Ruihong Liu

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Your work explores the fragility of memory. Can you describe how you conceptualize the relationship between memory and materiality in your art?

In an industry that moves at lightning speed, where trends come and go in an instant, Ruihong Liu stands apart. Her work isn’t just about creating garments—it’s about capturing something far more elusive: memory. Through her designs and installations, she explores the fragile, shifting nature of recollection, using fabric, texture, and even sound to evoke the way memories fade, transform, and sometimes resurface unexpectedly.

Born in China and now based in New York City, Liu studied at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, where she honed her ability to blend fashion, art, and storytelling into something deeply personal yet universally resonant. Her work is influenced by Eastern philosophy, particularly the concept of Yin and Yang, the idea that opposing forces—preservation and decay, memory and forgetfulness—are always in flux, shaping and reshaping each other. Rather than simply designing clothing, she constructs pieces that challenge the way we think about time, identity, and the things we try to hold onto.

At the heart of her practice is the belief that memory and materiality are intertwined. Memories aren’t static; they shift depending on where we are, how we feel, and what’s happening around us. Materials, in a way, do the same. They stretch, wear down, change color, fray at the edges. In her installation The Boudoir of Recollection, Liu brings this idea to life using synthetic silk, rice paper, and hemp cord—each chosen for its ability to embody the impermanence of memory. Silk, with its delicate softness, mimics the fleeting quality of recollections. Rice paper, fragile and prone to aging, mirrors how memories blur over time. And hemp cord, with its rough texture and interwoven strands, speaks to the way time and experience weave through our lives, sometimes connecting, sometimes unraveling.

How does your cultural background influence your approach to memory and recollection in your artistic practice?

Liu’s perspective on memory has been shaped by her cross-cultural experiences. Growing up in China, she was deeply influenced by the idea that memory isn’t just personal—it’s collective, shaped by history, tradition, and the stories passed down through generations. When she moved to New York, she began to think more about the participatory nature of memory—how it’s not just something we look back on, but something we actively reconstruct every time we recall it. This shift in thinking led her to incorporate interactive elements into her work, inviting viewers to engage with her pieces and, in doing so, reshape their own memories.

In your installation The Boudoir of Recollection, the use of various materials like fabric, rice paper, and hemp cord evokes a tactile response. How do you choose these materials, and what do they symbolize in the context of your work?

Material choice is a central part of how Liu tells these stories. She gravitates toward textures that change with time, fabrics that evolve rather than remain pristine. Synthetic silk, for example, captures the paradox of memory—at once vivid and unreliable, clear yet elusive. It may look like natural silk at first glance, but as it ages, it loses its sheen, much like how memories lose their sharpness over the years. Rice paper, a staple in Chinese art and calligraphy, holds onto traces of ink and touch, just as memories cling to certain details while letting others slip away. Hemp cord, with its coarse, intertwined strands, represents how memories tangle together, forming connections that can either strengthen or fray. By using these materials, Liu creates pieces that don’t just represent memory—they physically embody it.

The interplay between preservation and transience seems central to your work. How do you strike a balance between these two concepts in your art?

One of the biggest themes in Liu’s work is the push and pull between preservation and transience. Memory is fleeting, but that doesn’t mean it disappears completely. Instead of trying to freeze a moment in time, her work acknowledges that even as memories fade, they leave traces behind—marks that shape us, even when we don’t realize it. Some of her garments feature asymmetric or deconstructible structures, designed to shift with movement, touch, and time. They aren’t meant to remain untouched—they’re meant to change, just like the memories they represent.

How do you incorporate sound into your installations, and how does it enhance the emotional experience of your audience?

Liu also experiments with sound as a way to capture memory’s emotional weight. In The Boudoir of Recollection, she included a 2-minute, 34-second audio recording from the day of her grandfather’s burial. The recording isn’t dramatic—it’s quiet, filled with the subtle sounds of birds at dawn, leaves rustling in the wind, and soft-spoken conversations in dialect. It’s the kind of moment that might seem small, but it carries deep emotional resonance. Like memory itself, the recording is fragmented—some parts clear, others barely audible. By incorporating it into her work, Liu gives viewers a way to experience memory beyond just sight and touch, to hear it, to feel its weight.

Your project invites viewers to reflect on their own memories. What do you hope they take away from experiencing your art?

Ultimately, Liu’s work isn’t about giving answers—it’s about asking questions. How do we relate to memories that slip away? Can we truly preserve moments, or do they exist only in their passing? How do memories shape who we are, even when they start to blur? She doesn’t try to pin memory down; instead, she creates spaces where people can reflect, engage, and even reimagine their own recollections.

How do poetry and photography intersect with your fashion design, and what role do they play in conveying the themes of your work?

Her approach to fashion is just as layered. She doesn’t see clothing as separate from art, poetry, or photography—instead, she lets these disciplines merge. In her project Yin/Yang, she explores opposition and harmony through photography, capturing the way light and shadow interact, much like memory’s fleeting nature. Swirling smoke becomes a visual metaphor for how recollections shift, sometimes clear, sometimes hazy. The poetry that accompanies the series uses fragmented language to mirror memory’s disjointed nature, while the garments themselves feature contrasting textures, asymmetrical silhouettes, and deconstructed elements, reinforcing the idea that memory is always in flux.

In a fashion industry that often prioritizes speed and consumption, Liu’s work stands apart as an invitation to slow down, to feel, to remember. Her garments aren’t just meant to be worn—they’re meant to be experienced, to carry emotion, to act as vessels for personal and collective memory. By blending Eastern philosophy, material experimentation, and interactive storytelling, she challenges the idea that fashion is just about aesthetics. For her, it’s about connection—between past and present, between material and memory, between ourselves and the fleeting moments that define us.