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“Yaoguai” (妖怪)
“Yaoguai” exhibition poster
ABOUT
What if the very things that unsettle us are gentle tricksters, leading us, through shadows and smiles, toward a truth we weren’t yet ready to name? 
YAOGUAI is island6’s newest exhibition, a spirited romp through the mischievous world of East Asian folklore’s favorite troublemakers. These shape-shifting creatures, some shy, some loud, all a little strange, move in rhythm with old truths, and half-whispered lessons tucked behind their masks.
They explore the blurred lines between superstition and psychology, humor and horror, ancient beliefs, and everyday emotion. Inspired by the theatricality of traditional Chinese exorcism rituals and the symbolic storytelling of idiomatic language, this show invites viewers to confront their inner demons, playfully, of course.
Whether it’s “Ushi-Oni” looming at the threshold or the ghost of an awkward moment turned proverb, YAOGUAI offers a space where folklore and philosophy mingle, masked in color, wit, and the occasional tentacle.
In the corner of my room, I can always spot that shadowy presence, yǎn (魇), muttering nonsense just out of sight, waiting for the perfect moment to leap out and startle. He never quite gets me, but that doesn’t stop him from trying. He’s not scary, really, just loud, persistent, and a little misunderstood. Like many of his fellow yaoguai, he’s less a threat and more a reflection: of mood, of memory, of the strange ways we process the world around us. And honestly, it’s all in good fun. You see, these are friendly foes, the kind that startle, confuse, and provoke just enough to make us think.
Straight from the spirit world, island6 brings you, “YAOGUAI”, an exhibition that dances through the world of shape-shifting spirits, mischief-makers, and metaphorical monsters drawn from Chinese and East Asian folklore. Each one shares space with a distilled expression of human experience, short, sharp verses passed through generations like incantations. They don’t just explain the world, they haunt it. Together, they give form to the things we can’t always name: fears, desires, contradictions, and the strange poetry of being human.
In this room, we asked: what if monsters aren’t under the bed but instead brushed onto the wall in full display? Glitching across LED panels, twitching from motion sensors, lounging behind glass, these modern yaoguai shimmer with mischievous purpose on brightly colored canvases. Their presence lingers like a half-formed thought or a sentence someone forgot to finish.
Have you heard of Zhuangzi’s butterfly dream story? Upon waking, he wondered whether he was a man who had dreamt he was a butterfly, or a butterfly just now dreaming he was a man. Yaoguai dwell in that same liminal space, hovering between dream and waking life, between metaphor and manifestation. They are not quite real, not quite fiction, flickering at the edge of perception, where identities shift and illusions harden into truths. They embody the spirit of craftsmanship “shaped by ghosts and wielded by gods” (鬼斧神工), so exquisite it feels otherworldly. Like these supernatural artisans, their strange forms and elusive meanings remind us that the deepest truths often come cloaked in mystery and wonder, beyond ordinary understanding.
There’s a kind of emptiness that doesn’t announce itself. It settles in the corners of the face, where even the mouth and nose seem to lack flesh (嘴到窿鼻哥都冇), not quite hunger, not quite grief, but something gnawing. The look of someone who’s smiled too long, or scrolled online too deep, or forgotten how to speak without buffering first. A hollowness made of pigments and politeness. As if the creature itself has laughed and withered all at once. You can walk past it, but you know the look. You’ve worn it too.
Take “Hajikkaki”, for example: a shy, blushing spirit who hides behind her sleeves, dodging eye contact and embarrassment like a pro. Is she a ghost? A mood? Or just the visual form of every awkward moment we’ve ever tried to laugh off with dǎ hā hā (打哈哈, “to deflect with a laugh”)? That flicker of discomfort, the nervous smile, the uneasy silence, it’s the familiar shadow of vulnerability we all carry, wrapped in a gesture meant to soothe and disguise. It’s the human experience.
We’re not the first to stage such a spectacle. Traditional Chinese opera once featured exorcism plays where grotesque, mischievous spirits would descend onto the stage, only to be symbolically vanquished by ritual and laughter. It’s no coincidence that many yaoguai feel like actors on a stage, mask-wearing, role-playing, speaking in riddles. They’re mirrors more than monsters, reflecting back what we might not want to see.
In psychological terms, yaoguai may resemble what Carl Jung called the “shadow” or “yīnyǐng” (阴影). The part of ourselves we avoid, repress, or fear; Just like a cat startled by its own reflection, unsure whether it’s seeing a threat, a twin, or something it left behind... These creatures are less about horror and more about recognition. Emotional residue with teeth. Humor with claws. The flicker you glimpse from the corner of your eye.  Some drift between forms, their meanings refracting like “flowers in a mirror, moon in the water” (镜花水月). The more you try to grasp them, the more they shimmer just out of reach. Are they ghosts? Glitches? Half-remembered dreams? Or just feelings that slipped out of language and found a new way to be seen?
But instead of burying these feelings, Chinese folklore gives them names, costumes, catchphrases, and personalities. In other words, it makes them fun! And pretty hard to ignore.
Because ultimately, yaoguai, aren’t just relics of the past. They’re emotional shorthand, philosophical stand-ins, and cultural commentary rolled into one mischievous package. They lurk in the walls of our everyday speech, jumping out when we least expect it.
So, join the party and take a closer look. That flicker in the corner of your eye? Might be a trick of the light. Or maybe it’s “Uwan”, still waiting for his cue. He’s a bit shy, but we promise he won’t bite. Either way, we hope you enjoy the show!
DATES
Summer/Autumn 2025
CURATION
Tiara Alvarado-Leon
ART DIRECTION
Thomas Charvériat
ART RESEARCH
Helen Chen 陈韵涵, Serena Charvériat-Young 杨倩菁
ARTISTS
island6 art collective (Liu Dao 六岛)
VENUE
island6, 50 Moganshan Road, building #6, 2/F, Shanghai
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