Sisi Yu
Aug 20, 2025
Where are you writing from today, and what’s something near you that feels comforting or energising right now?
I’m writing from a plane at the moment. The Babybel cheese I just opened and my headphones are giving me both comfort and an energy boost.
I’m writing from a plane at the moment. The Babybel cheese I just opened and my headphones are giving me both comfort and an energy boost.
You’ve said New York feels like a second hometown. Has the city changed the way you see food, images, or emotions?
Yes, absolutely. 2025 marks my tenth year in New York, and I feel like a sponge soaking up its diverse cultures. Every neighborhood opens a new world, making me more open-minded, more sensitive, and awakening different senses. Here, food isn’t just food — it’s a capsule of the time and the connections made in that moment. It’s magical to see what immigrants have preserved in the city, alongside what time continues to renew. New York offers constant connections, spontaneous surprises, and invisible threads between cultures — even in its lonely moments, it stays endlessly fresh, exhilarating, and full of stories I love being part of.
Your work often plays in the overlap between digital culture and physical life. What keeps pulling you to that in-between space?
For me, it’s about finding balance between two realities. The digital world moves at lightning speed — constantly refreshing, updating, and reinventing itself — and I try to keep up without losing my mind. I don’t like extremes (or maybe I’m just greedy), but I know I can’t stop change, so I might as well ride the wave — and enjoy the view while I’m at it.
I’m curious about what technology can do, but I’m equally grounded in the slowness of craft, repetition, and the kind of tactile work that forces you to pause. I like borrowing energy from both worlds — letting one recharge the other. I really believe they can coexist — and when they do, it makes everything feel more alive. And maybe a little less chaotic.
There’s something both tender and surreal in your use of food. How did it become such a central language in your work?
Because food holds memory and culture — it’s a container for emotion, creativity, and history. Whenever I illustrate a dish, it reflects the love, experiences, and comfort that food brought me at a particular time in my life. It’s personal, but I hope it resonates universally. When people see the food I draw, I hope it reminds them of that one joyful, delicious moment they still hold close.
Do you tend to start with a visual idea or an emotional tone? How do your pieces begin and take shape?
I usually start with a clear visual image while emotionally prepping myself to step into the story — kind of like an actor getting into character. I’ll latch onto a few key words or feelings and begin sketching loose thumbnails to find the rhythm. From there, the emotional tone starts to flow naturally.
I see the visual and emotional elements as equally important — they feed into each other. And often, once I start working, new connections and ideas emerge that surprise me. It’s a mix of planning and following instinct.
You’ve created work for publications like The New Yorker and The New York Times, but your voice feels very personal. How do you keep that balance between client work and your own world?
Thank you for your kind words. I think personality always seeps into the work — sometimes in ways I don’t even notice. Client projects often reveal sides of me I might shy away from in real life, which can actually be pretty freeing.
I feel lucky that people come to me for my style, and since I’m naturally service-oriented, I enjoy using editorial work to explore new themes. I always learn something in the process, and it becomes a way to share how I see the world, one piece at a time.
And whenever I get a new gig, I like to sneak in something fresh I’ve been exploring in my personal work — just to spice things up. Sometimes the client’s into it, sometimes not… but I always give options, so there’s really nothing to lose.
What is your relationship to tools and formats? Do you draw by hand, on screen, or a bit of both? And does the tool change the mood?
I do a bit of both, and yes — the tool definitely changes the mood. On screen, everything feels more controlled, but drawing by hand brings happy accidents. Embracing that spontaneity helps me carry some of that looseness back into a more controlled environment.
Are there themes or images that keep coming back in your work, even if you don’t mean for them to?
Definitely — mystical things that glow in the dark, like stars in the night sky, gradients, blue skies with soft clouds… and of course, food. These elements keep showing up, often without me even realizing it, like visual comforts I return to again and again.
What’s something from your childhood in Yantai that still lives in your work today, visually or emotionally?
The nostalgic blue of my hometown’s ocean and night sky definitely stuck with me — that color shows up in my work a lot. I also think about the colorful embroidery on pillows and insoles that my great-grandma and grandaunt used to make — they were so detailed and full of care.
And something I’ve always carried with me: my mom used to run a mini mart, and I was obsessed with looking at all the food packaging — the colors, the patterns, the tiny characters. I think that playful, sensory side of me was shaped there early on.
Overall, the warmth, humor, and quiet passion of the people in Yantai really shaped how I see and feel things. That energy slips into my work all the time, even when I’m not trying.
What would your dream project look or feel like — something you haven’t made yet, but really want to?
I’d love to make a mural — a big one. I also really want to create a picture book, even though I don’t know the theme yet.
I see the visual and emotional elements as equally important — they feed into each other. And often, once I start working, new connections and ideas emerge that surprise me. It’s a mix of planning and following instinct.
You’ve created work for publications like The New Yorker and The New York Times, but your voice feels very personal. How do you keep that balance between client work and your own world?
Thank you for your kind words. I think personality always seeps into the work — sometimes in ways I don’t even notice. Client projects often reveal sides of me I might shy away from in real life, which can actually be pretty freeing.
I feel lucky that people come to me for my style, and since I’m naturally service-oriented, I enjoy using editorial work to explore new themes. I always learn something in the process, and it becomes a way to share how I see the world, one piece at a time.
And whenever I get a new gig, I like to sneak in something fresh I’ve been exploring in my personal work — just to spice things up. Sometimes the client’s into it, sometimes not… but I always give options, so there’s really nothing to lose.
What is your relationship to tools and formats? Do you draw by hand, on screen, or a bit of both? And does the tool change the mood?
I do a bit of both, and yes — the tool definitely changes the mood. On screen, everything feels more controlled, but drawing by hand brings happy accidents. Embracing that spontaneity helps me carry some of that looseness back into a more controlled environment.
Are there themes or images that keep coming back in your work, even if you don’t mean for them to?
Definitely — mystical things that glow in the dark, like stars in the night sky, gradients, blue skies with soft clouds… and of course, food. These elements keep showing up, often without me even realizing it, like visual comforts I return to again and again.
What’s something from your childhood in Yantai that still lives in your work today, visually or emotionally?
The nostalgic blue of my hometown’s ocean and night sky definitely stuck with me — that color shows up in my work a lot. I also think about the colorful embroidery on pillows and insoles that my great-grandma and grandaunt used to make — they were so detailed and full of care.
And something I’ve always carried with me: my mom used to run a mini mart, and I was obsessed with looking at all the food packaging — the colors, the patterns, the tiny characters. I think that playful, sensory side of me was shaped there early on.
Overall, the warmth, humor, and quiet passion of the people in Yantai really shaped how I see and feel things. That energy slips into my work all the time, even when I’m not trying.
What would your dream project look or feel like — something you haven’t made yet, but really want to?
I’d love to make a mural — a big one. I also really want to create a picture book, even though I don’t know the theme yet.