Life begins less by reaching upward, than by turning upon itself. But what a marvelously insidious, subtle image of life a coiling vital principle would be! – Gaston Bachelard

Ceramic: everyday utensils, kitchen, industrial technology. Are these what the word ceramic puts you in mind of? The minds of those who have encountered the work of Yamei Peng, or better still, met her and heard her speak of her creations, may well think instead of ceramic art, or simply of art. Perhaps they may even think first of notions like nature, or of concrete natural entities like plants or flowers. Let us consider for a moment the term ‘ceramic art’. Simplistically, it may be considered to mean art made from ceramic materials: clay, slip and glaze, and so on. More philosophically, it may be thought of as creative work which achieves its expressive function through the manipulation of the elementary forces of earth, water, air and fire. In ancient Greece these elements or roots formed the basis of a philosophy of reality. Empedocles (c.494BC – c.434BC) taught that these four are unalterable bases, and constitute our world through their mixing and separating.

The four elements may be thought of as not simply abstract concepts but as living powers and materials that embody our world; they therefore form, conceptually speaking, the ground of the human imaginary. This is the rich seam mined by the French philosopher Gaston Bachelard. Of course, the four classical elements are also the raw materials which come together and separate to form the objects subsumed by the terms ‘ceramics’ and ‘ceramic art’, whether we consider only their creation; whether we consider how such objects act in the world, for example as rice bowls, plant pots, bathroom sinks and automobile spark plugs and so on; or whether we consider them as creative expressions whose function is to transmit beauty and arouse the imagination.

Yamei Peng’s work indisputably falls into the latter category: it is art. The four elements play with her creative imagination in its transformations of natural forms, of curves, rounded shapes and holes, vortices, and the spiral of the golden ratio. These forms all belong within what Karl Blossfeldt calls “the wholly artistic and architectural structure of plants”, and – undeniably – nature reigns in Peng’s imaginary. Recently, for example, her attention has been drawn by ferns, and their green, ancient and mysterious spiraling leaves. In exhibitions, in contrast to her workshop benches, her sculptures are set low; casually we look down on them and see a profusion of spiral forms, some blade-like, others resembling fronds. We may look down on these as we would upon low-growing ferns seen during a forest walk, and though on such a walk we may notice dappled light passing over the leaves, or their slight shuddering as a muffled breeze passes through, we may do so rather passively.

A little more actively, we may consider Peng’s ferny works in a more elemental manner, as emerging from earth and water, as fired with life and existing in air. But there are other ways to consider them, for they are not tied to any kind of direct realism. For example, they are not finished in greens and browns; rather, they mostly present neutral tones, occasional blacks, and flashes of gold. Are these the colors Peng assigns to the deep, dark forest? Perhaps they are, but before we decide so, let us raise the works to our eye the only way we can, and in an entirely natural way, by squatting or kneeling before them. This is an active stance on the part of the viewer. Perhaps you prefer not to do it. That’s fine. Let me lower myself for you.

Now, close to the ground, I may observe more closely. The spiral is beautiful. It draws me in. Inside it there is movement, and a space for my imagination to enter. A space in earth? No! It seems to be space in water. And now I am underwater! I am in the sea, and turbulent movement attracts me through flashes of light from a frondy realm. I venture, cautiously at first, and then more confidently – like a fish which knows it cannot be stung – between the swirling tentacles of the anemone. Rippling movements draw me on and through. Feathery stalks swirl in a vortex, tussle and roll. I am tickled, embraced; I tingle; my eyes cannot rest.

Yamei Peng’s recent art invites us to enter into it, to journey and imagine, and to return enriched. Are you ready? Come closer…