Jia Yu
Strangers
"Jia Yu, Han Chinese, living and working in Xining, Qinghai, is an elementary school art teacher."
If I were to choose just one line to help viewers connect with this body of work, I believe this would suffice. This simple sentence conveys not only the creator’s geographic and personal identity but also holds implicit themes, motivations, and much of the underlying reason behind the distinctive nature of his work.
If there's another layer to this statement I’d want viewers to sense, it might be this: he is not a professional artist. His creations, his photography, stem entirely from the necessity, from desires rooted in his own life.
Since 2003, motivated by concern for the living conditions of local herdsmen, Jia Yu, camera in hand, intermittently ventured into the Tibetan regions surrounding his journeys between Yushu (his birthplace) and Xining (his workplace). Over the years, he captured numerous family portraits and life scenes of the Kham Tibetans. Then in 2020, as a form of emotional reciprocation, he resolved to find those herdsmen he had once photographed, return the pictures to them, and, with their consent, record the moment they held those photographs once again. In gratitude for this "stranger" who preserved precious visual memories from an era when cameras were scarce, the herdsmen reciprocated with gifts of tsampa, butter, yak rope, medicinal herbs, and more...
In this series of visual works titled Strangers, Jia Yu, along with the individuals he encounters, the reality, recollections, and bonds he endeavors to engage or infiltrate, are not the world constructed, presumed, and sanctioned by visual discourse in exhibition spaces and media. Rather, they embody the here and there, then and now, she, he and he, him and I, them, myself, and us. It is the immutable yet self-defining and discretely embraced the reality of life that, Jia Yu drew his first breath and dwells in the Tibetan regions. This is his scene, his surroundings, his intimations and reflections, yet an existence beyond his capacity to designate. These seemingly quotidian yet alien encounters repeat incessantly, manifesting time and again, devoid of symbols and structures that can be effortlessly resolved. They are expectant, amicable, yet occurrence perpetually evolving into occurrences themselves.
As we complain about the excess of images in 2024, so pervasive and prolific that they have submerged and thoroughly saturated us—permeating our cognition, behavior, and imagination—even the burps released by AI and so-called deep learning after their greedy consumption are tinged with the flavors of pixels, hyper-realistic simulation, and exacting detail. As we grow more accustomed to this glut, Jia Yu's 7-inch photos—each belonging to someone, with names like Geng Sang Angmao or Zhuoma Caicuo—more clearly reveal the emptiness of our visual fullness. His photos also remind us that the fatigue and poverty of images are exposed in their self-proclaimed excess and abundance.
What Jia Yu's photos and their stories within them convey—if they say anything at all—are words between people, shy but passionate words, proud and grateful words...
It is so! We have always needed, and now more than ever need photographers like Jia Yu. If there aren't any, we must find them. For beyond the images we know, can do, understand, operate, and use with purpose at this moment, there are also these blurred, unclear, accidental, needed, called upon, passed through, conveyed, and given passage...