Contemporary Artist | Renjie Wang

Portfolio

People at the Train station

oil colors on canvas
25 cm x 30 cm
2026

Broken home

a part of a diptych
oil colors on canvas
60 cm x 90 cm
2026

The diptych consists of two contrasting door images. The left one shows an unknown, broken door at night. Faded graffiti, drawings, and brown tape hold the cracks of the glass together. My first thought upon seeing it was: “broken family.”

The right image depicts door number 5 in the old town near the Kunstakademie Düsseldorf. It was a cool, mild autumn day — or maybe late summer, I’m no longer quite sure. Something about the door caught my attention. In that moment, everything seemed to come together into a calm, almost peaceful scene: the light breeze on my face, scattered yellow-brown leaves on the cobblestones, the quiet sounds of the alley.
“A beautiful door,” I thought.

Weeks later, my thoughts kept returning to the idea of home. What does it mean to have one?
Not just in the present, but also in relation to the past — every home carries traces of its history, shaping who we are, how we see the world, and even who we become. I chose to put these two doors together deliberately, to let them speak to each other.

Unimaginable, almost unfamiliar, inhumane conditions exist in some homes — and they likely always will. These experiences leave marks, deep traces in the way we perceive ourselves and the world. With this diptych, I hope to reach those people, inviting them to reflect on their own lives. Perhaps it can shed light on familiar wounds, while also showing that the present is not determined by the past. It is malleable, and in the end, in our hands — to accept it, shape it, and make it ours.
And with this, another question arises:
Which home do I want to create?

Coming home

a part of a diptych
oil colors on canvas
50 cm x 70 cm
2025

The diptych consists of two contrasting door images. The left one shows an unknown, broken door at night. Faded graffiti, drawings, and brown tape hold the cracks of the glass together. My first thought upon seeing it was: “broken family.”

The right image depicts door number 5 in the old town near the Kunstakademie Düsseldorf. It was a cool, mild autumn day — or maybe late summer, I’m no longer quite sure. Something about the door caught my attention. In that moment, everything seemed to come together into a calm, almost peaceful scene: the light breeze on my face, scattered yellow-brown leaves on the cobblestones, the quiet sounds of the alley.
“A beautiful door,” I thought.

Weeks later, my thoughts kept returning to the idea of home. What does it mean to have one?
Not just in the present, but also in relation to the past — every home carries traces of its history, shaping who we are, how we see the world, and even who we become. I chose to put these two doors together deliberately, to let them speak to each other.

Unimaginable, almost unfamiliar, inhumane conditions exist in some homes — and they likely always will. These experiences leave marks, deep traces in the way we perceive ourselves and the world. With this diptych, I hope to reach those people, inviting them to reflect on their own lives. Perhaps it can shed light on familiar wounds, while also showing that the present is not determined by the past. It is malleable, and in the end, in our hands — to accept it, shape it, and make it ours.
And with this, another question arises:
Which home do I want to create?

Tián diăn

oil colors on canvas
30 cm x 30 cm
2025

tián diăn represent a Chinese cuisine, encompassing a wide variety of shapes, forms, and regional styles. They are typically made from grains, beans, fruits, nuts, and other natural ingredients. These sweets are known for their subtle flavors and diverse textures. While often gently sweet, certain varieties also incorporate savory elements. From their early development during the Han, Tang, and Song dynasties to their refinement in the Qing dynasty, Chinese desserts have evolved through centuries of cultural exchanges, craftsmanship, and culinary innovations, leaving a rich tradition behind that still continues to evolve in our present times.

Sympathy for an unknown Man

oil colors on canvas
45 cm x 45 cm
2025

There was a time when you would still come to my mind, as if my feelings were quietly reaching out for you. Like stretching my hands into the dark, only to pull them back again, trying to shake off that feeling. Was it your appearance? Or perhaps your questioning sense of self? You seemed so confident, and yet, somehow, so conflicted. There were moments when you looked unsure of yourself. Your gaze lost, almost hollow, lacking in conscience. Your voice often sounded restrained, but still gentle, as if you were searching for comfort in the spaces between your words. Sometimes you would return to that warm, open version of yourself, calm and inviting, smiling. Other times, it was your fragile, childlike self that showed through, sensitive, quietly aching, or so I assumed. And then, just as I looked at you with sympathy in my eyes, your ambition would arise, and your gaze would sharpen. Clear, focused, maybe even cold. I suppose that’s what made you kind of magnetic to me. I was holding on to that warm, precious side of yours, amidst the glass castle you built yourself. It did pull me in, closer, like a moth to a lamp. After all these restless thoughts, maybe what I really want to say is this: Take care of yourself, don’t lose that side of yours. It would be a shame.

At Home

oil colors on canvas
50 cm x 60 cm
2025

This corner of my home consists of many things that are very dear to me: a tower of books, of which I haven’t read even half of them. Not all of them are store-bought — some were gifted on special occasions, others were found on the streets. What’s sitting beside me is actually a real still life, which I arranged many weeks ago with the reason of painting it — but it never happened, until now. On the left side is my stone coffee table. A small table, yet so heavy — I still remember how determined I was to get it home, across the train station, sweating, up and down the staircase. On the floor lies my green carpet — a carpet that was a bit too much for my budget, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the lovable little details of animals, trees, flowers, and rivers.

Stern, Stern, Delphin und Schmetterling

oil colors on canvas
40 cm x 50 cm
2025

While painting this piece, I was thinking about the theme “childhood.” There are many things that can remind someone of their childhood — the star stickers that glow softly in the room at night, random playful stickers on the door frame, cherished stuffed animals, or even a favorite blanket still tucked away somewhere, kept well into adulthood. I’m not sure about you, but after hearing and getting to know both the beautiful and the more difficult stories from that time, I’ve realized how significant and vulnerable that phase is for a child, especially in how one grows into adulthood. How certain misconceptions from the past can become deeply ingrained in a person’s mind. How some scars, recurring conflicts, or strained relationships can shape one’s identity, thoughts, and emotions as an adult. In short: the way they see their world. When I hear those stories, my stomach feels heavy. It’s like a quiet battle between their mind and body. Making many descisions or even no descisions at all, out of fear. Some might believe that they are simply “not good enough.” And if this inner turmoil becomes louder, one might even begin to question “what’s the point of their existence?” I would hate to end a text on a sad note, so what I also want to add is, that I know for certain there are people out there who have managed to turn their stories around. Sometimes, I am in awe how those people came to accept their past. In that acceptance, I feel like they tried to search for other meanings in life. Other ways to help them see and shape their world differently. Sometimes those ways are found in close friends, a good listener at work, your sister, a patient teacher, or even a complete stranger. I am glad that those people exist. It may take time to see the world differently — but if you are one of them, I hope you will make it. And to those who had a great childhood, I hope you cherished that time, and still do, whenever you’re reminded of it.