Xenia
Qian Wenda
Within my narrow and stereotyped understanding, the artistic profile of the post-2000 generation has yet to take shape—or, at least, in my view, it should not have taken shape just yet. I have an almost subconscious compulsion to insist on the accumulation of time and experience, particularly when it comes to painting as a medium. Yet meeting Cai Qi prompted me to begin reconsidering my understanding and perception of these young artists—or, from another perspective, perhaps those born in the 1990s are no longer young. At the very least, Cai Qi himself, his work at this stage of his practice, and his working methods have aroused my profound curiosity and anticipation.
Food as Subject: The Origins of Painting
There are many people in the art world who understand and appreciate food. For most, however, this appreciation comes with the accumulated experience of being over thirty—a kind of worldly sophistication that has developed into a somewhat jaded taste. Stories about particular restaurants or culinary experiences often serve merely as an opening for self-satisfied, uninterrupted conversation. The Cai Qi I know, by contrast, methodically weaves his research into and interest in food into his emotions, temperament, and sense of destiny. For him, painting food is not simply a way to convey the refinement and deliciousness of a dish. Rather, the objects he depicts reflect the clearest and fullest image of human sincerity.
Around his third year of undergraduate study, Cai Qi began making work with food as his subject. Initially, he did not choose to depict food directly in a realistic style. Perhaps out of excessive caution toward the act of creation, or perhaps because of his resistance to rigorous realism, he replaced the food on the tableware with objects modelled in LEGO. The reproducibility and industrial character of LEGO forms entered into an almost satirical opposition with people's instinctive emotional expectations of food.
In his recent work, Cai Qi has, on the one hand, brought the food he depicts closer to the textures and rhythms of reality itself. Through delicate, smooth, and crisp brushstrokes, he explores every detail of these real-world objects. On the other hand, this shift in technique and style also signals a conceptual turn toward a form of narrative expression more intrinsic to painting itself. The depicted objects are drawn into the furthest depths of painting, where, within an increasingly purified formal language, the unspoken meanings of painting are given ever greater scope to unfold.
Of course, Cai Qi is still developing. Just as he experiments with menus that bear his distinctive personal style, he also explores the materials available to him at this stage of his practice, bringing media with different textures and layers into the dimension of the painted surface. In doing so, he establishes a subtle correspondence and comparison between pictorial space and the material space of viewing.
One can discern the state of the artist at this particular moment, conveyed collectively across these works. Each painting therefore contains something the artist currently holds dear: an all-consuming pursuit of balance, precision, and perfection, alongside the pride, risk-taking, and mistakes indispensable to achieving it.
This curiosity and honesty, grounded in experience, matter more than a premature fluency of language driven by an overdetermined sense of purpose.
The Question of Inner Identity
In my conversations with Cai Qi, he often brings up the question of “identity” in painting.
This is not identity in the usual social sense, nor is it the question of external, socially recognized identities. Rather, it concerns an extremely subtle dimension of inner identity, one that is easily overlooked: a trace of the self that extends from, and develops through, the authentic experiences of the subconscious.
Through his dual exploration of food—in life and in painting—Cai Qi comes to recognize his own desires and formal experiences with greater clarity. In his work, identity emerges through the “cold” presentation and revelation of painting itself. His sensibility and intimacy remain concealed within formal restraint and order.
His sense of his place in the world, and of his relationship to it, takes shape through the layered deconstruction of food across the pictorial surface, as well as through the abstract structural relationships that develop within the representational system of food imagery.
Part of his work therefore embodies “pure painting”: an unadulterated experience of brushwork rooted in representational depiction. Another part belongs to the realm of subconscious painting and diagrammatic painting—explanatory drawings contained within the framework of figurative subjects, resembling a chef’s recipe notes. These seem to reinterpret his original painting experience, probing or reconsidering the relationships between food and painting: the virtual and the real, the light and the heavy, the smooth and the wrinkled.
Here, identity is not a concept defined by a fixed marker. It is instead a process of readiness and fluency that unfolds through the concrete experience of painting.
In Cai Qi’s work, this reflection on relationships often takes the form of surreal humour. In Crab Treasure Instructions, for example, the explanatory drawings lay out the steps involved in preparing the dish, while speech bubbles allow the dish itself to “speak” from within the painting. In An Auspicious Day, a cake with candles, symbolizing the celebration of an important occasion, occupies the centre of the composition. The dates marked on a calendar appear as an overlapping image within another pictorial frame. These circled “auspicious days” establish a visual reconstruction of the relationship between words and things when juxtaposed with the cake and its candles. A faint arc of rainbow seems less to celebrate than to poke fun at a familiar experience shaped by consumerism. In Dusk, the vivid, fluorescent red of the fatty belly of a tuna glows against the backdrop of a city at twilight. A thumbs-up symbol, resembling an internet reaction emoji, unites external reality with the reality of sensation, precisely pulling and releasing our abstract perception of food between the visual and psychological registers.
Works such as Plating Exercises and Slices of Inspiration reveal a kind of structural politics. Through the seemingly static narrative language of everyday life, they describe a far broader and more complex world. Within these apparently microscopic universes of still life lie correspondences to the events, experiences, and underlying logic of life as a whole.
Cai Qi’s inquiry into identity thus encompasses experiences that are more composite, inward, and ongoing.
And so, although what I see before me are completed, static paintings, I can still perceive the dynamic processes unfolding within their canvases. Cai Qi appears within them as a living, multidimensional practitioner of his own life.
A New Narrative of Still Life
In my conversations with Cai Qi, I learned about the concept of Xenia. Western still-life painting can trace its origins to the xenia frescoes of ancient Greek and Roman art. In Greek, xenia refers to the hospitality a host extends to visitors from distant places, even to strangers. To demonstrate their hospitality, hosts would prepare abundant food for their guests. When these offerings were depicted in frescoes, the images came to be known as xenia—a precursor to what would later develop into still-life painting.
Although Cai Qi’s paintings may bring to mind the still lifes of the Dutch Golden Age, he is, in fact, opposed to the subjective intentions underlying those paintings. What he prefers—or, more precisely, hopes to achieve—is a pictorial quality characterized by objectivity, “coldness,” and a vast openness.
The concept of xenia, and the history of still life itself, therefore acquire a new range of meanings in Cai Qi’s current practice. Objects become points of departure, accommodating and releasing the composite, multivalent, and complex layers of contemporary experience, before ultimately returning to the simplicity of painting itself.
In Finish This Glass and Face the World with a Smile, the gaze focuses on a small detail of a drinking glass. With every brushstroke, Cai Qi renders the texture of the liquid with precision and ease. Although a small explanatory drawing remains in the lower-right corner of the painting, it gradually yields to the commanding formal presence of the composition as a whole. The intensity and purity of the painting’s overall language become its most compelling qualities. The restrained, inscrutable allure of its form takes the place of the layered tension generated by deconstructing the narrative, becoming instead a narrative dimension inherent in painting’s own language.
Of course, at this stage of his development, Cai Qi is already revealing a great deal of what he has been working toward: a young artist’s ordered and wholehearted devotion to painting, together with an unreserved disclosure of the threads of his own life, grounded in that devotion. Looking ahead, he will further distil a pictorial language uniquely his own.
I remember that whenever I visited his home for a meal, even the simplest everyday dishes offered me an inexhaustible sense of ritual from within. This is precisely the kind of ritual I cherish: I dislike pompous, ostentatious ceremony, and much prefer this intimate, understated kind. Cai Qi has a gift for allowing an exacting pursuit of perfection to permeate a quiet, relaxed rhythm, while offering in return the greatest virtues and honours.
His painting is much the same: gentle and smooth, generating a subtle energy from within a quiet, steady composure.
And so I believe that my curiosity about and anticipation for Cai Qi may be more than a simple intuition. They may also be the result of a careful and precise process of reasoning, grounded in both theory and experience. In this, I am confident.
Qian Wenda
September 3, 2026
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食迷
文/钱文达