Mengwen Cao‘s project, Liminal Space, celebrates the everyday beauty, intimacy, and resilience of queer and trans people of color, with a particular focus on Asian queer identities. We had the opportunity to ask a few questions to Cao, whose work is on view in our Nuclear Family exhibition, which explores ideas of family and community through a queer lens.
Nuclear Family is on view at the Main Gallery from January 17 – March 30, 2025
Reception for the Artists – January 23rd, 6 to 8pm
An interview with the artist follows.
The tender gaze in Liminal Space feels deeply intentional. How do you create an environment where such moments of vulnerability and connection can unfold naturally during your shoots?
MC: My process is deeply collaborative. Before a photoshoot, I always ask my subjects how they want to be seen and what makes them feel safe. Growing up in a mainstream society that often tells us we don’t belong can create a somatic memory of fear around being seen. I’ve experienced this myself—I’ve frozen in front of the camera—so I understand how vulnerable it can feel. When I’m behind the camera, I try my best to create a safe environment where people can express their authentic selves.
This project began in 2017 when I first moved to New York and was searching for a queer people of color community. Photo sessions became a way to connect with others intimately and build relationships. Over time, the process has evolved into something more intentional and ritualistic. Lately, I’ve been treating photo sessions as a form of spell-casting or alchemy. We start with a collaborative vision session, where we have an in-depth conversation about their intentions, the past they want to shed, their present reality, and the future they want to call in. On the day of the shoot, we begin with somatic exercises—like massage or visualization meditation—to help them center themselves and connect with their vision. Then, we play. It’s not about performing a role; it’s a ritual to return to the self and remember the power of presence.
Given the collaborative nature of the work, do you have a favorite anecdote or interaction with a subject that speaks to the essence of this project?
MC: One of my most recent collaborations, with Haruka Aoki, felt like a crystallizing moment for this project. Haruka is a Japanese poet-illustrator and hope bender. We had been internet friends for a while, admiring each other’s work from afar, but we had never met in person. After our initial vision call, I was beaming with joy and alignment—there was a visceral sense that we had conjured this moment together. Both of us were in a transitional phase, working to liberate our inner child and claim our powe. Over five months, we exchanged tender emails across the ocean, building a connection that felt both intimate and timeless.
When we finally met in person for the photoshoot, it was during golden hour in Sunset Park, New York. The session flowed with such ease. There was a particular moment when Haruka looked into my eyes, bathed in golden sunlight, hugging a tree. In that instant, I felt like we had done this before—like we were two time travelers, doing exactly what we were meant to do. Haruka later shared that they felt as though their past, present, and future selves had all gathered.
Throughout this process, I felt a deep sense of trust and openness, a willingness to engage in this shared act of becoming. It reminded me that we are co-creating the future we want to live in by embodying our most authentic selves. This collaboration was a profound reminder of why I do this work—to create spaces where we can see and be seen, not just as we are, but as we are becoming.
For me, this work is also about ancestral healing and collective alchemy. By creating images that honor the complexity and beauty of queer people of color, I feel like I’m contributing to a larger tapestry of healing—one that stretches across generations. It’s a way of reclaiming narratives that have been erased or marginalized and offering a vision of wholeness. In these moments of connection and vulnerability, I feel the presence of my ancestors and the collective energy of all those who have fought for us to exist freely. I also wish to cast hope for future generations to grow with this kind of reference in mind.
As someone who integrates your diasporic identity and embodied experiences into your art, how does your cultural background shape the visuals of your work?
My cultural background and upbringing in China are deeply embedded in the way I see and create art. I was born and raised in Hangzhou, a city with over 2,000 years of history, known as “the heaven on earth” filled with stunning temples, gardens, and pavilions. It’s also the setting of The Legend of the White Snake, a story that has been retold in countless ways, including a popular TV series that aired every summer during my childhood. In one version, two women played the main couple and fall in love—a narrative that, even as a child, felt quietly revolutionary to me. These early exposures to beauty, mythology, and subtle queerness shaped my imagination and my longing for stories that exist beyond the conventional.
Growing up in China in the 1990s, I witnessed the transition from analog to digital, which opened up a portal for me to access queer media from a young age. I lived two parallel lives: one in a conventional society where queerness carried significant stigma, and another on the internet, where I discovered vibrant queer communities and narratives from around the world. This duality made me crave more nuanced representations of queer lives—stories that weren’t just about struggle or triumph but about the quiet moments in between. In many ways, Liminal Space is my way of filling that gap for my younger self.
In this series, I primarily use natural and environmental light to create a sense of intimacy and timelessness. I want to photograph queer people of color in their most relaxed, dreamy states—beyond the extremes of hypervisibility or invisibility. I want to see images of us resting, dreaming, cooking, hugging, and simply existing. These moments feel like a form of resistance and reclamation, a way of saying, ‘We are here, and we are whole.’
My diasporic identity also plays a significant role in my work. Moving to the United States in 2012 added another layer to my understanding of belonging and displacement. I often think about how people I photograph and I navigate these liminal spaces—between cultures, identities, and histories. Through this project, I’ve come to see my work as a form of ancestral healing and collective alchemy. It’s a way of reclaiming narratives that have been erased or marginalized and offering a vision of wholeness for ourselves and those who came before us.
You mention in your bio the importance of your nomadic roots, how has this untethered lifestyle affected your work as a photographer? As a person?
MC: Last year, I saw walking trees in Taiwan. They moves across the forest by growing new roots and relocating itself. I was mesmerized and felt deeply seen. As part of nature, I also follow the cycle of change. I’m constantly moving through different stages of comfort and growth. Maybe it’s in the nature of queer immigrants to constantly evolve and create environments for thriving. This untethered lifestyle has taught me resilience and the importance of building community wherever I go.
My nomadic roots have also taught me to find beauty in impermanence and to embrace change as a constant. As a photographer, this has made me highly adaptable and open to new perspectives. I’m drawn to transient moments—the fleeting expressions, the shifting light, the quiet in-between spaces. As a person, it’s shaped my ability to connect with people from diverse backgrounds and to find a sense of home wherever I am. It’s also made me deeply curious about the stories of others, which is why my work often centers on human connection and shared experiences.
