In a world defined by speed, consumption and productivity, opportunities to slow down and pay close attention are rare. In her recent show, Metamorphosis at London’s Hackney Gallery, contemporary artist Xiang Li provided just that – an opportunity to enter a new physical relationship with our surroundings and the materials that inhabit them.

Xiang Li, also known as Alita, grew up in Shanghai, China, where she trained in art, classical dance, and the traditional instrument pipa. These experiences shaped her sensitivity to rhythm, structure, and aesthetics. In 2011 she moved to the UK to an MA in Interpretation and Translation. Spending time alone walking in forests and along riverbanks, she began a practice of collecting and observing. Gathering small treasures such as stones, shells and natural remnants shaped by time and water.

Li began to see embodied meaning in these objects, their physicality evidencing tension, pressure, and transformation. Drawn to materials that carry traces of time, erosion and damage, Li’s detailed sculptural works present a concentrated expression of these forces. Abstract states are expressed through physical forms.



Her intricately detailed installations and reimagined materials bring us into a new relationship with objects and their meanings. Here Li shares some of the inspiration behind her work, from the artist’s relationship to her cultural heritage and the UK landscape to her thoughts on healing and ritual.

You have recently closed your exhibition Metamorphosis at London’s Hackney Gallery. How did the show come about?

What I wanted to express is the idea of change. Transformation is a natural process, but it also involves the possibility of death before rebirth.

My own worldview has been changing. I have moved from avoiding pain to confronting it directly. In many East Asian cultural contexts, pain is rarely spoken about openly. There is often a tendency toward collectivism, where individual experiences and personal perspectives are overlooked. This exhibition reflects my attempt to face and express those more personal dimensions.

Materials and their inherent qualities play a vital role in your work. Could you talk about the importance of materials and how you approach them?

I love hiking, and I feel a deep affection for the land in the UK. The UK has given me time and space to think about questions I had never really considered before, and to become aware of thoughts that genuinely come from myself rather than from other people’s guidance or influence. Usually, I collect many things and bring them home.

I have always found stones very interesting, because they are not free objects. No one expects anything from it. A stone may spend decades at the bottom of a river, then be washed onto the shore many years or even centuries later, and then perhaps be picked up by a person. I find that process very interesting.

A stone can have its own story without needing anyone else to understand it. People can interpret it however they want, and I think that is a very good state.

Each piece seems to exist within a self-contained world. Would you describe the show and your work as having a narrative quality?

Yes, I think so. In my work, objects become subjects interacting with their environments. For example, in Approach, different alloy parts are welded together to form the source of pressure acting on the stone. The long-scarred rod beneath it is what actually stabilises the structure in an unstable environment. In a way, the very thing that carries wounds becomes the support that keeps everything balanced.



The work has a very delicate, organic value that contrasts with the urban location of the exhibition – was this a deliberate choice to respond to the local context in this way?

Yes, it was intentional. Most of the natural materials in my work come from the UK. As a country with a long history, the UK makes me think about how landscapes change over time. For example, along the River Thames, traces of nature and traces of human intervention coexist. They can be combined, but they can also damage each other. Industrial development often harms nature, but at the same time, it is part of human progress.

The question is how individuals and environments negotiate their relationship. A person can become very artificial or remain more organic, but it is impossible to exist without being influenced by the surrounding environment.

I read in your work a sense of alchemy and archaic ritual. Is your work rooted in any historical knowledge or practices?

This is actually the first time I have heard my work described in relation to alchemy, and I find the idea very interesting. It could indeed be understood as a kind of mysterious force.

I do feel very drawn to objects formed by nature, and I do believe in the presence of energy.

When I collect objects, it often depends on a feeling. Sometimes when I encounter something, I sense a kind of resonance with it. If I feel that connection, I will choose to collect it.

You describe your work as ‘sensory compositions’, this is such an evocative concept, please could you elaborate on this?

It really is a form of sensory composition. If someone comes to the exhibition in person, they can experience this more directly. I use many natural materials, for example, dried lavender that I collected in Hertfordshire, as well as plants gathered in gardens, estates, or in nature more broadly. Once dried, these materials often have a very beautiful scent.

My previous works have contained subtle movement and tension, bringing together stillness and energy, as well as visual and sensory experiences like smell.

What is next for you and your practice?

Next, I want to make more works, and larger works, which will probably require more space. I want to push further toward a stronger sense of three-dimensionality, while also remaining open to exploring a wider range of subjects and themes.

In her recent work, Judge, 2026 Li creates an enigmatic installation formed of buckwheat hulls, stone, wood and metal. Stones balanced on sharp metal capture a sense of pressure and tension, a representation of Li’s feelings towards certain limiting cultural traditions. While the buckwheat hulls, a material used traditionally in China to fill pillowcases, symbolise comfort. The piece is an expression of Li’s skill at balancing multiple meanings and forces within a single delicate composition, encouraging the viewer to pause and look closely. As the artist explains, “Earlier, my life environment felt very noisy…Now I feel I finally have the time and energy to notice things on the ground, to observe traces that have not been expressed, and to imagine the stories behind them. It feels like a kind of emotional connection.”