Welcome to 15 Questions With…, an interview series in which art writer Gary Grimes picks the brains of artists, curators and other creatives to understand what makes them tick through a series of quick-fire questions. This series aims to showcase the varying approaches creatives take to making art and how their relationships to the so-called art world differ, but also reveal what unifies those responsible for the art we love.

Katherine Qiyu Su is a Beijing-born, London-based artist whose work navigates the shifting terrain between figuration and abstraction through explorations of memory, perception, and emotional residue. She received her MA in Painting from the Royal College of Art in 2023 and has since exhibited widely across Europe and the United States, including solo and group exhibitions in New York, Miami, London, Berlin, Milan and Brussels.

Su’s paintings invite viewers into suspended psychological landscapes where meaning remains fluid, open, and quietly resonant. On 4 March, London gallery Incubator will host a solo exhibition of new landscape paintings by the artist. The show will be on view through 29 March.

1. What is your earliest memory of a work of art? 

The 1981 Shanghai Animation Film Studio Film The Nine-Colored Deer is a 25-minute short that I remember watching from a very young age, captivated by its contrasting colours and earthy textures. My mom didn’t always let me watch TV, so it felt very special to me to see a few old short films from the same studio. The story and artistic style were adapted from the murals of Cave 257 at the Mogao Caves in Dunhuang. The aesthetic deeply influenced me and can still be seen, in some way, in my own artistic practice today. 

2. Where do you turn to when you're in need of inspiration? 

When I need inspiration, I turn to cave paintings. Their imagery is intuitive, raw, and timeless. I sense in them a primal vitality, intertwined with a pure, almost sacred sense of faith and devotion. I’m also drawn to frescoes that have faded or suffered the passage of time. I read or re-read books that have moved me, and I often return to a small notebook I carry with sketches and short sentences.  

3. What do you like to do when you need to take a break from your practice? 

Travel! But I guess I was never really in a ‘take a break’ situation with my practice. I’m always collecting ideas, often unintentionally. Geographical factors play a big role for me mentally, so I like to change my location to visit new places to see exciting things or revisit familiar places. Being away from my studio and from painting itself pushes me to return with a fresh perspective and renewed energy. 

4. Who is your favourite artist? 

I’m not going to elaborate too much because it could take forever! At the moment, I’m really drawn to Merab Abramishvili. I was deeply touched by how his use of muted tones and layered textures creates a sense of depth that feels both timeless and intimate. His work appears natural and simple, yet that simplicity clearly requires immense effort and precision to achieve. The surfaces of his paintings seem to hold memory and history. Also Odilon Redon. I visited the Musée d’Orsay last month and spent a long time in front of his works. They carry a strong sense of mystery and are intensely poetic. 

5. What's the biggest crime an artist can commit? 

Getting stuck between repeating yourself and being afraid to try something new. I guess also allowing yourself to be influenced too much, especially unintentionally, by external pressures. Losing a certain irrational impulse, a kind of drive that is especially precious, could mean losing the spirit of exploration that initially ignited our passion for painting. Being overly concerned with the image itself or overplanning can somehow block flashes of untamed brilliance. 

6. Which gallery or museum should everyone try to visit at least once in their life? 

The Uffizi Gallery in Florence, I love spending half a day wandering through its interconnected rooms.  

7. What is the worst thing about the art world? 

When everything starts to look similar.  

8. Whose opinions on art do you actually care about? 

My sister’s and my mom’s. We’ve been discussing art since I was very young, and it always feels natural to talk and debate about creative ideas with them. My dad, too,  although his advice tends to be more practical. Whenever I start a new work or prepare for a show, they’ve always been incredibly supportive, offering thoughtful feedback at every stage. I love hearing their perspectives throughout the process.  

9. Who are the last three musical artists you listened to? 

Devonté Hynes (Blood Orange), Piero Piccioni, Talking Heads.

10. What's your favourite colour and why? 

Olive green and king’s blue light. I've been using these two colours a lot. They constantly remind me of the never-ending summer and the islands' landforms. They are for me the passage way to escape the sometimes overpacked and chaotic daily life.  

11. What three items would you grab if your house was burning down? 

My Baltic Sea fossilised amber komboloi, my Rolleiflex 3.5F with a Xenotar lens that my dad got me on my 20th birthday, and a pearl necklace my mom gave me that once belonged to my late grandmother.  

12. Is there an artistic skill you wish you were better at? 

Developing film. I’ve been shooting with film cameras for almost 10 years, but I’ve never properly learned to develop my own photos. The images gain a second life during the waiting period, and when they finally come back to me, they play an important role in how I prepare for a painting. The meaning of film negatives is always realised in the future. Everything that slips away in the present, our hesitation, uncertainty, and disappearance, may one day become our obsessions, our driving force, our sense of direction. The delayed nature of film mirrors the way memory unfolds over time. But I usually rely on labs and have to wait a few days for the results. I have a technician in Beijing I deeply trust and have gone to for many years, and I really miss that lab while I’m in London. Hopefully, this year I’ll finally learn how to develop and scan my own photographs.  

13. What can you tell us about your upcoming show at Incubator? 

I’m thinking of naming it Solar Circle, though it’s still in the preparation stage, so the title might change. Angelica [Jopling, founding director at Incubator] invited me to do a show last year, and I was thrilled at the opportunity and very excited about it. I checked the notes, and this was the first thing I wrote: The shape of the landscapes. In this new body of work, in addition to the negative space, I’m also removing paint and reducing it while repainting parts. It somehow reflects my new life stages, going a little bit back to move forward more than before.  

I depict landscapes and spaces where memories and events have taken place, along with the possible dangers that may lie within. The scenes are sketched and layered, creating a sense of depth and complexity. Through blurry and partially unrecognisable images, the first layer of meaning related to things fades away, allowing a second layer to emerge. This second layer is always deeper, closer to the essence of the subject. 

Sometimes I feel paintings can speak for themselves. I love words and am obsessed with using them, but in paintings, you discover another system that communicates perfectly on its own, allowing the spatial nature of painting to unfold gradually.

14. Which piece in the show took the longest to perfect and why? 

‘Time Will Tell’. This painting is one I’m most excited about, it was planned very carefully. I began preparing for the show in the last quarter of 2025. I’ve always felt that autumn marks a beginning of sorts, coming right after summer, and as a summer person, it feels like both a pause and a fresh start. 

At the same time, I was experiencing significant changes in my life, and my trajectory shifted, so I had to adjust accordingly. There was a period when I couldn’t return to works-in-progress because my emotions and how I processed them made it difficult to reconnect with my earlier self. It took almost a month of trying to find continuity in my voice again, reconnecting with the painting, aligning it with where I was emotionally, and allowing it to fully come to life. This painting, in particular, sits closest to me as a space for self-reflection: how much can I endure to reach an outcome, and if the result seems unrealistic or not worth it, how much courage is required to step away. 

15. What impression do you hope people get after seeing your show? 

I hope people resonate with the idea that many real feelings are delayed because memories need time to be fully digested. You don’t have to be overthinking, don’t grab too hard onto the moments. The interesting ideas and perspectives come to you when you’re most relaxed and chill. I hope viewers can see my thoughts, but also see their own reflected in the work. Perhaps overall memory, nor the impression of a single moment or object, has ever directly served as a single source of inspiration. They exist like countless parallel fragments, stacked yet impossible to consolidate. Time quietly overlaps at its corners, similar yet entirely different. In the labyrinth of the subconscious, these elements seem to know nothing of each other yet are bound together by invisible threads.