March 22, 2026

Zhuoting Zhong: A Room of Her Own

Yul Cho, Lois Ding, Ruoxi Gao, and Ifra Shariq in Conversations with Zhuoting Zhong

On translating ourselves; ageing as a single woman in the present day; identity and cultural shaping as reflected through names; and how feminism weaves into everyday life and artistic practice.

Zhuoting Zhong is a visual storyteller working with mixed-media illustration and frame-by-frame animation. In 2023, she moved to Stockholm from Guizhou, China, and graduated in 2025 with a master’s degree in Visual Communication from Konstfack. She currently works as a freelance artist, based in Stockholm and China. Beyond her freelance work, Zhuoting co-founded an illustration and animation account on Xiaohongshu (RedNote) dedicated to female growth and self-exploration, building an engaged community of over 93.5k followers. We caught up with her on a sun-drenched afternoon in Stockholm to discuss her evolving artistic journey.

YUL: Maybe we can start with how you started doing art? You started your art practices here in Sweden, right?

ZHUOTING: Yes. I graduated in 2022 in China. My bachelor’s degree was in journalism. But during my second year, I joined a film club at my university, helping with editing. 

One day, I asked myself: What kind of life do I want to live in the future? I realised I just wanted to sit in a room with sunshine, painting or writing stories. That was the moment I knew I should change my major. It was like an epiphany. I had read a lot of picture books when I was a child, and also in high school. They gave me a lot of healing. So I thought maybe I should become a writer. I shared this with a teacher, and he told me it sounded like I preferred drawing over writing. So I thought, okay, maybe I should find a major in illustration.

That’s when I decided to apply for a master’s program here (in Sweden) or in the UK. Growing up, I was taught that if you wanted to pursue something as a career, you had to formally study it first. Maybe that’s not true, but that’s how I thought at the time. So I found teachers to help me prepare a portfolio, and I spent three or four years working on that while finishing my bachelor’s. I found the schools here — a two-year program — and there were teachers I really liked, both their work and what they talked about in their projects. That’s why I came here.

RUOXI: Is there a specific professor you were drawn to?

ZHUOTING: Sara Teleman, whose background is in illustration, offered me a great deal of professional guidance in that area. Patrick Lacey, who comes from graphic design, consistently encouraged me to let my work reach further — to connect with more people. Emma Rendel was one of our lecturers and mentors in the first year; she was always generous and warm, and her feedback on my work was genuinely inspiring. In the second year, the programme shifts to a more mentorship-based model.

ZHUOTING: Grandma in the Kitchen is an illustration series I created across 2022 and 2023. I realised that women in my home are always staying in the kitchen, preparing everything for the family. Even when we sit down together for lunch or dinner, my grandma is still working in the kitchen. That’s why I wanted to make this series.

And this one is called Dream I Hid in My Safe Room. I wanted to explore the idea that everyone has a safe house in their heart — a place you can go when you feel tired or sad. Somewhere to watch nostalgic movies or do things that make you feel safe. I created this zine about it.

YUL: I love these home labour themes. They feel so warm. And there’s something almost handcrafted-like about the style; it looks like stitches.

ZHUOTING: The technique I use here is that I do the line work on paper first, then put a transparent acrylic board above it, paint on that, then press the paper onto it. It’s like a mono print.

I also have another project from 2022, right after the pandemic. During the pandemic, I noticed that many older people, like my grandma and grandpa, got sick, but they were isolated from society. If they didn’t have young family members, they didn’t know how to use mobile phones to order food or scan QR codes. In China, we need to scan QR codes to prove our health status. If they didn’t know how, it was hard for them to go out or keep living.

That’s when I asked myself: if I get older and I don’t get married, will I live without dignity? How can a single woman live a better life as she ages? That was the starting point of this project. I interviewed people from different age groups about their attitudes toward ageing, and for any suggestions. I was trying to find the answer for myself. 

I love pop-up books, so I made the book in that form. I wanted to remove the stereotype that in China, if you’re 35, you’re considered too old to get a job or to live. But during my interviews, people in this age group still felt young and energetic. So I wanted to remove that fear of ageing, to destigmatise it.
 

YUL: Did you interview these people both in China and Sweden for this project?

ZHUOTING: The people I interviewed were in China, where I was still living when I began this project in 2021. At the time, I had a lot of questions about society and my place within it. From my own experience, there’s a deeply rooted cultural expectation that children are responsible for caring for their elderly parents. So my mom and my auntie — both in their 50s, navigating their own work and relationships — still carry that responsibility. And in some ways, they feel that same sense of responsibility toward me.

It made me think about how eldercare is structured more broadly — whether that weight should fall so heavily on families, or whether there’s a larger role for social systems to play. That’s part of why ageing feels like something I think about a lot. That’s why I wanted to start this project, especially within the Chinese context.

RUOXI: It feels like people who fall outside the norm don’t get the benefit of care, which should be a basic human right. And the labour of care is always female labour. It’s not highlighted, and it’s just seen as a family responsibility. But it’s such heavy labour. Women end up taking double the work — they’re expected to take care of their in-laws and their own parents. 
And when you’re looking for a job in China, especially as a woman, in the job interviews, they always ask if you’re married, if you plan to have a child, and if you want a second or third child. It’s not about your ability but about your life situation. They assume you’ll take parental leave and delay your work, and thus, your evaluation goes down.

YUL: I want to know more about your practice in general. You talked about this as you finding your sense of self and comfort. How was your experience learning art for the first time at Konstfack? How’s your experience living in Sweden?

ZHUOTING: During my studies at Konstfack, we were asked to think about something that shines or annoys us in our lives. I realised that after I came here, I still experienced culture shock. I would walk on the street, and someone would say “Ni hao” to me. At first, I didn’t know if they were being rude, but gradually I realised it was racist. During some workshops, we shared news from Sweden, and even in 2008 or 2018, there were still stereotypical and anti-Chinese articles. And there’s also the stereotype of East Asian women as geishas or submissive figures — yellow fever and all that.

That gave me inspiration. I felt so angry. Growing up, I was surrounded by a lot of stereotypes and traditional norms. Then I came to a country that is generally considered more democratic, and I realised that bullying rooted in patriarchal norms still exists. So I wanted to make a film to express my anger clearly. I referenced Chizuko Ueno’s theory about patriarchy and directly put Simone de Beauvoir’s words in my film. “One is not born, but rather becomes, a woman.”

The starting point of this film was my name. Before I came here, I thought about how to live here smoothly. I saw that some people change their names to English names. I found an English name, which sounds similar to my Chinese name. I thought my Chinese name would be hard for people here to pronounce, so it would be more convenient for them.

In the beginning, I introduced myself, saying, “This is my Chinese name, but this is my English name. You can call me this.” And everyone started calling me by my English name. I accepted it. But one day, I gradually realised: why do I need to use a fake name? Someone asked me, “Is that your English name? Lots of Asian people I met in the US found American names for themselves.” That’s when I realised that people from different countries are very aware of where they come from. They have Japanese names, German names, Swedish names. Everyone has their own cultural background. So I shouldn’t give up my background. That’s not fair. After a few months, I told my classmates and teachers, “I want you to use my Chinese name.” They can learn to pronounce it, even if it’s wrong.

Another reason I chose an English name was that in primary school, one of my teachers was particularly harsh toward us. Whenever they wanted to bully someone, they would call my name out loud and put me on trial in front of the whole class. That’s why I kind of hated my name. So the film combines my experience here and my experience in China — culture, education, all of it. I named the film Something About My Name to create a space to talk about identity and other things.

I finished this film in 2024. Then I realised I really enjoy making moving images or animations. I prefer storytelling through moving images. So I thought I should make more videos. 

LOIS: When we talked before, you mentioned the Xiaohongshu (Red Note) account that you and your friend co-managed. The account tells feminist stories. Maybe you can tell us more about it? 

ZHUOTING: I wanted to reach more people directly through my work, and I knew I needed to become financially independent. Starting a video channel felt like the right move — it was something that could both demonstrate my abilities and serve as my master’s project.

I have watched short videos made by feminists, and I really enjoyed them. So I thought, maybe I can make things like that. I want to create two characters — they are friends, or maybe two personalities of one person. They keep talking to each other, sorting out the confusion in life.

I made some drafts in autumn 2024. The characters are called Yao yao (姚姚) and Jiang jiang (姜姜). Their names come from eight ancient Chinese surnames tracing back to matriarchal clans. I was interested in matriarchal stories and myths, so I used them as inspiration. As for the name of this channel, I think about Virginia Woolf’s idea: every woman needs a room of her own. So the Chinese name of this video channel could be 我们的房间(Our Room). In English, it’s called Her.In.Sight —bringing more women into the world’s line of vision. The project, hosted on a Chinese social media platform, ultimately became one of the centerpieces of my master’s thesis.

YUL: Can you monetise it?

ZHUOTING: Right now, yes. The platform is similar to Instagram. If you’re an influencer, brands might find you — especially if they want to reach female audiences — and ask you to make promotional video.

This is the first video we made that reached a wide audience — a piece we created for the channel called Have You Ever Been Mocked for Having Thick Thighs?. It wasn’t a sponsored post, but an original video that truly resonated with our community. When I say “we,” I have a business partner in China. I’m responsible for the content, and she handles the marketing side.

We got a lot of comments on this video. Many female audiences said they felt the same way — about body shame, about growing up. We also received messages. One young girl was considering liposuction on her legs. After watching the video, she gave up the idea. I suddenly felt like what I’m doing has value for society. 

I think we need more voices on a larger scale. I watch a lot of films made by male directors trying to tell stories from a female perspective, pretending the feelings are from a woman. But that’s not true. They already have so much space in the world. Why can’t we tell stories ourselves? That’s another reason I wanted to create this video channel. Maybe I can make other films or longer animations in the future, just telling our stories as women.

ZHUOTING: After realising that telling my own story was meaningful, I began revisiting Something About My Name in early 2025. This time I called it Something About Me. I had released a lot of anger and confusion. Now I feel more mature about how to tell stories about myself. I made it into a longer story, adding more feelings about living here in a different cultural environment. 

When I shared Something About Me at a workshop, someone gave me feedback after watching: “Maybe when you get older, you’ll forgive them. You’ll understand why they did those things.” I removed all the faces in the film. Some of them said it felt a bit scary. In Western culture, they think it’s respectful to show people’s faces. Removing faces felt weird to them.
I tried to explain my choice: removing the faces was, first and foremost, an artistic decision — the nostalgic aesthetic felt right for the film’s narrative. But it was also because I felt safer not showing my face to the audience. It’s another way of conveying my experience in primary school.

Someone suggested I add expressive, cartoon facial features to the characters, so audiences could relate to them more easily. At the time, I felt frustrated by these suggestions. Looking back, I think there’s some truth to the idea that people can only engage with a story through the lens of their own embodied experience. I’ve come to accept that audiences will have their own responses — but that no longer makes me question my own artistic decisions.

YUL: I relate a lot to what you said about teachers. Many of us from Asian cultures were raised on guilt and shame. That’s a driving force in education. I think that’s something people here don’t really understand.

ZHUOTING: Exactly. I’ve also spoken with other Chinese artists and creators about these themes. There’s a shared feeling among us that back home, certain experiences go unspoken — not because they don’t resonate, but because they’re so widely understood that saying them out loud feels unnecessary. Here, though, some of us find that even when we do speak up, it doesn’t always land. Others have made a conscious choice to focus on more personal, introspective work, rather than tying their practice to social narratives.

RUOXI: Who do you imagine as your audience when you make personal work?

ZHUOTING: Actually, I didn’t imagine a specific audience. Even for the video channel, I didn’t do research. I imagine myself as the first audience. I think there are lots of people in the world sharing similar experiences. I think of myself as my own first audience. The world is vast, and I believe there are many people out there who share similar experiences to mine. I research myself — my age, my cultural background, what feelings I want to talk about.

YUL: Do you find any community here where you can share these perspectives?

ZHUOTING: Through the workshop with Sino Queer, I’ve met some Chinese people living here. We haven’t had deep conversations yet, but for now, that feels like enough. I also meet Chinese friends on social media — lots of women living in Europe share their experiences.