In works that merge sculpture, fashion, and kite-making, Hai-Wen Lin traverses the thresholds that connect one’s physical self, the mind, and the elements. The artist describes their practice as “an act of reorienting: looking back, looking forward, looking in, looking up.”
Using a wide range of materials, Lin creates vibrant, abstract compositions in textile often manipulated with cyanotype patterns or dyed with natural hues such as indigo and turmeric. They make kites “that speak the language of clothing,” blurring definitions of craft, art, garments, and acts of play.
Lin has long been interested in chance operations, documentation of daily life, and ways of releasing control. They artist first learned to sew as a way to explore and navigate questions of gender. During graduate school, they landed on the concept of a kite as a way of loosening up in terms of research and getting out into the open—literally embracing the wind. They were thus inspired by a stirring question: “What does it mean to care for, drape, dress, and accommodate change and instability?”
Lin’s pieces employ an array of materials and processes, such as discarded paintings, a variety of fabrics, jewelry findings, and more. “Two Can Share Heaven,” for example, incorporates dyed cotton, faux fur, polyester, velvet, and silk—the latter of which harkens to historical fashion.
The artist also occasionally includes experiential, ephemeral additions in the works’ materials lists, such as “a burning sensation, a desire to be lost” in a piece titled “Sunday, April 2nd 5:13–7:31pm,” among others, and titles sometimes reflect the dates and times when the kites were worn as garments.
Lin is fascinated by the tradition of Japanese paper sode dako, or “kimono kites,” which resemble the silhouette of the timeless robes. “It’s very simple, but the idea of the body in flight, is of course a powerful image,” Lin says, adding:
When I was young, my dad would have us write wishes on pieces of paper and send them up the kite lines when we flew them. If they disappeared when you reeled the kite back in, it meant the wish had been granted. So the kites have always been about a sense of wish-making. I think clothing offers a similar sense of aspiration for a lot of people.
Lin’s kites can just as easily be described as textile sculptures or apparel. They drape beautifully in exhibition spaces like abstract tapestries, severed from their free-flying, outdoor associations. They wrap around the human form like elegant, ethereal, shapeshifting mantles.
“What continues to interest me in this dialogue is the ways in which clothing and weather have always been in conversation,” Lin says, continuing:
Clothing is an interface that delineates our bodies from the environment, so I’m interested in reversing and reorienting that relationship. What would it mean to clothe the weather instead? I often refer to my works as clothing for the wind. I think of dress and clothing as a form of care. I love that we forecast weather and that we forecast fashion. It’s all a kind of attempt at discerning some kind of future. How do we care for a future sky with the clothes we make and wear now?
Loosely modeled after Chinese dragon robes, which were popularized among emperors and dynastic officials during the Tang Dynasty, “Two Can Share Heaven” explores notions of togetherness and cooperation. Unlike traditional garments, the artist designed the piece to be worn by two people as “a simple but direct challenge to the notion of a single ruler blessed by gods,” they share. “Here, power must be shared, redistributed, and negotiated between two.”
The Museum of Arts and Design (MAD) has awarded Lin the 2025 Burke Prize, a prestigious grant given to an artist under the age of 45 working in the U.S. whose practice revolves around contemporary craft. If you’re in New York, see Lin’s work at MAD from February 28 to October 11. The artist is also currently working toward a solo exhibition at the Knoxville Museum of Art. Follow updates on Instagram.
