Siyan (Camille) Ji is a contemporary Chinese artist based in Los Angeles, California. She holds a BFA in Photography from CalArts and an MFA in Fine Arts from the University of Southern California.
Ji’s work begins with photography as a medium to reflect her inner experiences and perceptions through an outward gaze. She delves into the acts of memory and forgetting, exploring the interplay between personal recollections and broader historical narratives. Her practice emphasizes the subtle relationships between images, employing methods such as sequencing, interruption, and repetition to create “visual poetry” that extends the viewer’s journey of memory. In her recent works, Ji integrates text, installation, and video to transform two-dimensional images into multidimensional “memoryscape”, finding points of contact between human emotions and the disordered memories they induce.
Could you begin by telling us a little about your journey and what led you into your current practice?
I’ve always felt that images were my first way of understanding the world. Before language or behavior came into play, pictures appeared to me as fragments unfolding in front of my eyes. I would try to memorize the scenes and landscapes I saw, whether close or distant, and that naturally grew into an interest in photography. I wanted those fleeting moments to become photographs, something I could hold onto and preserve.
Your work spans photography, archival prints, and installation—how do you approach the dialogue between the still image and spatial experience?
For me, everything begins with still images. My process starts with prints on paper. I often make many small test prints and lay them out across my studio table or on the floor. Within a body of work, each photograph feels like a fragment extracted from its origin. Once placed into a new context, it takes on a different meaning, maybe sometimes entirely separate from the scene it came from.
Some photographs are meant to be on the wall. Depending on the site, I treat the entire space as a single composition, and the photographs become elements that complete a narrative. When arranging them, I think of the images as a kind of language—one that cannot speak aloud. That limitation also opens up possibilities: it allows for something more ambiguous and more pure. I often imagine the installation of photographs like the structure of a poem, where sequences and spatial rhythms unfold like memory.
When I work with installation, the initial inspiration also usually comes from photographs. In that context, the paper becomes the medium itself. Through processes like burning, suspending, or letting paper float and tremble in space, the installation gives form to a spatial quality of photography that I often see in dreams or in sudden moments of intuition.
In recent pieces, you reference themes of presence and absence, of echoing gestures—what draws you to those liminal moments, and how are they reflected in your process?
This series is rooted in nature. When we encounter vast landscapes, it’s easy to overlook the small, fleeting details right in front of us. Their scale and proportion shift depending on our perspective, and when I notice these contrasts, I feel compelled to hold them together within a single frame.
During my travels earlier this year, I began photographing these subtle moments—like raindrops, mist, and other ephemeral traces of the journey. After returning to LA, I experienced a different kind of rain, one that was almost imperceptible, hanging in the air in ways I could barely see or feel. I took several trips into the forest, where the moisture became more tangible, and my camera became an extension of my vision, revealing what was hidden in the surrounding darkness. Within that darkness, there was a quiet presence, something just beyond perception.
What meaning does silence or quiet hold in your work, and how do you invite the viewer into that space?
I think many of my works are quiet, but quiet doesn’t mean the absence of sound. In a quiet environment, senses actually become sharper. I hope my photographs function in a similar way. From my perspective, the viewer can begin to sense what lies beneath the surface.
While looking at the images, viewers may find themselves forming thoughts they want to express, imagining scenes that extend beyond the frame, or even recalling a certain melody. For me, the act of looking is quiet, because it becomes a moment of reflection, a space where one can encounter something within themselves.
When you think about community, what comes to mind, and how do you imagine your role in it?
For me, a community is a space where artists and creative people can grow together. It’s a place where we can exchange ideas within a comfortable environment and shared context—something that becomes especially important once we leave school. Mutual support, understanding, appreciation, and dialogue are what define community for me, and they’re also what I try to cultivate with the creators around me.
I see myself as a member of this community, but I also hope to use my own space to further facilitate and support the people within it.
Do you have any advice that you would offer to others?
Observe, record, and keep a sensitive heart.
text & photo courtesy of Siyan (Camille) Ji
- Website: https://siyanjistudio.com/
- Instagram: @camillejsy
