4. 2024, Acrylic on canvas. 24" x 36" x 1.5".
Guest Yuanjie Chen Interviewer Yuchen Hou & Rachel Wang Written by Yuchen Hou Editor Rachel Wang Design & Layout Meredith Whisman Photo by Yuanjie Chen
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