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SELECTED WORKS
Tyrian Purple《推罗紫》, 2024. 117x116x13cm. Oil, lacquer, linen, emulsion, wood. 油彩、大漆、麻布、混合水、木板
Su has always had a reverence for colors. The story of Tyrian Purple is contained within the name itself—a color that carries its own legend.
Su Xiaobai became fascinated by the concept of purple when he saw a painting by Peter Paul Rubens, Hercules’s Dog Discovers Purple Dye (1636). This encounter led him down a path of extensive research, learning about the seafaring ancient Phoenicians who inhabited the port city of Tyre, in modern-day Lebanon, around 800 BCE.
There, the Phoenicians extracted a rare purple secretion from sea snails to produce the purple-dyed fabrics that were among the region’s most prized exports. The process of creating these coveted textiles was highly labor-intensive. Each snail yielded only a minuscule drop of the precious purple fluid, and one gram of pure Tyrian purple powder required the extraction of liquid from tens of thousands of snails.
Tyre witnessed centuries of warfare and dynastic shifts as a result of its strategic position between the Greek colonies and the Persian Empire. The city eventually sank beneath the waves, and today the site (occupied by a small fishing village) presents minimal traces of its former glory—a few weathered and broken columns standing in the sea, and patches of purple stains upon the shore.
Moved by the story of Tyrian purple, Su decided to honor the color’s rich history by creating his first small painting on a modest panel. The painting received widespread acclaim, encouraging Su to continue his exploration. He used lacquer that had been sun-cured for half a year, blending the material with large amounts of purple powder. The mixture was carefully milled on a triple-cylinder grinding machine until it reached a perfect consistency. Taking inspiration from ancient techniques, he applied it evenly onto a rectangular wooden panel with sharply defined edges.
The process involved coating the panel with three layers of clear lacquer, each applied over three days, exposing the canvas to light during the day and resting in darkness at night. The piece was then left to cure in a shaded room for several days, allowing it to develop a luminous, ethereal glow.
Tyrian Purple is one of the few cases in which the name of the artwork preceded its making. It is also Su’s only painting that bears no “wounds”—a work unmarked by cracks, scars, and fissures.
Su Xiaobai became fascinated by the concept of purple when he saw a painting by Peter Paul Rubens, Hercules’s Dog Discovers Purple Dye (1636). This encounter led him down a path of extensive research, learning about the seafaring ancient Phoenicians who inhabited the port city of Tyre, in modern-day Lebanon, around 800 BCE.
There, the Phoenicians extracted a rare purple secretion from sea snails to produce the purple-dyed fabrics that were among the region’s most prized exports. The process of creating these coveted textiles was highly labor-intensive. Each snail yielded only a minuscule drop of the precious purple fluid, and one gram of pure Tyrian purple powder required the extraction of liquid from tens of thousands of snails.
Tyre witnessed centuries of warfare and dynastic shifts as a result of its strategic position between the Greek colonies and the Persian Empire. The city eventually sank beneath the waves, and today the site (occupied by a small fishing village) presents minimal traces of its former glory—a few weathered and broken columns standing in the sea, and patches of purple stains upon the shore.
Moved by the story of Tyrian purple, Su decided to honor the color’s rich history by creating his first small painting on a modest panel. The painting received widespread acclaim, encouraging Su to continue his exploration. He used lacquer that had been sun-cured for half a year, blending the material with large amounts of purple powder. The mixture was carefully milled on a triple-cylinder grinding machine until it reached a perfect consistency. Taking inspiration from ancient techniques, he applied it evenly onto a rectangular wooden panel with sharply defined edges.
The process involved coating the panel with three layers of clear lacquer, each applied over three days, exposing the canvas to light during the day and resting in darkness at night. The piece was then left to cure in a shaded room for several days, allowing it to develop a luminous, ethereal glow.
Tyrian Purple is one of the few cases in which the name of the artwork preceded its making. It is also Su’s only painting that bears no “wounds”—a work unmarked by cracks, scars, and fissures.
Poppy Red 《罂粟红》, 2024. 154x388x10cm. cochineal powder, lacquer, linen, emulsion, wood. 胭脂蟲紅、大漆、麻布、混合水、木板
In the contemporary world of mass-produced chemical pigments, every hue is cataloged and assigned a precise number. The exclusive "Poppy Red" (Mohnrot) produced by the Schmincke company in Düsseldorf is labeled 11304. These pigments in tubes offer rich saturation and are convenient to use. For Su Xiaobai, however, they lack a certain aura.
You won't find the colors that Su creates in any manufacturer's catalog. The handcrafted colors of his paintings are entirely unique, developed by creating a custom “soup” of lacquer and other tinted materials.
Take, for instance, his paintings titled Shang Yellow, Pin Yellow, and Tian Yellow. Here, the naming is of central importance. The yellows have a physical presence, while the characters "Shang," "Pin," and "Tian" are prompted by his literary musings, serving as vessels for his thoughts. For Su, the name of a piece is often as significant as its color. A good name carries depth and history; it is ancient, mysterious, and always rooted in original natural hues.
During the COVID-19 pandemic in 2022, Su Xiaobai was confined to a quarantine center in Shanghai for 21 days (a so-called "2 x 7 + 7" safety quarantine). On the second day after his release from the quarantine hotel, he rushed to his studio. He wanted to reclaim the three weeks that he had lost. However, even after exhausting all the “Poppy Red” pigment at his disposal, he could not complete a single work.
A year later, he learned from a friend about the natural dying techniques developed by the Aztecs and the Mayans. Their primary colors were sapphire, yellow petals, and the crimson derived from cochineal insects—parasites that lived on cacti. Of these, the crimson from the cochineal was the most vivid.
Not long after, Su acquired an oil pastel stick made from cochineal red, ground into a gel-like powder. He combined it with a lacquer mixture that included the waxy remnants of cochineal shells, and applied it to a canvas with raised, beveled edges. In doing so, he completed the work that had eluded him when using the manufactured pigment “Poppy Red.”
This piece is the second of his "colors with stories” paintings, following his earlier work, Crackle · R.
You won't find the colors that Su creates in any manufacturer's catalog. The handcrafted colors of his paintings are entirely unique, developed by creating a custom “soup” of lacquer and other tinted materials.
Take, for instance, his paintings titled Shang Yellow, Pin Yellow, and Tian Yellow. Here, the naming is of central importance. The yellows have a physical presence, while the characters "Shang," "Pin," and "Tian" are prompted by his literary musings, serving as vessels for his thoughts. For Su, the name of a piece is often as significant as its color. A good name carries depth and history; it is ancient, mysterious, and always rooted in original natural hues.
During the COVID-19 pandemic in 2022, Su Xiaobai was confined to a quarantine center in Shanghai for 21 days (a so-called "2 x 7 + 7" safety quarantine). On the second day after his release from the quarantine hotel, he rushed to his studio. He wanted to reclaim the three weeks that he had lost. However, even after exhausting all the “Poppy Red” pigment at his disposal, he could not complete a single work.
A year later, he learned from a friend about the natural dying techniques developed by the Aztecs and the Mayans. Their primary colors were sapphire, yellow petals, and the crimson derived from cochineal insects—parasites that lived on cacti. Of these, the crimson from the cochineal was the most vivid.
Not long after, Su acquired an oil pastel stick made from cochineal red, ground into a gel-like powder. He combined it with a lacquer mixture that included the waxy remnants of cochineal shells, and applied it to a canvas with raised, beveled edges. In doing so, he completed the work that had eluded him when using the manufactured pigment “Poppy Red.”
This piece is the second of his "colors with stories” paintings, following his earlier work, Crackle · R.
Chuan Yu《川渝》, 2024. 150x398x12cm. Oil, lacquer, linen, emulsion, wood. 油彩、大漆、麻布、混合水、木板
Chuan Yu is both a reference to the region of Sichuan, and an abstract expression of ravines and mountains. The interplay of blue and white evokes clouds, water, and the movement of glaciers. These elements converge in an alchemical process, as Su Xiaobai develops his materials and experiments with ancient techniques.
The panels of the diptych are curved with beveled edges. This unique surface, treated with Su Xiaobai’s specially formulated lacquer “soup,” allows the liquid to flow freely across the surface of the painting.
When the lacquer is applied, it resembles a downpour of rain—droplets large and small, splashing and scattering across a rooftop. The two panels are positioned at an angle to the ground. Suspended 50-80cm above, three brushes are bundled together and sweep repeatedly along the long edges of the panels. Droplets of color, guided by their own weight, leave trails like waves across the surface.
The entire process is an exercise in intense focus; executed with an impromptu flourish, yet as arduous as a decade of labor. Part of way through, Su transfers the large basin in his left hand to his right hand holding the brushes, freeing his left hand to raise one side of the panel. Droplets of liquid that had been lingering at the center of the panels are sent streaming to the opposite side. The result is a surface of whites and blues, with areas of pooling and flow.
Upon completing this painting, Su was left exhausted and drenched in sweat. He recalls a similar experience a decade before, when he visited the Palazzo Schifanoia in Ferrara. There, surrounded by frescoes, he was so overwhelmed that he nearly lost himself—on the verge of an out-of-body experience. He believes that these two inexplicable moments (that of being surrounded by paintings, and of creating his own painting) hold some hidden mystery. Perhaps that is why he has carried a cup of tea with him ever since; he takes a sip now and then, whether thirsty or not.
The panels of the diptych are curved with beveled edges. This unique surface, treated with Su Xiaobai’s specially formulated lacquer “soup,” allows the liquid to flow freely across the surface of the painting.
When the lacquer is applied, it resembles a downpour of rain—droplets large and small, splashing and scattering across a rooftop. The two panels are positioned at an angle to the ground. Suspended 50-80cm above, three brushes are bundled together and sweep repeatedly along the long edges of the panels. Droplets of color, guided by their own weight, leave trails like waves across the surface.
The entire process is an exercise in intense focus; executed with an impromptu flourish, yet as arduous as a decade of labor. Part of way through, Su transfers the large basin in his left hand to his right hand holding the brushes, freeing his left hand to raise one side of the panel. Droplets of liquid that had been lingering at the center of the panels are sent streaming to the opposite side. The result is a surface of whites and blues, with areas of pooling and flow.
Upon completing this painting, Su was left exhausted and drenched in sweat. He recalls a similar experience a decade before, when he visited the Palazzo Schifanoia in Ferrara. There, surrounded by frescoes, he was so overwhelmed that he nearly lost himself—on the verge of an out-of-body experience. He believes that these two inexplicable moments (that of being surrounded by paintings, and of creating his own painting) hold some hidden mystery. Perhaps that is why he has carried a cup of tea with him ever since; he takes a sip now and then, whether thirsty or not.
Floating Waters《凫水》, 2024. 168x165x20cm. Oil, lacquer, linen, emulsion, wood. 油彩、大漆、麻布、混合水、木板
Floating Waters emerged from a particularly quiet period in Su Xiaobai’s life. Doctors had informed him that he was suffering from osteoporosis, with signs of early fibrosis. However, he continued to work on his large pieces. He had plans to reunite with old friends in Sicily during the summer, and the anticipation of these gatherings gave him an opportunity to immerse himself in work.
Undeterred by his diagnosis, Su would get on his bicycle at the same hour each day to navigate the studio. His assistants, well-versed in the routine, had already laid out the frame boards as instructed; bowls of prepared materials would be crowded together, inviting him to start work.
Su had developed his own technique, refined to near perfection. He had no desire to change anything at this stage. His only wish was to use up his stores of lacquer before his time was up—a sort of minimalist reduction (reduzieren), a pursuit of dan-sha-li (a philosophy of letting go).
And so, he thought of Sicily: the battles between the Phoenicians and Greeks, the clashes between Byzantium and the Arabs, the ships of Carthaginians... History had left its marks on the island, while the sea washed away the traces of time.
From the many bowls of prepared lacquer on his workbench, Su chose one that contained a blue-green hue. To make the remaining color go further, so he thinned it with a touch of turpentine. The scent of pine resin filled the room, lifting Su’s spirits. He stirred the mixture with a wooden stick, then added some lacquer to enhance its adhesion.
The painting surface, with its silver-white ground, was already prepared. The submerged texture that produced the cracking effect was carefully laid beneath the base, waited to be revealed. With a sweeping gesture, he covered it with the transparent lacquer mixture.
The liquid flowed downwards like a mountain stream; delicate lines emerged as it spread across the surface, revealing themselves like secrets. The name “Floating Waters” was born.
Undeterred by his diagnosis, Su would get on his bicycle at the same hour each day to navigate the studio. His assistants, well-versed in the routine, had already laid out the frame boards as instructed; bowls of prepared materials would be crowded together, inviting him to start work.
Su had developed his own technique, refined to near perfection. He had no desire to change anything at this stage. His only wish was to use up his stores of lacquer before his time was up—a sort of minimalist reduction (reduzieren), a pursuit of dan-sha-li (a philosophy of letting go).
And so, he thought of Sicily: the battles between the Phoenicians and Greeks, the clashes between Byzantium and the Arabs, the ships of Carthaginians... History had left its marks on the island, while the sea washed away the traces of time.
From the many bowls of prepared lacquer on his workbench, Su chose one that contained a blue-green hue. To make the remaining color go further, so he thinned it with a touch of turpentine. The scent of pine resin filled the room, lifting Su’s spirits. He stirred the mixture with a wooden stick, then added some lacquer to enhance its adhesion.
The painting surface, with its silver-white ground, was already prepared. The submerged texture that produced the cracking effect was carefully laid beneath the base, waited to be revealed. With a sweeping gesture, he covered it with the transparent lacquer mixture.
The liquid flowed downwards like a mountain stream; delicate lines emerged as it spread across the surface, revealing themselves like secrets. The name “Floating Waters” was born.
Snow Stripes 《雪印》, 2023, 173x166x16cm. Clamstone Powder, Oil, lacquer, linen, emulsion, wood. 蛤碁石粉、油彩、大漆、麻布、混合水、木板
The smooth surface of this painting evokes the aura of a Japanese Go stones, meticulously hand-polished from large clam shells. “Snow grade” indicates the highest level of craftsmanship; the milky white surface of the Go stone is traversed by translucent veins known as "snow stripes”.
Snow Stripes likewise represents the zenith of Su Xioabai’s craftsmanship, and the visual impact of the work is produced by the layers of matter and meaning. The patterns within the painting flicker with intricate lines, shifting between light and shadow and producing a sense of movement.
Within each of the ten coats of white lacquer, Su embeds metal mesh lines, pausing for a few hours between applying each layer. On reaching the ninth and tenth layers, he directly scores the white surface with fine mesh patterns.
The entire process takes a full day. As he allows the painting to rest between stages, the layers of lacquer begin to interact—intertwining, penetrating, and fermenting—a period that lasts ten to twelve hours. The time required for this technique depends upon the varying viscosity of each white layer, and drying times differ between misty and rainy days.
The embedded mesh lines undergo a transformation when finally immersed in a bowl of Su’s signature “Xiaobai soup.” The results may be pleasing or challenging, yet each outcome bears the marks of human effort at every stage, leaving traces upon on the next layer.
Snow Stripes likewise represents the zenith of Su Xioabai’s craftsmanship, and the visual impact of the work is produced by the layers of matter and meaning. The patterns within the painting flicker with intricate lines, shifting between light and shadow and producing a sense of movement.
Within each of the ten coats of white lacquer, Su embeds metal mesh lines, pausing for a few hours between applying each layer. On reaching the ninth and tenth layers, he directly scores the white surface with fine mesh patterns.
The entire process takes a full day. As he allows the painting to rest between stages, the layers of lacquer begin to interact—intertwining, penetrating, and fermenting—a period that lasts ten to twelve hours. The time required for this technique depends upon the varying viscosity of each white layer, and drying times differ between misty and rainy days.
The embedded mesh lines undergo a transformation when finally immersed in a bowl of Su’s signature “Xiaobai soup.” The results may be pleasing or challenging, yet each outcome bears the marks of human effort at every stage, leaving traces upon on the next layer.
Niao Niao《袅袅》, 2023. 153x143x20cm. Oil, lacquer, linen, emulsion, wood. 油彩、大漆、麻布、混合水、木板
The term “Niao Niao” evokes the image of smoke gently rising. Originating from the prose poem Wu Du Fu (吴都赋) by the Jin Dynasty poet Zuo Si, “Niao Niao" is a Chinese term with no equivalent in other languages.
This painting was previously titled “Carborundum.” The term, referring to the specialized black pigment used in copperplate printing, evokes a deep, velvety darkness. When Su Xiaobai was working in a print studio in Barcelona, he blended carborundum with unique materials from his own workshop, creating a surface reminiscent of the depths of Vantablack—a synthetic pigment so dark that it absorbs almost 100% of light.
For this work, Su constructed a large stainless-steel basin, filling it to the brim with his signature “Xiaobai soup”. The soup consisted primarily of turpentine, mixed with powdered stones, crushed shells, ceramic flakes, algae extracts, and lichen, all ground to a fine 500-mesh powder. Teeming with texture, this concoction was combined with lacquer—the elements coalescing, infiltrating, and floating in varied densities.
The panel was submerged in the basin of liquid—rising and sinking, pushed down to the depths, then lifted again—allowing the sediment to glide along the sloping surface.
Niao Niao resembled a sunken ship resting at the bottom of a sea, the suspended debris settling gently upon its surface. When the painting was extracted from the basin, Su gave an involuntary shiver—he seemed to hear the grand notes of Richard Strauss’s Also sprach Zarathustra resounding in his head. Seizing a brush, Su drew a line along the midsection of the panel. A final, instinctive flourish that breathed life into the painting.
This painting was previously titled “Carborundum.” The term, referring to the specialized black pigment used in copperplate printing, evokes a deep, velvety darkness. When Su Xiaobai was working in a print studio in Barcelona, he blended carborundum with unique materials from his own workshop, creating a surface reminiscent of the depths of Vantablack—a synthetic pigment so dark that it absorbs almost 100% of light.
For this work, Su constructed a large stainless-steel basin, filling it to the brim with his signature “Xiaobai soup”. The soup consisted primarily of turpentine, mixed with powdered stones, crushed shells, ceramic flakes, algae extracts, and lichen, all ground to a fine 500-mesh powder. Teeming with texture, this concoction was combined with lacquer—the elements coalescing, infiltrating, and floating in varied densities.
The panel was submerged in the basin of liquid—rising and sinking, pushed down to the depths, then lifted again—allowing the sediment to glide along the sloping surface.
Niao Niao resembled a sunken ship resting at the bottom of a sea, the suspended debris settling gently upon its surface. When the painting was extracted from the basin, Su gave an involuntary shiver—he seemed to hear the grand notes of Richard Strauss’s Also sprach Zarathustra resounding in his head. Seizing a brush, Su drew a line along the midsection of the panel. A final, instinctive flourish that breathed life into the painting.
Niao Niao - Vantablack《袅袅》, 2022, 68x69x9cm Nachi blackstone powder, lacquer, linen, emulsion, wood. 那智黑石粉、大漆、麻布、木板
The titles of Su Xiaobai’s paintings often draw from the names and histories of colors, touching upon fields including botany, mineralogy, chemistry, history, ecology, archaeology, literature, and music.
Originating from the prose poem Wu Du Fu (吴都赋) by the Jin Dynasty poet Zuo Si, the term “Niao Niao” evokes the image of smoke gently rising.
Su chose the name for two reasons. He considers "Niao Niao" to be onomatopoeic, a sound with a nebulous presence that drifts and dissipates, lingering like the emotions that permeate his work. The term also presented an opportunity to delve deeper into the ancient Chinese cultural lexicon.
Most of Su Xiaobai’s works only receive their titles after they are complete, often arising in his mind spontaneously. Su makes an immediate note of each potential title, and these collected words grow in number over time; when the time comes to name a finished artwork, he selects from this list. The naming process unlocks hidden and interconnected layers, bringing the artwork to life and imbuing it with cultural resonance.
Originating from the prose poem Wu Du Fu (吴都赋) by the Jin Dynasty poet Zuo Si, the term “Niao Niao” evokes the image of smoke gently rising.
Su chose the name for two reasons. He considers "Niao Niao" to be onomatopoeic, a sound with a nebulous presence that drifts and dissipates, lingering like the emotions that permeate his work. The term also presented an opportunity to delve deeper into the ancient Chinese cultural lexicon.
Most of Su Xiaobai’s works only receive their titles after they are complete, often arising in his mind spontaneously. Su makes an immediate note of each potential title, and these collected words grow in number over time; when the time comes to name a finished artwork, he selects from this list. The naming process unlocks hidden and interconnected layers, bringing the artwork to life and imbuing it with cultural resonance.
Tian Huang《田黃》, 2021. 116x116x14cm.Oil, lacquer, linen, emulsion, wood. 油彩、大漆、麻布、混合水、木板
In 1999, when Su Xiaobai was living in Weidingen, Germany, he shared the following aspiration with his friend and fellow aesthete, Herbert Mainusch: "Malerei muß edel sein” (a painting should look noble).
Herbert responded that he would write a book of Xiaobai’s sayings. At that time, Su’s life was far from affluent; he painted with inexpensive pigments, and couldn’t have imagined that twenty years later he would be using the luxurious medium of natural lacquer.
When Su started producing his own lacquer, it was a turning point in his journey toward a richer palette. Lacquer was traditionally associated with the black, viscous substance produced in small family workshops. However, when he started working with a lacquer master in the city of Fuzhou, Su experimented with creating a new transparent variant. Soon after, he purchased 1000kg of this new variant from Fujian and acquired a large three-cylinder mill. From that point on, Su has dedicated himself to developing his own custom lacquer pigments.
The process involves thinning the lacquer, then mixing it with stone powder, organic color pigments, metal powders, calcium carbonate, turpentine, emulsion, and water, forming a rich broth that he calls “Xiaobai soup.”
He pours the mixture into fine porcelain bowls, covering them with clear plastic wrap to maintain freshness. The array of bowls appears as an all-encompassing color chart when laid out on his workbench in a gradated spectrum from cool to warm hues.
Tian Huang is a work born from this transformative period. The title refers to Tian Huang jade, a yellow gemstone found beneath the rice fields of Fuzhou, prized for its elegance and rarity. This brings us back to Su’s original statement—his formative principle that a painting should look noble.
Herbert responded that he would write a book of Xiaobai’s sayings. At that time, Su’s life was far from affluent; he painted with inexpensive pigments, and couldn’t have imagined that twenty years later he would be using the luxurious medium of natural lacquer.
When Su started producing his own lacquer, it was a turning point in his journey toward a richer palette. Lacquer was traditionally associated with the black, viscous substance produced in small family workshops. However, when he started working with a lacquer master in the city of Fuzhou, Su experimented with creating a new transparent variant. Soon after, he purchased 1000kg of this new variant from Fujian and acquired a large three-cylinder mill. From that point on, Su has dedicated himself to developing his own custom lacquer pigments.
The process involves thinning the lacquer, then mixing it with stone powder, organic color pigments, metal powders, calcium carbonate, turpentine, emulsion, and water, forming a rich broth that he calls “Xiaobai soup.”
He pours the mixture into fine porcelain bowls, covering them with clear plastic wrap to maintain freshness. The array of bowls appears as an all-encompassing color chart when laid out on his workbench in a gradated spectrum from cool to warm hues.
Tian Huang is a work born from this transformative period. The title refers to Tian Huang jade, a yellow gemstone found beneath the rice fields of Fuzhou, prized for its elegance and rarity. This brings us back to Su’s original statement—his formative principle that a painting should look noble.
Niao Niao - Green《袅袅-绿》, 2021. 97x95x9cm. Stone powder, lacquer, linen, emulsion, wood. 石粉、大漆、麻布、混合水、木板
Since 2018, Su Xiaobai has been crafting a new shape for the base structures of his paintings. These panels are made from thick boards, gently recessed at the center and rising outward with a gentle incline. On reaching the saturation point at the edges of the frame, the swelling surface is pulled forcefully towards the periphery, causing the image to “spill” over and fold to the back of the panel. This design gives the front of the painting a visual impact filled with tension; however, when viewed from the side, it appears as a thin layer. This effect suits the fact that the finished works are intended to be hung on a wall. They appear flush against the surface, barely casting a shadow.
The appearance of the thin edge is no simple feat; the borders are reinforced with a layer of steel plates, wrapped in burlap and coated with lacquer “mud” to give the appearance of roof tiles. If liquid pigment of a precise viscosity is splashed onto the surface, the structure of the panel allows it to settle just as intended.
The idea for the form was inspired by the gently curved roof tiles common to the rain-soaked southern regions of China. Su Xiaobai first encountered these tiles in Fuzhou in 2003, and they have since become the prototype for his works. Whether thick or thin, enlarged or reduced, layered or interwoven, the forms of his works return to the essence of these tiles. Su sometimes uses the tiles themselves as a medium, applying paint directly and transforming them into an integral part of the artwork.
The appearance of the thin edge is no simple feat; the borders are reinforced with a layer of steel plates, wrapped in burlap and coated with lacquer “mud” to give the appearance of roof tiles. If liquid pigment of a precise viscosity is splashed onto the surface, the structure of the panel allows it to settle just as intended.
The idea for the form was inspired by the gently curved roof tiles common to the rain-soaked southern regions of China. Su Xiaobai first encountered these tiles in Fuzhou in 2003, and they have since become the prototype for his works. Whether thick or thin, enlarged or reduced, layered or interwoven, the forms of his works return to the essence of these tiles. Su sometimes uses the tiles themselves as a medium, applying paint directly and transforming them into an integral part of the artwork.
Crackle - R《開片-R》, 2020. 168x160x19cm. Oil, lacquer, linen, emulsion, wood. 油彩、大漆、麻布、混合水、木板
Before synthetic blue pigments were developed, blue was once the rarest pigment in the artist’s palette. In Su Xiaobai’s studio, blue exists in countless variations—a testament to his deep appreciation for the color. He is constantly questing for the perfect blue; a journey that has taken him from the precious lapis blue seen in Giotto’s frescoes, to the soft gradients of azure in Song Dynasty landscapes, to the rich artificial hues of Prussian blue and phthalo blue, and the ephemeral blue of the sky after rain.
Su’s obsession with the color took a new direction when he came across an unexpected source: the story behind the original publication of Ulysses by James Joyce.
Accompanied by his friend Kong Changan, Su made a pilgrimage to the bookshop Shakespeare and Company in Paris. There, he opened a first edition copy of Ulysses, published by Sylvia Beach in 1922. The simple cover of the book was saturated in an unusual blue—a shade at the intersection of green and blue, perhaps conditioned by the effect of fading over time.
The book charts the wanderings of an early 20th century Ulysses (Leopold Bloom) as he navigates the streets of Dublin, searching for a sense of home and family. Despite the difference in time and place, the book resonated strongly with Su and his companion—its familiarity arose from a shared feeling of exile.
The artwork Crackle – R channels this theme of lost homelands. The shade of blue is not precisely the shade of the book’s cover; instead, the painting seeks to capture the profound sense of longing and release that the colour expressed. Measuring 20cm thick and weighing 38 kg, with rounded edges on all four sides, the artwork appears as an oversized tome; a sculptural version of Ulysses, a visual metaphor for the timeless quest for home and belonging.
Su’s obsession with the color took a new direction when he came across an unexpected source: the story behind the original publication of Ulysses by James Joyce.
Accompanied by his friend Kong Changan, Su made a pilgrimage to the bookshop Shakespeare and Company in Paris. There, he opened a first edition copy of Ulysses, published by Sylvia Beach in 1922. The simple cover of the book was saturated in an unusual blue—a shade at the intersection of green and blue, perhaps conditioned by the effect of fading over time.
The book charts the wanderings of an early 20th century Ulysses (Leopold Bloom) as he navigates the streets of Dublin, searching for a sense of home and family. Despite the difference in time and place, the book resonated strongly with Su and his companion—its familiarity arose from a shared feeling of exile.
The artwork Crackle – R channels this theme of lost homelands. The shade of blue is not precisely the shade of the book’s cover; instead, the painting seeks to capture the profound sense of longing and release that the colour expressed. Measuring 20cm thick and weighing 38 kg, with rounded edges on all four sides, the artwork appears as an oversized tome; a sculptural version of Ulysses, a visual metaphor for the timeless quest for home and belonging.
Ice Cracks – Ru Kiln White《冰裂-汝白》2019. 169x165x20cm. Oil, lacquer, linen, emulsion, wood. 油彩、大漆、麻布、混合水、木板
Each artwork by Su Xiaobai is a tangible presence, a carefully crafted surface that cannot be reduced to mere abstraction. His works do not seek to reflect reality, nor do they present a narrative; instead, they appear as entirely new objects, imbued with life and emotion.
Restrained, poised, and austere, Ice Cracks is a testament to the philosopher Descartes’ statement: “I think, therefore I am.” The distinctive fissured surface, reminiscent of fine porcelain, has been created from a blend of natural lacquer (“Xiaobai soup”) mixed with various water-soluble materials and pigments – in this instance, shell powder with potential traces of pearl.
The cracks characteristic of ceramics are typically produced by the intense heat of a wood-fired kiln. In the case of Ice Cracks, the effect was created in the cool open air of Su Xiaobai’s studio.
When applying the lacquer, Su employs a method of uneven layering, alternating between thick and thin strokes. He stirs the mixture in the same direction each time he makes a new artwork, but adjusts the temperature, humidity, and the ratio of oil to water according to the needs of each piece. Once each layer has been applied, the surface is rinsed with high-pressure water jets and the panel is tilted at different angles, allowing gravity and vibrations to create the desired effects. During the drying process, the surface begins to crack like ancient porcelain.
The formation of these cracks is notoriously difficult to control. However, Su recognizes the wisdom of allowing nature to direct the process; in this way, the artwork gains its own distinct character, embracing apparent imperfections and attaining a life force of its own.
Restrained, poised, and austere, Ice Cracks is a testament to the philosopher Descartes’ statement: “I think, therefore I am.” The distinctive fissured surface, reminiscent of fine porcelain, has been created from a blend of natural lacquer (“Xiaobai soup”) mixed with various water-soluble materials and pigments – in this instance, shell powder with potential traces of pearl.
The cracks characteristic of ceramics are typically produced by the intense heat of a wood-fired kiln. In the case of Ice Cracks, the effect was created in the cool open air of Su Xiaobai’s studio.
When applying the lacquer, Su employs a method of uneven layering, alternating between thick and thin strokes. He stirs the mixture in the same direction each time he makes a new artwork, but adjusts the temperature, humidity, and the ratio of oil to water according to the needs of each piece. Once each layer has been applied, the surface is rinsed with high-pressure water jets and the panel is tilted at different angles, allowing gravity and vibrations to create the desired effects. During the drying process, the surface begins to crack like ancient porcelain.
The formation of these cracks is notoriously difficult to control. However, Su recognizes the wisdom of allowing nature to direct the process; in this way, the artwork gains its own distinct character, embracing apparent imperfections and attaining a life force of its own.
No. 3 Wasserstraße · W3 《水街三号W3》, 2016. 164x159x15cm. Oil, lacquer, linen, emulsion, wood. 油彩、大漆、麻布、混合水、木板
Not all of Su Xiaobai’s works succeed, and the experience of trial and error is an important part of his process. If a painting fails to achieve the desired effect, he starts afresh by applying a new layer of specially formulated lacquer “soup.” The original baseboard remains intact, ready for a second chance.
Su admits that the original colors of No. 3 Wasserstraße · W3 were not as successful as he had hoped. However, he was not deterred. He decided to try out a new lacquer formula, mixed with stone powder, organic pigments, metal powders, calcium carbonate, turpentine, emulsion, water, and other ingredients.
At the time of making the painting, the weather was bitterly cold. Su had left the previous day’s lacquer “soup” overnight, and the next morning he discovered that the prepared mixture had transformed into a jelly-like state due to the different freezing points of water and oil. Su took a small knife and scooped out a chunk of the congealed mass. He gently applied it to the still-drying surface of the painting, spreading the deep black lacquer until it achieved a crystalline translucence. He repeated this process multiple times, freezing and thawing until cracks finally began to form.
Today, the painting is installed at No. 3 Wasserstraße · W3 in Düsseldorf, the home of the Su Xiaobai Foundation. The name of the artwork is a testament to its centrality in Su’s own collection, and a representation of the importance of chance in his work—the serendipitous experiments that lead to wholly new techniques and effects.
Su admits that the original colors of No. 3 Wasserstraße · W3 were not as successful as he had hoped. However, he was not deterred. He decided to try out a new lacquer formula, mixed with stone powder, organic pigments, metal powders, calcium carbonate, turpentine, emulsion, water, and other ingredients.
At the time of making the painting, the weather was bitterly cold. Su had left the previous day’s lacquer “soup” overnight, and the next morning he discovered that the prepared mixture had transformed into a jelly-like state due to the different freezing points of water and oil. Su took a small knife and scooped out a chunk of the congealed mass. He gently applied it to the still-drying surface of the painting, spreading the deep black lacquer until it achieved a crystalline translucence. He repeated this process multiple times, freezing and thawing until cracks finally began to form.
Today, the painting is installed at No. 3 Wasserstraße · W3 in Düsseldorf, the home of the Su Xiaobai Foundation. The name of the artwork is a testament to its centrality in Su’s own collection, and a representation of the importance of chance in his work—the serendipitous experiments that lead to wholly new techniques and effects.
Green - 2《绿意-2》, 2014. 155x150x13cm. Oil, lacquer, linen, emulsion, wood. 油彩、大漆、麻布、混合水、木板
“It was a rainy day when I visited Su Xiaobai in his Shanghai studio. Based on my trips to Vietnam and Myanmar, where lacquerware is a popular traditional craft, I knew that humid weather is conducive to lacquer making. His large-scale, almost monochrome works reminded me of interior objects made of lacquer.
Each of Su Xiaobai's works has a depth and subtle variation in color that is obtained by sustained hard work. The artist applies lacquer to the surface of the work and polishes layer by layer, sometimes repeating this process more than twenty times. When asked about the difference between applying the medium of oil paint versus lacquer, Su responded that it is possible to predict the drying time of oil paint, but this is not the case when using lacquer. As a result, the outcome of these works is highly dependent on environmental conditions. A table in Su Xiaobai's studio holds many bowls filled with lacquer of different colors. Each bowl is covered with newspaper to prevent the mixtures from drying, making them ready for use at any time.”
-- The above paragraphs are extracted from the article "Monochrome Lacquer · Su Xiaobai" by Melissa Chiu, Director of the National Museum of Modern Art in Washington.
Each of Su Xiaobai's works has a depth and subtle variation in color that is obtained by sustained hard work. The artist applies lacquer to the surface of the work and polishes layer by layer, sometimes repeating this process more than twenty times. When asked about the difference between applying the medium of oil paint versus lacquer, Su responded that it is possible to predict the drying time of oil paint, but this is not the case when using lacquer. As a result, the outcome of these works is highly dependent on environmental conditions. A table in Su Xiaobai's studio holds many bowls filled with lacquer of different colors. Each bowl is covered with newspaper to prevent the mixtures from drying, making them ready for use at any time.”
-- The above paragraphs are extracted from the article "Monochrome Lacquer · Su Xiaobai" by Melissa Chiu, Director of the National Museum of Modern Art in Washington.
Ru Kiln Light Blue - 2 《汝青-2》2014. 198x85x12cm. Oil, lacquer, linen, emulsion, wood. 油彩、大漆、麻布、混合水、木板
Su Xiaobai’s works exist at the intersection of painting and sculpture. Art critic Paul Moorhouse has described Su’s creations as a form of spatial “presence,” while others have likened the works to painted sculptures.
Su excels at capturing the subtle interplay of color and changing light. His rigorous exploration of form and structure stems from his deep fascination with tiles and his admiration for the ancient lacquer technique of tuotai, which allows objects to transcend their material essence.
The original title of the work, 汝青 (Ru Kiln Light Blue) refers to a light blue-green tone unique to the ancient royal porcelain produced by Ru Kiln Henan approximately 1000 years ago.
A wooden foundation was used to construct this piece, filled with high-density foam boards which have been sawed, cut, shaped, and sanded. Su wrapped this core in three layers of medium-coarse linen, separating each layer with lacquer “mud”—a mixture of natural lacquer and fine tile dust. The entire surface was repeatedly dyed in a simple monochromatic hue, resulting in a smooth object with undulating curves, free from any symbolic meaning.
Su does not view his process in terms of sculpting from color, or adding color to sculptures—he is neither a sculptor nor a painter. Instead, he speaks of an abstract concept: touch. As he sees it, these pieces are caressed into existence.
Su excels at capturing the subtle interplay of color and changing light. His rigorous exploration of form and structure stems from his deep fascination with tiles and his admiration for the ancient lacquer technique of tuotai, which allows objects to transcend their material essence.
The original title of the work, 汝青 (Ru Kiln Light Blue) refers to a light blue-green tone unique to the ancient royal porcelain produced by Ru Kiln Henan approximately 1000 years ago.
A wooden foundation was used to construct this piece, filled with high-density foam boards which have been sawed, cut, shaped, and sanded. Su wrapped this core in three layers of medium-coarse linen, separating each layer with lacquer “mud”—a mixture of natural lacquer and fine tile dust. The entire surface was repeatedly dyed in a simple monochromatic hue, resulting in a smooth object with undulating curves, free from any symbolic meaning.
Su does not view his process in terms of sculpting from color, or adding color to sculptures—he is neither a sculptor nor a painter. Instead, he speaks of an abstract concept: touch. As he sees it, these pieces are caressed into existence.
Moonlight Halo《月暈》, 2013. 154x149x13cm. Oil, lacquer, linen, emulsion, wood. 油彩、大漆、麻布、混合水、木板
Moonlight Halo retains the essence of tile form: square and solid, reminiscent of roof tiles exposed to wind and rain. The work is mounted with the convex side facing the wall, while the thinned and diluted blue lacquer is applied to the concave surface. The edges curve upward and slope down in a smooth arc that continues all the way to the back of the piece.
Each of Su’s works holds its own as a self-contained entity, but Moonlight Halo is particularly striking—a blue form suspended on the wall, extending outward and casting a shadow that becomes an integral part of the piece itself.
When Moonlight Halo was exhibited at the Brooklyn Museum in New York, the title was changed from original Bremer Blau to Moonlight Halo. Su was equally pleased with this new name. As he sees it, a painting’s title grows in relation to the work itself, as it is installed in different locations and presented to different audiences. When an artwork resonates with the viewer, even the simplest name will gradually acquire its own unique character.
Each of Su’s works holds its own as a self-contained entity, but Moonlight Halo is particularly striking—a blue form suspended on the wall, extending outward and casting a shadow that becomes an integral part of the piece itself.
When Moonlight Halo was exhibited at the Brooklyn Museum in New York, the title was changed from original Bremer Blau to Moonlight Halo. Su was equally pleased with this new name. As he sees it, a painting’s title grows in relation to the work itself, as it is installed in different locations and presented to different audiences. When an artwork resonates with the viewer, even the simplest name will gradually acquire its own unique character.
King's Landing《君临》, 2009. 220x480x7cm.Oil, lacquer, linen, emulsion, wood. 油彩、大漆、麻布、混合水、木板
Fragile tiles can be strengthened by being fused with a thin layer of fabric—a technique known as “lining” in the context of lacquer art.
Su employed the lining technique in his large-scale painting, King’s Landing. Instead of using delicate fine hemp liner (a typical practice in the southern regions of China), he opted for coarse burlap sacks that had been worn, patched, and repurposed.
At the time of making the painting, Su was still in the early stages of experimenting with lacquer techniques. He had not yet learned to make his own lacquer, and relied on materials prepared by factory artisans.
This six-panel piece did not involve any painting techniques in the traditional sense; it was merely a straightforward application of an old process. The adhesive used for binding the burlap to the hardwood panel was the sticky black lacquer itself, and the roughly applied fabric took on an ancient vigor and robustness. The darker areas are as smooth as a mirror, while the gray sections reveal the needle holes of the burlap.
Su Xiaobai has a particular fondness for the term (裹衣), referring to a wrapped fabric or garment. He had originally considered this as title for the piece. However, an art historian, impressed by the work's profound impact, suggested that it deserved a more dignified name. They considered the phrase 君临天下 (the king rules over the world) and selected the first two characters, signifying the “arrival of a gentleman.” The original magnificence of the name is preserved in the English translation, King’s Landing.
Su employed the lining technique in his large-scale painting, King’s Landing. Instead of using delicate fine hemp liner (a typical practice in the southern regions of China), he opted for coarse burlap sacks that had been worn, patched, and repurposed.
At the time of making the painting, Su was still in the early stages of experimenting with lacquer techniques. He had not yet learned to make his own lacquer, and relied on materials prepared by factory artisans.
This six-panel piece did not involve any painting techniques in the traditional sense; it was merely a straightforward application of an old process. The adhesive used for binding the burlap to the hardwood panel was the sticky black lacquer itself, and the roughly applied fabric took on an ancient vigor and robustness. The darker areas are as smooth as a mirror, while the gray sections reveal the needle holes of the burlap.
Su Xiaobai has a particular fondness for the term (裹衣), referring to a wrapped fabric or garment. He had originally considered this as title for the piece. However, an art historian, impressed by the work's profound impact, suggested that it deserved a more dignified name. They considered the phrase 君临天下 (the king rules over the world) and selected the first two characters, signifying the “arrival of a gentleman.” The original magnificence of the name is preserved in the English translation, King’s Landing.
Residual Warmth - 1《余温-1》, 2009. 200x100x12cm.Oil, lacquer, linen, emulsion, wood. 油彩、大漆、麻布、混合水、木板
In the city of Fuzhou in southeastern China, there is a historic district known as Sanfang Qixiang (Three Blocks and Seven Lanes). In 2003, Su Xiaobai encountered two things that have since served as focal points for his art: the region’s craft of lacquer, and the distinctive form of rooftop tiles.
It was in Sanfang Qixiang that Su collected over 17,000 intact discarded tiles, some dating back to the early Republic era, and others even as far back as the late Qing dynasty. The artwork Residual Warmth - 1 encapsulates this formative period of Su’s work, demonstrating his integration of lacquer techniques and the physical form of small tiles. The composition is arranged vertically, with elements stacked one above the other (not side by side), applying on the traditional color pairing of red and black. Each tile measures 0.8cm thick, 26cm long, and 25cm wide, with a slight curvature—just enough to add subtle variation within their arcs.
Initially, Su attached no deep meaning to the title Residual Warmth. He inscribed it casually alongside his signature in the lower right corner of the painting (after 2010, he began signing and titling all his works on the reverse side). As the series gained attention, with pieces exhibited and sold up to the twelfth edition, viewers began to quote the phrase “give me a bit of that residual warmth,” and speculated about the title’s origin. The mystery – and the warmth – persists.
It was in Sanfang Qixiang that Su collected over 17,000 intact discarded tiles, some dating back to the early Republic era, and others even as far back as the late Qing dynasty. The artwork Residual Warmth - 1 encapsulates this formative period of Su’s work, demonstrating his integration of lacquer techniques and the physical form of small tiles. The composition is arranged vertically, with elements stacked one above the other (not side by side), applying on the traditional color pairing of red and black. Each tile measures 0.8cm thick, 26cm long, and 25cm wide, with a slight curvature—just enough to add subtle variation within their arcs.
Initially, Su attached no deep meaning to the title Residual Warmth. He inscribed it casually alongside his signature in the lower right corner of the painting (after 2010, he began signing and titling all his works on the reverse side). As the series gained attention, with pieces exhibited and sold up to the twelfth edition, viewers began to quote the phrase “give me a bit of that residual warmth,” and speculated about the title’s origin. The mystery – and the warmth – persists.
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