This conversation opens the fifth interview in the series ‘Defining Moments: The First Start or the Turning Moment’. We meet Lin Ye, an illustrator from China who builds imaginative worlds that gently unsettle the ordinary, threading surreal details into everyday scenes as quiet acts of rebellion. Working where picture-book illustration meets writing, she turns lived moments into clear visual narratives, guided as much by feeling as by thoughtful composition. Her path sharpened after a formative setback—failing the art university entrance exam—when drawing ceased to be escape and became a way back to herself. In the patient search for voice, she repainted one image until ease replaced effort, learning an enduring lesson: style grows from joy. Recognition followed, including a professional nomination from the 3x3 Illustration Awards and a curator’s invitation to interpret Grimm’s Fairy Tales. Works such as What’s in the Park and When I’m Alone hold narrative while standing on their own, meeting viewers in the tender space of “me too”. Inspired by René Magritte, she practices “unlearning the shoulds”, inviting small surprises that open thought and feeling. Looking ahead, Lin explores how color and composition might serve as gentle visual medicine at the meeting point of art and psychology.
This interview has been carefully edited to preserve Lin Ye's reflective voice and genuine perspective. Now, in the artist’s own words.
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Q. Thank you very much for taking the time to speak with us. I'd love to begin by hearing about you and your practice. How would you introduce yourself as an artist, and what work are you currently engaged with?
A. Hello, I’m Lin Ye, an illustrator from China. My creative focus is on breaking conventions through visual language and building imaginative worlds. I especially enjoy mixing surreal elements with real-life scenes to express my inner desire to challenge the ordinary. You might notice some small, strange details hidden in everyday settings—these are my little acts of artistic rebellion.
Recently, I mainly work on picture book illustration and writing, combining stories with illustrations. I transform my many experiences of the world into interesting stories.
Q. Could you share what first set you on the path as an artist, or a decisive moment that drew you deeply into your practice? If an image or sensation returns when you think of that time, we would be grateful to hear about it.
A. My journey began with what seemed like a failure—failing the university entrance exam. But looking back, that moment was actually when I awakened to my artistic life.
I started drawing when I was four, and art classes were always a space of freedom and pure joy for me. But as I grew up, art became something tied to exams, and I started to feel trapped. I still remember the pressure of drawing plaster statues during the entrance exams—it didn’t feel creative at all, just mechanical.
After I cannot get into my dream Art University, I ended up in a design program I didn’t enjoy. Everything felt gray and uncertain. But whenever I picked up a pen and drew my own little world, something changed. Time slowed down, I relaxed, and I felt a quiet warmth inside—not from light, but from something emotional being lit up.
Eventually, I realized that drawing wasn’t a way to escape—it was my way of coming back to myself. Those wild and strange doodles were the most honest part of me. During those quiet moments, I could clearly feel it: the most important thing in my life is to keep creating, no matter what.
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| Early Illustrations |
Q. Have you ever experienced a slump or faced significant difficulties in your creative process? If so, how did you navigate and overcome that period? We are also curious to know if this process led to discovering your unique style or artistic direction, and whether you noticed any changes in your environment or in the reactions of those around you.
A. Yes, I have—and it was during that difficult period that I found my own style and visual language.
After graduate from my master degree, I started to compare my work with that of other illustrators. I noticed they each had a strong, recognizable style, which made me start doubting myself. Because I had mostly been creating picture books, my style changed based on the needs of each story—sometimes abstract, sometimes realistic. Even though I had done a lot of work, I felt like I lacked a visual identity that people could instantly recognize.
I started to take the same illustration repaint it in different ways until I found something that felt right. Some drawings were redone more than twenty times. One day, around 3 a.m., I noticed a version that wasn’t the most perfect, but every brushstroke felt natural and joyful. That’s when I realized: true style isn’t forced—Style is not designed, but grows naturally from the joy of creation.
Looking back, that painful search became a valuable gift. When I kept using the style that felt the most natural to me, something changed. Viewers started to say, “This style is really interesting, I really Love it” and people began to recognize my work.
Therefore, I was invited by a Chinese curator to create paintings for an exhibition in China based on Grimm’s Fairy Tales.
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| Grimm's Fairy Tales Exhibition 2025 Shanghai |
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| Grimm's Fairy Tales Exhibition 2025 Shanghai |
Q. The fears or difficulties encountered on one's journey are often deeply connected to the birth of a particular artwork. Could you tell us about a piece that was especially challenging to create, but through which you gained a significant realization or felt a great sense of reward? Please share the experience behind that work and what that moment means to you now.
A. After finishing my series What’s in the Park, I started to think about the connection between art and daily life. I wondered: can a narrative illustration also stand alone as a decorative piece? That’s how When I’m Alone was born—a series about my solo life in London.
This was the first time I let go of academic thinking. I just wanted to share my most honest feelings through pictures. But it was a challenge to keep the storytelling clear while making each piece detailed and complete on its own. I am very attention to composition and drew inspiration from photography—using diagonals for energy or symmetry for calmness.
What touched me most was how people responded. Many viewers told me they saw their own experiences in the illustration—loneliness, small joys, quiet moments. That connection meant more to me than any award. Through this project, I also reflected on my own way of living and started to notice the beauty in small things. I realized that happiness often comes from simple moments—a warm cup of coffee or sunlight on the windowsill.
Luckily, this series was nominated for the 3x3 Illustration Awards in the professional category. But more important than the recognition was what the project taught me: when honest emotion meets quiet observation, art becomes a way to deeply communicate with others.
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| What’s in the Park 2024 |
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| What’s in the Park 2024 |
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| What’s in the Park 2024 |
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| What’s in the Park 2024 |
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| When I am alone 2024 |
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| When I am alone 2024 |
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| When I am alone 2024 |
Q. It seems that such an experience would have been a significant 'turning point' for you. Following that turning point, how did your artistic world and methodology change? Could you please elaborate on any specific ways your work has evolved since then?
A. When I’m Alone became a turning point in my creative path. It made me realize that the most powerful art often comes from a cycle of observation, reflection, and reimagining.
Since then, my process has changed in three key ways. First, I started observing daily life much more carefully—almost like a hunter looking for small details. A lipstick mark on a coffee cup, a crumpled receipt flattened out...When I observe to a certain extent, I will imagine these objects coming to life, which is very interesting.That tilted red mailbox might start “complaining” about its sore knees. A falling ginkgo leaf might tell me about the most beautiful sunset it’s seen.
Second, I always try to write down those little “conversations”—whether it’s in my phone notes or on any scrap of paper nearby.
Finally, I return to those ideas and rebuild them with a bit of creative rebellion—giving new meaning to what was once ordinary.
Q. Following that turning point, did the core message or values you wish to convey through your art also change? If so, what do you consider the most significant shift?
A. Yes—one of the biggest changes was how I started seeing picture books. In the past, I believed they had to include some kind of lesson or educational value. I often tried to balance entertainment with teaching, but this made me struggle. My many interesting inspirations do not make it educational. So I had to give up some of my most interesting concepts just because they didn’t carry a “message”.
That turning point felt like a key that unlocked this pressure. I realized that picture books don’t have to deliver the “right answer.” They can be about possibilities, feelings, or simple shared moments. The biggest shift was moving from “trying to teach others” to “sharing experiences”.
In When I’m Alone, many people told me, “I feel understood.” That’s when I understood that true connection doesn’t come from giving advice—it comes from showing something honestly, from the same level. That kind of empathy is what I now hope to offer in my work.
Q. What is the significance of "that moment" which remains most precious to you today, and how does it continue to affect your future work and life? If you were to capture that moment in a single word or sentence, what would it be?
A. For me, the most precious moments in my creative work are when a viewer stops before my painting and whispers, 'Me too!' At that moment, I feel my work is truly understood and deeply resonates with me. This spiritual dialogue provides me with immense support and serves as an endless source of motivation for me to continue creating. If I had to sum it up in one word, it would be 'resonance’.
Q. Could you tell us about any individuals, artworks, or environments that have been influential in shaping your identity as an artist? We are also interested in learning how these influences are woven into your current work.
A. The surrealism of René Magritte had a huge impact on how I view art. His work was like a key that unlocked my fixed ideas about what’s “real”. Why must apples be round? Why can’t clocks melt? His way of questioning what things “should” be completely freed my imagination.
Inspired by him, I started developing a way of thinking I call “unlearning the shoulds”. This approach not only added more drama and tension to my illustration—it also opened up a new kind of dialogue with viewers. For example, When people see my "What is in The Park", they're first surprised, thinking, "A tree shouldn't look like this", and then they wonder, "What should it look like?" This process of cognitive subversion is the most precious magic of art.
That moment of surprise and reflection is what I love most about art. I believe true creativity starts with challenging the rules we’ve come to accept.
Q. What role does the audience play in your creative process? How does the act of sharing your work with others impact its meaning for you?
A. For me, the audience is an essential part of the creative process. Their feedback is like a mirror—it helps me see my work from different points of view. Everyone interprets an illustration differently, and those different responses help me understand my own work in new ways.
Sharing art is not just about expressing my thoughts; it’s about creating a two-way connection. Through people’s reactions and stories, I often discover things I hadn’t seen in my own work. That exchange makes the art feel more meaningful.
Q. Building on your past turning points, in what new directions do you hope your artistic world will evolve? What new ideas or uncharted territories are most exciting to you right now?
A. After these years of creative exploration, I have become increasingly aware of the shift in my artistic mission - I hope to elevate my work from simple visual expression to a visual medicine that can provide emotional healing to people.
What excites me most right now is the intersection of art and psychology. I want to explore how colors and composition can affect a viewer’s emotions and inner state. In the future, I plan to collaborate with therapists to study how different visual elements can help with emotional balance. I hope my illustrations can become a visual tool for modern people to relieve stress.
Q. Thank you so much for sharing such thoughtful insights with us today. As we conclude our conversation, What message would you like to share with your future self, or with someone who is about to embark on their own artistic journey?
A. The path of art is not a straight road—it’s a spiral staircase. You might feel like you’re going in circles, but you’re actually moving upward.
Those frustrating times—when you want to throw your pen away, when you doubt yourself late at night, when you want to rip up a sketch—aren’t roadblocks. They’re part of your growth. Like a game, every time you get through one, you unlock a new skill.
So don’t be afraid to mess up—try boldly. Don’t fear criticism—keep expressing yourself. The “worst” piece you’ve made might contain the seeds of your biggest breakthrough.
The most beautiful thing about art is that it grows through imperfection. Every struggle adds something unique to your style. So keep going—your next masterpiece might be hiding in the drawing you feel like giving up on today.
Contact
Artist : Lin Ye
Instagram : @ylinillustration
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