We’re excited to introduce you to the always interesting and insightful Yiyi Liu. We hope you’ll enjoy our conversation with Yiyi below.

Yiyi, appreciate you joining us today. When did you first know you wanted to pursue a creative/artistic path professionally?

“When I’m on stage, playing with my bug-filled, glitch-ridden game and creating electronic noise, it hits me—I was born to do this!”

I’m an artist who uses game bugs to create audiovisual performances. My interest in glitch art began with my failures in game development. Every time I see a model twitch uncontrollably on screen due to a faulty physics algorithm, I realize it has the potential to become a strange, uncanny visual experience.

Game development is a complex, systematic project involving the correct display of 3D models, functional code, clear rendering, and an engaging feedback system. Each step follows a kind of commercially defined ‘right’ standard, but these standards feel like orders from a boss, slowly draining my passion and interest. I followed countless YouTube tutorials and made many demos, but they felt as dull as web games in advertisements. So, while creating these demos, I often ‘zone out’—but it’s a curious kind of zoning out. I start wondering: What would happen if I filled a game scene with ten thousand character models and made them collide with each other? How would my computer handle it? What would the visuals look like if I fed the real-time generated frames back into the game background to create a feedback loop? If I scrambled a character’s skeletal system—made its head become its feet, its feet its hands—how would these virtual actors ‘perform’?

These exploratory adventures brought me countless unexpected visuals, so I began collecting them and showcasing these glitches in my performances. Glitched models, flickering and distorted images, the furious spinning of my laptop fan, even the electrical hum of an overloading GPU (yes, I amplified that hum and made it part of the performance soundscape)—they’ve all become instruments in my performances.

Glitch art carries a strong sense of technical reflection. Games themselves are systemic constructions brimming with ‘glitch potential,’ ready for me to explore and play with. My experiences of failure in digital software have unexpectedly granted me a unique aesthetic perspective: collecting technical errors and breaking the expectations set by software designers has become the most exciting part of my creative process.

Yiyi, before we move on to more of these sorts of questions, can you take some time to bring our readers up to speed on you and what you do?

“Hi, I’m a digital artist and sound artist, a perverted and whimsical user of game engines. I collect glitches and errors that I encounter in digital practices, using them as an expressive vocabulary for my audiovisual performances. By pushing the limits of physical simulations, virtual cameras, and internet symbols, I’ve found the sweet spot between glitch and the grotesque, reconstructing visual aesthetic expressions in digital art.”

Currently, my artistic practice is focused on extending the use of game development tools in contemporary contexts. I am interested in how game media, as a technological means of managing digital assets, can act like glue to bind together internet symbols, media fragments, and digital technology metaphors. I explore how these elements create spectacles through manipulative sensation and visual impact.
Creating visual overload and chaos is a path dependency in my current aesthetic expression.. I often generate visual shocks by adding excessive computational loads that cause stuttering and layering of images, a process that excites and fills me with pride.
During live events, I typically wear an alien mask and improvise playing my game programs, manipulating and distorting electronic music with a controller. This is my main approach to audio-visual performances.
For the time being, I cannot objectively categorize myself within any specific ‘ism’ as meanings are always shifting. I believe the aesthetics in my work are a natural emergence influenced by my Gen Z identity.

Can you tell us about a time you’ve had to pivot?

I think it’s the feeling of “joyful exhilaration.” When I come up with a great idea, there’s this surge of intense joy and a sense of accomplishment. It feels a bit like landing a perfect kickflip at a skatepark—high and steady—and then looking around, hoping to make eye contact with someone who saw it. Even if no one noticed, I still savor that fleeting moment, and that joy is enough to carry me through the whole day. I guess that’s the best reward.

But, honestly, there’s a bigger question behind this one: What are artists ultimately striving for? Is it “self-fulfillment”? Or is it “fame and fortune”? And what’s the ratio between the two? When we talk about rewards, our first instinct often leans toward external validation—things like gaining more recognition, being collected by galleries, selling more tickets to performances. These kinds of positive feedback are indeed part of my motivation; they make me get up earlier and work longer. But they definitely have a dual nature—they’re a fuel I need to be cautious of. If they take up too much of my drive, it’s easy to fall into pandering. That kind of pandering eats away at creativity like a worm gnawing at the brain.

So back to “self-fulfillment,” or what I’d call a pure, creative pursuit—it’s a cleaner kind of fuel for me. One reason might be that I haven’t yet achieved much in terms of fame or fortune, and I don’t want to appear desperate, so I prefer to emphasize self-fulfillment and spiritual satisfaction. “Yes, I’m not an artist who can support myself solely through my work, but at least I’m still creating joyfully.”

In your view, what can society to do to best support artists, creatives and a thriving creative ecosystem?

Just a playground—at least that’s what I wish for and need right now. Why do I have this strong demand? Because I’m struggling in the environment I’m in.

My focus is on audiovisual art performances, a niche field, especially in my city. After graduating from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, I returned to a local university as a lecturer. It’s an ordinary but relatively easy job, giving me more time to engage with local art institutions and underground clubs. I found that there are many talented sound and visual artists here, but the local ecosystem for their growth is lacking. The audience and available spaces are extremely limited. Art spaces have been pushed out by high rents in commercial areas—they either have to adapt to more mainstream content or relocate. Although the government has some art-related support policies, there’s very little for such niche fields.

To best support artists like us, I believe society needs to invest in non-profit experimental spaces—a joyful place to play, where audiovisual artists can practice and showcase their work. These spaces should be accessible and affordable, giving room for experimentation without the pressure of commercialization. Providing funding and grants specifically for experimental and niche art forms would also be incredibly helpful, ensuring that artists who aren’t focused on mainstream appeal still have opportunities to grow and reach audiences.

Chicago had many small art spaces like this. For example, Nonation sustained its experimental art space through Airbnb and residency fees, and DADS (Digital Art Demo Space) shared living and performance spaces. These communities embraced experimental performances and creations, providing fertile ground for quality artistic work. Perhaps because of the long history of experimental art culture in Chicago, there is a stable and positive ecosystem between audiences, communities, and artists.

I’ve tried to explore similar spaces and affordable operational models in my city, but I’ve run into obstacles—remote areas are inconvenient to access, urban rents are too high, and some community spaces have no interest in supporting these kinds of activities. This has made me reflect: Is what we’re doing really meaningful? A group of us fiddling with knobs on electronic devices, making chaotic noise, projecting flickering abstract pixels—it doesn’t seem to contribute anything tangible to society. If a space or community can’t see the value in what we do, why would they use their precious resources to support this niche experimental art?

To change this, I think it’s essential for local governments and communities to see the value in fostering experimental art. Support could come in the form of grants, subsidized rent for art spaces, or even community partnerships that provide venues and resources. It’s about creating an environment where experimental art is seen as valuable, even if it doesn’t fit into the mainstream—because it contributes to the diversity and richness of the cultural landscape.

Honestly, I haven’t found a solution yet. Maybe it’s a matter of not having enough influence myself, but this is the struggle I’m facing right now.

Contact Info:

• Website: https://yiyisogreen.com
• Instagram: @rerereere
• Soundcloud: https://soundcloud.com/yiyi-liu-78070663

Image Credits

photo by Ji yang , Mikey mosher, yiyisogreen