221A Interview Series: Sai Di

I grew up in China, where I studied computer science and worked for many years as a recruiter in the tech industry. I moved to Canada in 2007, and continued working in the industry, but I soon grew unsatisfied. I had incredible colleagues, but I think working in tech made me realize how asymmetrical the pay structure is in society—how difficult it is for the average person to develop their own projects. I had grown up in an environment where your family wants you to be an engineer or a doctor and, [one day,] I felt like pursuing what I wasn’t able to do as a child. So I quit my job and went to UBC to study visual arts; digital drawing and media, a little painting and sculpture. I love working with materials. I suppose for a while I was turning away from a focus on technology but now I’ve come back to it.

I like working with unconventional materials. These crumbly bits over here are mycelium substrate. I took some of the biological data from mycelium activities and used software to convert that data into sound frequencies. I still work with a performance collective interested in embodiment and how we can cultivate an understanding of intelligence that doesn’t arise solely from the analytical process but in body movement. I also did some text-based work during [the early outbreak of] COVID that tried to reflect the social mood at the time; I traveled to different urban locations and projected the text at night onto buildings.

All my UBC professors are my heroes. When I studied there, I didn’t entirely understand all of their work, but now it is really hitting me. I really admire them all. Gu Xiong, for example, makes very political work that’s interested in identity and immigration. Even though my own work isn’t entirely concerned with that, I think those ideas have penetrated my thinking and can show up in what I do. Marina Roy, also; she’s a writer and an artist, with a very diverse and complex practice that’s interested in a lot of different things, like biology and different relations. It’s really influenced how I approach art, and the different disciplines that inform my practice.

I remember the day I moved in, I ran into someone I knew from UBC. I thought: this is a good sign. I knew of 221A before moving-in, of course and was familiar with the work. I have a lot of respect for organizations that run subsidized artists’ studios; we all know what it’s like trying to afford space in Vancouver. People at 221A have been extremely warm and generous. Chinatown is also an incredible place. There are many galleries and artist-run centres in this neighbourhood. It’s very easy for me to meet with artists and attend exhibitions, talks, and openings.

I started practicing art later in my life. I feel that’s always something that’s going to haunt me. I have to come to terms with that. I’m trying to see how I can use my past experiences to help rather than hinder my art. On the practical side of things, getting funding for artists whose work is not entirely commercial or collectible can be difficult. We rely on grants to fund our projects. I was having this conversation with Guadalupe Martinez, who’s my mentor. She said that when she was doing her MFA, the grant award ratio was around 50%,—and now it’s 15%. So there’s less funding and artists are either forced to stop practicing or to work full-time. We all have to work part-time in order to sustain ourselves, but it’s getting harder and harder. 

There’s always social bias, you know? I even question myself sometimes: what was the point of starting this late and how many years do I have left to practice? And then, comparing myself to younger artists. But I actually think society is getting more and more open. Galleries have to think about who they want to present, and often more established artists are getting that space. Sometimes when I’m submitting my resume, I ask myself whether I should mention my previous career. Are my chances better if I don’t mention what might be considered irrelevant? But then I decided, no, it’s better to be honest. And I think everyone deserves opportunities, and the work should speak for itself. Our work is to do the work. Earlier I was thinking about how my professors taught me “what is art,” and I still think about that every day. Art is a process of social dreaming, and organizations like 221A make up part of the engine that helps lobby government bodies and arts councils to fund more artists and sustain their practices. 

I’ve been doing some asemic writing practice—writing without words, without any meaning. It’s a form and practice with a smaller community. My work is not entirely about Chinese culture but when I started asemic writing, I thought about calligraphy which I practiced as a kid. For this project, I want to practice and collect enough data to develop AI that generates this [kind of] text. I’ve also been reading more and more about AI content moderation or censorship in China. Since this writing has no “meaning,” my goal for this project is to talk about those issues with that text and to connect with AI, not only as technology, but as a new means of censorship.