I began this work by fixing the paper to the wall to establish the overall structure. Working vertically helped me maintain a frontal view and check proportions and spatial relationships. However, this setup soon revealed its limitations. Coloured pencil hatching required pressure that was difficult to control on the wall, while watercolour tended to run downward, leaving unintended marks.
After completing the draft, I moved the paper onto the table to refine the details. The large vertical format did not fit easily within my limited space, and working horizontally altered my viewpoint, sometimes causing subtle distortions. I worked in sections, constantly adjusting the paper and my position, moving between standing and sitting. This continual shift required careful recalibration throughout the process.
For instance, the incense burner looked correct when drawn seated， but appeared misaligned when viewed standing.
In this work, I use self-portraiture to turn drawing into a process of self-exploration. When the figure in the image is myself, looking at the drawing feels like re-entering the scene—both recalling and reliving it. Through repetition, drawing takes on the quality of ritual re-enactment, allowing memory and emotion to resurface.
The scene does not represent a moment that actually occurred. I have never stood before my family altar wearing this costume or headpiece. The headdress is drawn from Xunpu, a community near my hometown, where women traditionally wear elaborate floral headpieces as a gesture of reverence toward deities. Today, it has become a widely recognised cultural symbol of Quanzhou. By portraying myself in this form, I consciously engage with local cultural memory and affirm a sense of regional identity. Rather than reproducing reality, the drawing functions as a reconstruction shaped by memory and imagination. In this process, I become both creator and witness, observing fragments of the past being quietly reanimated on paper.
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