COOKING FOR CONNECTION IN NYC – Feeling disconnected from her new environment after moving from China to the US in 2022, Sidian Liu began to consider ways in which she could feel more at home. Remembering her love for cooking—a cherished skill since childhood—this seemed like the obvious bridge to connection and comfort.
Ahead of a new solo show at The HEARST Center for the Arts in Cedar Falls, Iowa we caught up with Sidian to find out more.
Can you tell us about the moment that sparked the idea for The Conch Girl Project? How did your sense of displacement inspire this unique concept?
That moment happened within the creating process of Stealing Light, a three-channel video installation finished in 2022, but started in 2021, the year I moved from China to New York City. It was the first Christmas I had in the West and I was alone and bored – all my new friends went home to celebrate with families on a holiday I don’t culturally connect with. So I started wandering the streets and took photos of strangers’ windows.People here put a lot of effort into decorating their windows during Christmas, and they were spectacular. They looked so warm and cosy. When I looked into them I saw homes that I didn’t have and homes that I didn’t know how to build for myself. The only thing I could do was to take photos of them as if collecting substitutes for the real thing to hold onto. When I found myself still taking photos of windows after Christmas, I realised what I really wanted was to see myself inside these windows. So I hung a mosquito net around my bed and projected window images on two sides of it so that I could go inside and interact with them.
At the same time, I started to wonder, what if I actually go behind those windows? What can I offer to make these strangers open their doors to me? What do I want to do once I get in? These questions all led me to think about kitchens.
I am good at cooking and I have loved to be good at it ever since I was 12. It gives me a sense of control over my life –– I know I can rely on myself to make a meal I like. This sense of control is empowering, for it makes me feel like I’mcapable of taking good care of myself, and perhaps of others as well. And a kitchen is where all this can happen. When I was drifting from one dormitory room to another in my adolescent years all I longed for was a kitchen of my own. For me, the kitchen is the core of a home. To feel at home is to feel at ease knowing there is a kitchen for me to use.
So naturally, when I was looking for a sense of belonging in a new city, it made the most sense for me to ask to use their kitchens when I go into a stranger’s living space.
Your project revolves around cooking in strangers’ kitchens with minimal face-to-face interaction. Why is solitude a crucial element in this process?
The plan is to temporarily occupy these kitchens as if they were mine. That’s why I need to be left alone. It is a great sign of trust that makes me feel taken care of, and drives me to perform an act of care in return.
Moreover, this separation creates a spatial distance with respect to both parties’ boundaries. It resonates with the various barriers that a newcomer faces when they try to fit in after migrating to a new place. By enacting this separation, the social hardship from settling and adapting is acknowledged by both sides. And from there, intimacy is enabled to unfold.
The title “The Conch Girl” is deeply rooted in a Chinese myth. How does this myth influence the narrative and emotional core of your project?
The Conch Girl is a Chinese myth that tells a story about a fisherman and a conch: The hardworking fisherman found a conch by the sea, took it home and kept it in a water tank. Mysterious things happened after that: for days, he would come home and find that all the house chores were taken care of, and there were cooked meals on the table. He grew curious, so one day, he pretended to go to work but hid somewhere to observe. Then he saw the conch turned into a figure of a woman, who started to perform house chores. When he confronted the conch girl, she said: “oh well, I am actually a goddess. We saw how hardworking you are and we would like to help you to get rich. That’s why I am doing what I am doing here.”
The myth is so well-known that “The Conch Girl” becomes a synonym for someone who is kind, good at housework, and is ready to help others anonymously.
I did not develop my project around this myth but realised how similar what I would be doing in the project was what the Conch Girl was doing. It makes me think about how domestic work has been cruelly marked as women’s virtue in traditional culture, and how that has influenced my upbringing. Ever since I went to middle school, every summer and winter vacation, I would be responsible for taking care of everyday house chores while my parents went to work. That means I would grab groceries, hand wash everyone’s clothes and cook meals, every single day. There was no discussion about this. The role was passed down to me automatically. And that was how I became good at cooking.
I had my struggles before officially naming the project with this misogynistic tale. Eventually, I decided that it is an honest way to utilise my personal history and cultural heritage to help me achieve what I want, to open doors for me as a woman and a new immigrant.
What have been some of the most surprising or unexpected responses from the kitchen owners after they’ve received their photos?
There was one kitchen owner who asked me to blur out an image I took of their fridge because there were many personal photos attached. We had 14 emails going back and forth with him asking me to make it blurrier and blurrier. It was a surprise because they were open enough to invite a stranger to their apartment, but not beyond that.
There was also a kitchen that I went to and the owners didn’t understand my request to be left alone. They invited three friends to witness my visit and tried to stay and watch, and didn’t inform their roommate about my visit. There was an awkward moment in the room when I restated my request before they all got stuffed into one bedroom. The awkwardness persisted in their response, and when they refused to be tagged on social media with this project.
In a city as vast and varied as New York, how do you choose whose kitchens you will use?
Serendipity! I contact people who sign up for my project on a first-come-first-serve basis when I am ready to do the next visit. I don’t really choose kitchens, serendipity chooses for me. Sometimes it is impossible to schedule the right time with some of them. Sometimes when I finally reach out to them, they’ve already moved out of New York. All these are just part of the New York City mechanism.
Your project blends cooking, photography, and public art. How do these mediums intersect to convey your message of mutual care and solidarity?
These mediums are all just methods for me to leave traces for strangers. Traces are what facilitate intimacy when there’s a distance.
Their kitchens give me abundant details to get to know them without meeting them. My cooking leaves a trace of taste and smell, and my personal history. Photography leaves evidence of my temporary existence.
As a documentation of the kitchen visit, the street publication creates and bridges the temporal and spatial distance between more strangers, by showing them what has happened and what could happen.
The Conch Girl Project began with an online open call. How did people initially respond to this unconventional request, and how did you build trust with them?
At the very beginning, I posted an open call on Craigslist, the Listing Project, and my own Instagram. The open call contains a photo of me eating pasta I made at my classmate’s kitchen, taken from a trial visit, and a paragraph explaining that I am an artist looking for kitchens to cook in.
Most people who contacted me were mostly polite and curious. They would ask me logistic questions, and I was experimenting with some logistics as well. Eventually, I developed a basic screening mechanism: I would ask them why they were interested in participating, and ask them to send me a photo of their kitchens. This would usually set the tone for our interaction while giving me a glimpse of their intention and personality.
What challenges have you faced in maintaining the integrity and safety of your project, both for yourself and the participants?
I mostly worry about getting caught when I wheatpaste on the streets. Many friends and colleagues expressed their worry for my safety when I enter strangers’ places, but that is actually not my biggest concern. Of course, I would share my whereabouts with my emergency contacts during these visits, but I never really feel afraid. I am just as dangerous to these kitchen owners as they are to me.
Find out more about Sidian and her projects here.
Sidian Liu: The Conch Girl Project, The HEARST Center for the Arts, Cedar Falls, IA, US
19th December 2024 – 9th March 2025
Virtual artist talk on 4th February 2025.
All images courtesy of Sidian Liu.
