孙冬冬：是什么原因让你来到北京？
李姝睿：皮力在“川美”做了两年的讲座，我都去听，发现重庆真小，首都特首都。毕业后的暑假就来玩，因为我会用喷笔，就留在北京给陈文波当助手了。
孙冬冬：你在工作室具体做什么？
李姝睿：我帮他用喷笔画一个系列的作品。
孙冬冬：哪个系列？
李姝睿：《万次爱》。
孙冬冬：画的内容是什么？
李姝睿：万花筒，就是他拿相机拍万花筒里边的东西，颜色很鲜艳。画了有二十多幅，从2004年9月份开始画，画到2005年年初，帮他赶完这批画，正好有一个机会就去画廊上班了， 干到2006年5月份的时候觉得没什么意思，就开始在工作室里画《灯光》这个系列。
孙冬冬：《万次爱》和《灯光》系列之间有联系吗？
李姝睿：我觉得有形式感上的联系，而且画“万花筒”给我了一个提示就是画什么不重要。在给陈文波当助手期间，我在他的工作室里画了唯一的一幅我自己的画，也是整个05年画的唯一的一幅，在那个时候就有点儿明确，我想画光，就画了第一幅《光》，但不是灯光，是纯粹的光晕。
孙冬冬：是什么样的作品，能不能描述一下？
李姝睿：就是像彩虹的那幅，画出来就被别人笑，说我画麦当劳的Logo，但我自己挺喜欢的。
孙冬冬：那是第一幅作品？
李姝睿：是我毕业之后的第一幅绘画作品。
孙冬冬：那幅作品好像一直都留在工作室里？
李姝睿：对，那幅画肯定得自己留着，一直到现在我都很喜欢它，而且我会不定期拿出来清理一下，有一些白的地方不够白了，就补一补，鲜艳的颜色再修一修，让它看上去就跟刚画完那会儿一样，再包好放进仓库里。
孙冬冬：你为什么会对“光”感兴趣呢？是来自于视觉的经验吗？
李姝睿：我选择让视觉成为重点，希望别人在观看我作品时有某些生理反应。“光”在视觉上是抽象的，但是在生活里又是很具体的，它作为一种电磁波却一直参与文明发展的进程，从自然光的运用到人造光的发明，里面让我着迷的东西太多了。
孙冬冬：你的《灯光》系列作品给人的眩晕感与光效应艺术有联系吗？
李姝睿：真没有，我知道光效应这词特别晚，是在2006年底。我肯定不是建立在它的理论基础上的，只是长得像而已。
孙冬冬：你参加“癫狂北京”的一件装置作品：《一个叫做电梯的房间》，当时你在一个废电梯里面排了许多日光灯管，灯光从电梯的缝隙泄露出来，你是在提示光对于空间的作用吗？
李姝睿：光和空间本来就是我所有作品的关键词，他们互相分割形成我们生活的主要场景。我是到高中才住到一个有电梯的房子，挺新鲜的。后来，到了北京发现到处都在拆房子，建得更厉害。我就挺好奇的：那些电梯都弄哪儿去了？有时我会有一个场景在脑子里，房子塌了，电梯没坏，还在那儿，里边还能住人。因为以前住的房子，电梯是专门有人开的，北京这样的房子也挺多的，一个小姑娘或者是一个中年妇女感觉就像是生活在里面，中午能看到她在那儿吃饭，下午有时候你看见她在里边打瞌睡，有时候说不定还带着一个孩子，电梯在整个建筑里边有点儿格格不入，其实大家使用的频率挺多的，但是没有人真正把它当作建筑的一部分。所以，我想把它从一个建筑内部掏出来，独立地放在那儿，因为大部分的人只看过电梯各式各样的内侧，但很少有人去看它的外侧，我就想了这么一个方案。
孙冬冬：有意思的是，你本来是想展示电梯整个外侧，让别人注意电梯整个形态是什么样的，但在现场观看的人好像对于内部的空间更感兴趣。
李姝睿：我自己觉得倒不是说他们非想看电梯里边什么样，只是因为光是从里边发出来的，人总有一种特别基本的生理欲望就是寻找一个光的出发点，人看见一扇窗户会不自觉地走到窗户旁看一下外面或者看看有没有太阳。而我自己对光的很多需求也是来自于它的起点，包括起点的大小、形状、热量会影响光的大小、形状、亮度。
孙冬冬：这种生理上的反应实际上也是一种心理反应。
李姝睿：肯定是一种心理反应。我更觉得这种生理反应是你的身体与你处的环境之间的一个关系，不管你生活什么时期，什么地方，生活总离不开空间和光。现在的人已经不能适应黑暗了，自从人造光发明以后，一直到现在这么大规模的运用，人可以忘记去看今天晚上有没有月亮，因为我们已经不需要月光了，但是到家的时候不会忘记开灯，除非是一个特工或者盲人。
孙冬冬：你会设想观看的人在你绘画作品前的身体反应吗？
李姝睿：没法设想。从《灯光》系列开始一直到现在，我都觉得是画《灯光》是自己的强迫症，可能别人看到的时候会觉得好high，或者觉得好晕，但是对于我自己来说，你去反反复复地点那些点儿，就是一个强迫症，所以我没有办法去准确的知道别人的反应是什么。
孙冬冬：你的这种强迫症是从何而来的，也应该有一个源头，就像你的光会找到那个源头一样。
李姝睿：不确定，还需要好好的观察自己，不过我觉得强迫症是一个普遍的心理病症。
孙冬冬：我不太了解强迫症，但是我观看你的作品总会牵扯到一种心理维度。我记得你有一幅名为《光吃光》作品，两束光交汇在一个虚空的黑色背景前，里面有一种对抗；还有一系列非“灯光”系列的绘画作品，比如其中的一幅描绘了许多大小相同排列规则的球体，不过吸引我的是球体后面的背景。
李姝睿：《光吃光》那幅画是我特别喜欢的一幅，画完了发现那幅画感觉不是我的，会有那种距离感，特虚。两股力量碰到一起的时候，尤其是正负两级的力量，它们曾经存在过，干过好些事，而且最后却因为较点劲，就都没了。
孙冬冬：很别扭的感觉。
李姝睿：这就是“拧巴”，而且每个人的“拧巴”都不在一个劲上。之前我画光太多，觉得特别眩目，就一下麻木了，转而做做很简单的球体和立方体的东西。两个系列像正反方的互相调整，这也是我自己生理的特别需要。那些画到现在没有展览过，看过的人，十个指头数一遍，能数完，但是对于我来说，那些画特别要紧。其实那些画里的结构，也包括我后来画的，只要除了《灯光》之外都会有一个背景，那个背景基本上是非白即黑，因为我在想这些东西的时候就特虚，能主导的只是中间的一些小的空间、结构或者是一个立方体、几何形，但是那个背景，虽然说不清楚它到底是什么，但是它才是主体，然后所有的东西都只是在它面前过一下。那种东西画完几幅之后，我就觉得舒服了，顺气了。
孙冬冬：那最近的作品和以前比有那些变化呢？
李姝睿：越来越简洁吧，把人味减得挺狠的。那种狠是没更多的东西给你信息，就这个，如果这幅画能够抓住你，是因为它对你的生理起了反应，然后生理反应导致了心理反应，之前画的会更有亲和力，可能90%的人看到都会觉得蛮好看的，现在的画，可能大部分的情况是一个人会看到这幅画说：“我特别喜欢。”其他会觉人得还行。就好像以前的药方是一个同仁堂的药方，就是九十个人买了，八十一个人都能治好病，现在的药方就是针对不同的病症去做的。
Sun Dongdong: What made you come to Beijing?
Li Shurui: I attended every one of Pi Li’s lectures over two years at the Sichuan Fine Arts Institute and realized how small Chongqing is, while the capital really is the capital. The summer after graduation I came to Beijing for fun and since I knew how to use an airbrush I stayed here to work as an assistant for Chen Wenbo.
SDD: What did you do in his studio?
LSR: I helped him paint a series of works with an airbrush.
SDD: Which series?
LSR: Love A Thousand Times.
SDD: What were you painting?
LSR: Kaleidoscopes—he took photographs of the brightly-colored things inside kaleidoscopes. We painted more than twenty pieces between September 2004 and the beginning of 2005. Once I finished helping him with those the opportunity came up to work in a gallery, which I did until May 2006, when I got bored of that and started to work on my Lights series in the studio.
SDD: Is there a connection between Love A Thousand Times and Lights?
LSR: I feel there’s a connection in terms of form. Painting the kaleidoscopes taught me that what you paint isn’t actually important. When I was working as an assistant for Chen Wenbo, I only did one painting of my own in his studio, one painting in all of 2005. Things started to become clear then; I wanted to paint light, and so I painted Light, though it wasn’t lamplight, it was a pure halo of light.
SDD: What kind of work was it? Could you describe it?
LSR: The piece that looks like a rainbow. When I finished it others laughed—they said I had painted the McDonald’s logo, but I quite liked it myself.
SDD: And that was your first work?
LSR: It was my first painting following graduation.
SDD: And it’s stayed in your studio all along?
LSR: Yes—I definitely have to keep it for myself. I’ve always really liked it, and I even take it out every once in a while to touch it up—if some of the whites aren’t white enough anymore I’ll retouch them, fix up the bright colors, make it look the same as when it was newly painted, then wrap it up and put it back in storage.
SDD: Why are you interested in light? Does it have to do with the visual experience?
LSR: I choose to make the visual experience the focal point of my work in the hope that when others view it they will have some real physical reactions. Light is visually abstract, but in life it is also very concrete: an electromagnetic wave playing a constant role in the course of civilization, from the use of natural light to the invention of artificial light. There’s so much there that fascinates me.
SDD: Is there a connection between Optical Art and the dizzying effect your artwork has on people?
LSR: Really none. I learned of the term “Op Art” quite late, at the end of 2006. I definitely am not building on its foundations in any theoretical sense; my art just looks similar.
SDD: I’d like to talk about your piece A Room Called Elevator, which participated in the show “Delirious Beijing.” When you arranged all those fluorescent lights inside a scrapped elevator car, with the light escaping through a chink in the doors, were you hinting at light’s function in defining space?
LSR: Light and space have always been the keywords in all of my work. They divide each other up to form the basic environment in which we live. I was in high school when we moved into a building with an elevator for the first time; it was very novel. Later I got to Beijing and found that buildings were being knocked down everywhere and the construction was even more intense. I became very curious: where did all the old elevators go? Sometimes a scene will play out in my mind—the buildings collapse but the elevators are fine, still there, and people can still live inside them. In the apartment building we lived in before there was a person who worked the elevator—Beijing also has many buildings like this—a young girl or a middle-aged woman who looked as if she lived there. At noon you could see her eating there, in the afternoon she might be dozing off, sometimes perhaps even with a child at her side. The elevator didn’t really fit in with the rest of the building—everyone used it all the time but no one really treated it as part of the building. So I wanted to take an elevator out of a building and stand it up in the gallery, because most people have only ever seen the different interiors of elevators. Very seldom do people examine the exteriors, and so I came up with this project.
SDD: It’s interesting that while you originally wanted to display the outside of an elevator and make people take in the entire form, visitors at the gallery appeared to be more interested in the elevator’s interior space.
LSR: I don’t feel it’s that they actually wanted to see what was inside the elevator, but more that light was emanating from the inside and people have this physical desire to look for light’s source; when people see a window, they walk up to it without even thinking and look outside or check to see if there’s sunlight. Many of my own requirements for light stem from its source, including the source’s size and form, as well as heat, which affects the source’s size, form and brightness.
SDD: This physical response is actually also a psychological response.
LSR: It’s definitely a psychological response. I feel this physical reaction is more the relationship between your body and the environment you are in. No matter what time or place you live in, life is inseparable from space and light. People today cannot adapt to the dark; due to the invention of artificial light and its use on such a large scale today, people can now forget to check whether there’s a moon tonight, because we don’t need moonlight anymore. But unless they’re secret agents or blind, when they get home they won’t forget to turn on the lights.
SDD: Do you ever imagine what the physical reactions of people will be when they stand in front of your paintings?
LSR: It’s impossible for me to imagine. From the start of the Lights series up to today I’ve always thought that painting Lights stems from my own OCD. Maybe when others see the paintings they’ll feel really excited or dizzy, but for me, painting those dots again and again is an obsessive-compulsive disorder, so I have no way of accurately knowing what others’ reactions will be.
SDD: Where does this OCD of yours come from? It must have a source, the same way you look for a source in your light.
LSR: I’m not sure, I’d need to really scrutinize myself on that, but I do think that OCD is a common psychological disorder.
SDD: I don’t understand much about OCD, but for me there is always a psychological dimension to looking at your work. I recall a piece of yours called One Light Eats the Another One: two rays of light merging against an empty black background, a kind of opposition within. You also have a series of pieces, not Lights, in which for example there’s a piece depicting many spheres arranged by size, though what attracted me was the background behind the spheres.
LSR: One Light Eats the Another One is one of my favorites. When I finished it I discovered that it didn’t feel like it was mine—a sense of distance, very uneasy. When two forces come into contact, particularly positive and negative forces, they may have existed, accomplished so many things, but in the end, because of one contest, they’re gone.
SDD: A very frustrating feeling.
LSR: This is what is means to be conflicted, and everyone has their own hang-ups. When I painted too much light, I felt very dizzy, blinded, and numb all of a sudden, and so I started to paint simple things with spheres and cubes. The two series represent a balance between positive and negative, something I really need physically. Those paintings have never been shown and I can count the people who have seen them on my ten fingers, but for me they are extremely important. The composition of all of those paintings besides Lights, including what I painted later, includes a background, either white or black, because when I was thinking of these things I felt very uneasy, and all that could lead to was some small spaces, structures or a cube, geometric forms in the middle; but while I don’t know what it is exactly, it’s the background that is the subject, and all the things are only passing in front of it. Once I painted a few of those I felt comfortable and at ease.
SDD: What is different about your recent work when compared with before?
LSR: It’s gotten more and more succinct I think in cutting out the humanness pretty unsparingly. The hardness lies in there not being any more things there to give you information—just the one. If the work speaks to you it’s because it has elicited a physical reaction from you, which then leads to a psychological response. My earlier work is more congenial in that nine out of ten people look at it and think it’s very nice. With my paintings now, in most situations perhaps one person will look at the painting and say, “I love it,” while others will think it’s okay. It’s as if the prescription before was from Tongrentang [China’s biggest traditional medicine brand]: out of the ninety people who buy it, eighty-one will be cured. The prescription now is directed at a different kind of sickness.