By Giselle Torres
14/11/2025
Linye Jiang is a Chicago-based photographer who employs intimacy, dialogue, and the questioning of the medium to reframe feminine and homosexual identity. Through recurring fruit motifs, self-portraiture, and a refusal to view photography as fragile, Jiang demonstrates how women photographers are recentering themselves in the contemporary photographic canon.
GT: How has your approach to photography changed over the years? What have you learned?
Linye Jiang: Ever since primary school in the late 1990s, I carried a point-and-shoot camera with me all the time. The camera was my father’s, but I had the freedom to use it whenever I wanted. I sent out film every month and still remember standing on tiptoe because I was not tall enough to reach the counter at the photo lab. Taking pictures was pure joy, and looking at the developed photos brought another layer of excitement.
In my early thirties, I became a freelance photographer and started taking family portraits for others. In 2015, while traveling in the United States, I saw Larry Sultan’s portraits of his parents and realized that photography could be more than documentation; it could be a way to communicate and to reflect on my own life. I turned my camera toward my family and began experimenting with different film formats and ways of storytelling.
Over the years, my approach has shifted from capturing what I see to exploring how I feel.
I have learned not only new techniques but also the limits of photography: how a single image can never fully hold an emotion or a memory. Those limits push me to go beyond the frame, to add narrative, and to experiment with new ways of presenting photographs so they can breathe and interact with the viewer.
Linye Jiang: Ever since primary school in the late 1990s, I carried a point-and-shoot camera with me all the time. The camera was my father’s, but I had the freedom to use it whenever I wanted. I sent out film every month and still remember standing on tiptoe because I was not tall enough to reach the counter at the photo lab. Taking pictures was pure joy, and looking at the developed photos brought another layer of excitement.
In my early thirties, I became a freelance photographer and started taking family portraits for others. In 2015, while traveling in the United States, I saw Larry Sultan’s portraits of his parents and realized that photography could be more than documentation; it could be a way to communicate and to reflect on my own life. I turned my camera toward my family and began experimenting with different film formats and ways of storytelling.
Over the years, my approach has shifted from capturing what I see to exploring how I feel.
I have learned not only new techniques but also the limits of photography: how a single image can never fully hold an emotion or a memory. Those limits push me to go beyond the frame, to add narrative, and to experiment with new ways of presenting photographs so they can breathe and interact with the viewer.
GT: I attended your program, Storytelling and Artist Talk for Pride Month in 2024 at the Chinese American Museum of Chicago and I was moved by your vulnerability with the large audience. How do you navigate being so vulnerable with your audiences while sharing intimate aspects of your life? Is vulnerability and community integral to your practice?
LJ: I gain a lot of comfort from learning other people’s stories, and gradually I realized that this is the power of sharing. It connects people and makes us feel at ease, knowing that no one is truly isolated and our experiences often overlap more than we imagine. I carried this story with me in silence for almost twenty years. During that time I worried about what people would think and what consequences might follow. When I discovered my father’s online novel depicting his double life, I placed myself in a kind of closet as well. Years of suppression eventually led to a massive outburst, if I can put it that way.
LJ: I gain a lot of comfort from learning other people’s stories, and gradually I realized that this is the power of sharing. It connects people and makes us feel at ease, knowing that no one is truly isolated and our experiences often overlap more than we imagine. I carried this story with me in silence for almost twenty years. During that time I worried about what people would think and what consequences might follow. When I discovered my father’s online novel depicting his double life, I placed myself in a kind of closet as well. Years of suppression eventually led to a massive outburst, if I can put it that way.
The environment also changed. Moving from China to the United States made me almost blindly optimistic. At an art school like SAIC I found queer stories everywhere, and I no longer felt that being queer set me apart. That move didn’t just change my surroundings; it gave me a sense of possibility that made the long silence feel unnecessary. I began by talking with friends, therapists, and advisors. Then I started sharing my family story as a performative presentation. Each time I shared, I received feedback and witnessed reactions. I have never heard a story like mine shared publicly, and I felt an urge to speak when others could not.
Because of that urge, I don’t feel vulnerable; I feel empowered. In this sense, vulnerability and community are absolutely integral to my practice.
Because of that urge, I don’t feel vulnerable; I feel empowered. In this sense, vulnerability and community are absolutely integral to my practice.
GT: Can you discuss creative inspirations that sustained your attention when evolving the visual language for your work?
LJ: I am influenced by artists who tell personal stories with care, such as Larry Sultan, Nan Goldin, Zoe Leonard, and Pixy Liao. What moves me most is their honesty. They do not shape the content of my work, but their openness gives me the courage to speak and to stay truthful.
My inspiration also comes from my ongoing relationship with the medium itself and from the stories and experiences around me. I once tried hard to follow the rules of the medium and kept questioning them as I grew. I often return to my own emotions and to the details of daily life, reflecting on every experience and the stories I hear from people close to me. Through a slow process I feel compelled to create, using photography to give form to what stays inside me.
LJ: I am influenced by artists who tell personal stories with care, such as Larry Sultan, Nan Goldin, Zoe Leonard, and Pixy Liao. What moves me most is their honesty. They do not shape the content of my work, but their openness gives me the courage to speak and to stay truthful.
My inspiration also comes from my ongoing relationship with the medium itself and from the stories and experiences around me. I once tried hard to follow the rules of the medium and kept questioning them as I grew. I often return to my own emotions and to the details of daily life, reflecting on every experience and the stories I hear from people close to me. Through a slow process I feel compelled to create, using photography to give form to what stays inside me.
GT: In your series, Body Fruit, there is a visible bond between fruit and body. More recently, in your series, Sweet, Juicy, Rebellious, fruit is the shining star. Both point to themes of homosexual identity, lust, flavor, and body. What are the underlying ideas and themes you’re communicating in these compositions?
LJ: In the United States from the 1960s to the 1980s, the word fruit was used as slang to insult gay men. It came from associating them with qualities like softness, sweetness, and sensuality: traits often labeled as feminine and therefore devalued. At the root of this insult is a deep cultural prejudice against femininity. In my work I want to reclaim and embrace these qualities, to see softness and sweetness as a form of resilience and strategy.
In Body Fruit, I was drawn to fruits that carry strong symbolic meanings, especially those filled with seeds such as pomegranates, strawberries, and raspberries. In many cultures, these seed-filled fruits are linked to fertility and abundance. I wanted to subvert that traditional reading of the female body as a symbol of reproduction and nurturing. By placing them with the body, I wanted to turn the focus from motherhood to sensual pleasure: from giving life to experiencing life.
In Body Fruit, I was drawn to fruits that carry strong symbolic meanings, especially those filled with seeds such as pomegranates, strawberries, and raspberries. In many cultures, these seed-filled fruits are linked to fertility and abundance. I wanted to subvert that traditional reading of the female body as a symbol of reproduction and nurturing. By placing them with the body, I wanted to turn the focus from motherhood to sensual pleasure: from giving life to experiencing life.
In Sweet, Juicy, Rebellious, the fruit takes on its own agency. I treat it almost like a character or a self-portrait. I was also thinking about the fruit we see in American markets today: visually perfect but often tasteless and flat. It reflects how desire and identity can also be shaped, controlled, and made to appear “acceptable.”
Through these works I try to make these tamed fruits feel alive again: full of texture, flavor, and resistance. It mirrors my own path from suppression to liberation.
Through these works I try to make these tamed fruits feel alive again: full of texture, flavor, and resistance. It mirrors my own path from suppression to liberation.
GT: What keeps you motivated?
LJ: Art is something I cannot separate myself from. It is not a choice but a necessity. It’s like writing a diary in another form. This is how I process emotions, observe the world, and think through my experiences. Through making art, I sort through emotions, notice things, and think about the world around me. It’s never a straight line. It’s a back-and-forth between feeling and reason, and it comes from this strong, almost restless urge to share.
GT: What advice would you give to other artists when they might feel stuck while preparing for a show/project? What do you do to get unstuck?
LJ: I am not sure if my advice works for everyone. But I can share what helps me when I feel stuck. I often start by free writing, letting my thoughts flow without judgment. I look at more art, or sometimes I simply pause and live my life: do something specific, take care of my body, exercise, play tennis, and stay healthy. Only when I feel grounded can I gather enough energy to create again.
As artists, our work often depends on self-imposed structures, so I try to build a routine for myself. Having a rhythm in daily life allows me to live with some order in a world that is often chaotic. That balance helps me stay open, curious, and ready to make new work.
LJ: Art is something I cannot separate myself from. It is not a choice but a necessity. It’s like writing a diary in another form. This is how I process emotions, observe the world, and think through my experiences. Through making art, I sort through emotions, notice things, and think about the world around me. It’s never a straight line. It’s a back-and-forth between feeling and reason, and it comes from this strong, almost restless urge to share.
GT: What advice would you give to other artists when they might feel stuck while preparing for a show/project? What do you do to get unstuck?
LJ: I am not sure if my advice works for everyone. But I can share what helps me when I feel stuck. I often start by free writing, letting my thoughts flow without judgment. I look at more art, or sometimes I simply pause and live my life: do something specific, take care of my body, exercise, play tennis, and stay healthy. Only when I feel grounded can I gather enough energy to create again.
As artists, our work often depends on self-imposed structures, so I try to build a routine for myself. Having a rhythm in daily life allows me to live with some order in a world that is often chaotic. That balance helps me stay open, curious, and ready to make new work.
GT: Throughout your series Undisclosed Location, there is a continual presence of earth, vast and expansive spaces, and self-portraiture. It is fascinating how you transform the two-dimensional realm by bringing yourself into the frame, either by lifting the image’s corners or looking straight into our eyes, inviting us into a three-dimensional space. What were your intentions in pairing your images in this way?
LJ: This work grew out of my transition from simply enjoying taking pictures to studying photography in a more systematic way. I began to notice how landscape photography is often defined by a certain ideal—when we think of landscapes, we think of images made by the masters. I wanted to respond to that idea. Some of my landscapes are emotional; they come from moments when I am drawn to a place for reasons I cannot fully explain. Each time I click the shutter, my heart goes tender.
My photographs include both vast open scenes and smaller, intimate ones: a wall with birds, a butterfly resting on the soil, a piece of cracked glass. I have a strong urge to be seen, perhaps partly because of my identity as a woman. By placing myself in front of my own images, I feel a sense of power, of claiming the photograph as mine.
Standing in front of the image is both a gesture of self-representation and a comment on the history of photography. For so long, landscape has been dominated by male masters. By inserting myself into the frame, I want to show that there are now many of us behind the camera, reshaping how photography looks and who it belongs to.
LJ: This work grew out of my transition from simply enjoying taking pictures to studying photography in a more systematic way. I began to notice how landscape photography is often defined by a certain ideal—when we think of landscapes, we think of images made by the masters. I wanted to respond to that idea. Some of my landscapes are emotional; they come from moments when I am drawn to a place for reasons I cannot fully explain. Each time I click the shutter, my heart goes tender.
My photographs include both vast open scenes and smaller, intimate ones: a wall with birds, a butterfly resting on the soil, a piece of cracked glass. I have a strong urge to be seen, perhaps partly because of my identity as a woman. By placing myself in front of my own images, I feel a sense of power, of claiming the photograph as mine.
Standing in front of the image is both a gesture of self-representation and a comment on the history of photography. For so long, landscape has been dominated by male masters. By inserting myself into the frame, I want to show that there are now many of us behind the camera, reshaping how photography looks and who it belongs to.
GT: You are experimental in the ways you wield your camera. What aspects of photography inspire you to continue using it as a consistent medium and interacting with lens-based art in new and exciting ways?
LJ: I am very comfortable with photography as a medium. As I mentioned before, photography is my way of communicating, it bridges the space between people. But at the same time, I hold a rather radical view that contemporary photography does not need to stay bound by the idea of the archival print. I am not interested in keeping photographs frozen in time.
What excites me is the collaboration between photography and other media. I think of photographs as physical materials that can change form, interact with space, and respond to their surroundings. I am drawn to the idea of photography as something organic and alive, rather than something fragile that must be carefully preserved and only looked at from a distance.
GT: This has been a pleasure. Thank you very much!
LJ: Yes, thank you!
LJ: I am very comfortable with photography as a medium. As I mentioned before, photography is my way of communicating, it bridges the space between people. But at the same time, I hold a rather radical view that contemporary photography does not need to stay bound by the idea of the archival print. I am not interested in keeping photographs frozen in time.
What excites me is the collaboration between photography and other media. I think of photographs as physical materials that can change form, interact with space, and respond to their surroundings. I am drawn to the idea of photography as something organic and alive, rather than something fragile that must be carefully preserved and only looked at from a distance.
GT: This has been a pleasure. Thank you very much!
LJ: Yes, thank you!
Linye’s website: https://www.linyejiang.com/.