In the heart of the Peckham arts district stands Safehouse—a Victorian residential relic etched with the scars of time. Once a derelict structure fading into urban oblivion, it now serves as a “temporary sanctuary” for artists, providing the profound material foundation for the exhibition Animot. The title derives from Jacques Derrida’s seminal work, The Animal That Therefore I Am (2008), in which he coined the term “Animot” to deconstruct the linguistic violence humans inflict upon non-human beings through monolithic categorization. Within this domestic ruin, the exhibition stages a radical intervention into power, language, and the gaze. 

To blur the heavy residential history of Safehouse, the curatorial team shrouded the floors in vast expanses of translucent plastic membrane. This covering acts as a strategy of “de-tagging”: the raw, weathered textures visible beneath the plastic evoke an “unfinished tense,” stripping the space of its definitive social functions and plunging it into a fluid, liminal state that refuses categorization. At the center of the ground floor, the membrane cascades from the ceiling like a waterfall, bisecting the space and partitioning twenty works—spanning photography, installation, jewelry, and painting—into two distinct visual realms. This spatial rupture effectively dismantles the “sovereign gaze,” preventing the spectator from consuming the exhibition in a single, panoramic sweep.

The exhibition’s visual identity mirrors a core narrative in Derrida’s text: the philosopher, emerging naked from the shower, finds himself locked in a gaze with his cat and feels a profound sense of “shame” imposed by human civilization. The choice of a Sphynx cat for the exhibition poster—devoid of fur and biological ornamentation—symbolizes an extreme equilibrium of power. When both human and non-human are stripped bare and rendered defenseless, the hierarchies of subject and object begin to collapse. Visually, the cat appears to step off the poster and onto the plastic-covered floor, guiding the audience into a non-authoritarian field constructed by the membrane.  

The first floor offers a moment of reflection on contemporary institutional structures. A meticulously constructed “Blackout Video Room” pays homage to Tracey Emin’s recent immersive projections at Tate Modern. In this lightless void, moving images are liberated from external interference, compelling the audience to shed the arrogance of anthropocentrism and engage in a deep, visceral visual struggle with the non-human imagery.

At its core, Animot is a commitment to anti-anthropomorphism. While we are accustomed to projecting human emotions onto the non-human—a subtle form of “managerial control”—the crumbling walls and plastic veils of Safehouse render such control obsolete. By “withdrawing the right of interpretation,” the curators force the human spectator to descend from their position of supremacy.

The twenty artworks on display are no longer “managed assets” to be observed and categorized; they are heterogenous subjects inhabiting a temporary refuge. Navigating this unstable space, the audience is led to rethink the relationship between human and non-human: not as one of naming and possession, but as the name Safehouse suggests—a relationship of coexistence and mutual respect, seeking sanctuary together amidst the ruins.  

Animot successfully translates Derrida’s linguistic critique into a spatial phenomenon, reminding us that true ecological care is not a sophisticated “managerial game,” but a profound surrender and restoration of power.

Featured Artists:

Chuhan Xiao, Duolan, Ella Jiang, Greg, Guangyu Zhang, Han Gao, Hanchao Zhang, Henryk Terpilowski, Jie Huang, Joseph Le Fevre, Joy Wang, Nata Hamilton, Qinyue(Shuyang) Chen, Sinyu Yan, Wz Jin, Xiaoxiao Song, Yiyue Wang, Yoyo Zhang, Yuxin Tang, Zhuoran Li

Curator:

Freya (yiyi) Chen

Greg

Special Thanks:

Britney Teng, Ella Jiang, Yi Lai

Photo Credit:

Britney Teng, Ella Jiang

Wanqing Zhang is an internationally acclaimed graphic designer whose creative practice is rooted in a profound exploration of “invisible boundaries”—the hidden frameworks that shape daily existence but often remain unspoken. As she observes, people unconsciously coexist with these boundaries: culture compresses the pain of depression into unspeakable privacy; the grid system’s discipline on designers constantly swings between adherence and disruption. Only when we begin to reflect do we realize that these boundaries determine who is seen, how they are seen, and how breakthroughs can be sought.Through graphic design, Zhang crosses the boundary between the visible and the invisible.

Design transforms systematic silence into a visual language.

In Zhang’s research on adolescent depression in China, Zhang identifies the “invisible shackles” created by a complex interplay of social forces.How was this invisible framework established, and why has it remained so stable? She chose her own generation as the entry point, systematically analyzing the multiple forces behind this framework:

How the traditional Chinese notion of “don’t wash your dirty linen in public” stigmatizes adolescent depression, turning it into a secret that everyone knows but never speaks of.

How the wave of corporate privatization and social restructuring—with its massive unemployment—planted the fear of poverty and job loss deep in her parents’ generation.

How that fear evolved into intergenerational trauma, transformed into an obsessive pursuit of meritocracy toward the next generation. How collectivism forces people to compare suffering, quietly muting individual voices in the process. And how social culture cynically rebrands mental illness as “yuyu” (a derogatory internet term for depression), equating it directly with weakness and failure.

Zhang translates heavy data and research findings into visually striking book design works. Folding cards – whose act of folding and unfolding metaphorically suggests how the issue of depression is often concealed beneath social silence. When the card is fully unfolded, it presents hard data on the prevalence, diagnosis, and misdiagnosis rates of depression in China. Deliberately aged posters, using collage to mimic vintage styles, introduce readers to how treatments for depression have evolved alongside social changes.

Zhang aims to raise public awareness of the high prevalence, hidden nature, and profound harm of adolescent depression, while emphasizing the urgency of early identification and effective intervention. This work has earned prestigious international honors, including Gold Awards from the Indigo Design Award, Muse Creative Award, and IDA Award, as well as a Silver from the London Design Award, and a feature on the global art platform Al-tiba9.

Design asks: how to keep order from becoming a new constraint between chaos and order?

As a designer, Wanqing Zhang and her team members (Yongjia Wu and Jenyun Hu) noticed that the grid system is widely regarded as a fundamental principle in graphic design – almost a “rule” in a certain sense. Whether creating or delivering work, designers subconsciously use the grid system to evaluate their layouts. Over time, this habit gradually evolves into a creative mindset resembling obsessive-compulsive disorder. At the same time, designers such as David Carson have been attempting to break this discipline and establish their own unique visual styles.

Confronted with this invisible boundary, Zhang raised her own question: does the grid system help or hinder creativity? To explore this, she conceived the concept and led the collaboration with two other designers to create an interactive book. Zhang served as the lead concept creator and graphic designer, designing the interactive mechanisms and visual language. In this book, readers can choose either to assemble a turntable with a funny-face pattern or to scramble it. They can also open small mechanisms on pages originally laid out according to the grid system – only to reveal completely chaotic, rule-breaking compositions. Through these engaging and playful interactions, the book repeatedly asks readers the same questions: Does the grid system suppress a designer’s creativity? How can we find a balance between the grid system and chaos?

The book’s color choices are equally bold and playful, designed to guide readers into natural reflection without making them feel lectured or pressured.This work – both playful and intellectually profound—has also received industry recognition, winning a Silver Award at the Indigo Design Award, further confirming Zhang’s ability to lead conceptually rigorous and visually innovative design projects.

The consistent string of victories in top-tier international design competitions, coupled with sustained attention from global media platforms, attests to Wanqing Zhang’s status as a top-of-the-field designer of her generation. She possesses not only technical mastery but also a rare depth of critical inquiry. Zhang’s practice transcends traditional graphic design; she acts as a visual communicator and a catalyst for social reflection. By reshaping complex data and deconstructing established design dogmas, she demonstrates how design can lead the industry from “aesthetic form” toward “profound insight.

As the graphic design industry grapples with the rapid integration of artificial intelligence, the role of the designer is undergoing a fundamental transformation. With accessible AI design tools that cover graphic design, logos and branding, this fast implementation brings its own set of challenges; be it authenticity to algorithmic bias and job displacement.

For Harshal Duddalwar, a New York-based designer and art director with experience across prestigious institutions like The New York Times, Pentagram, Microsoft and 2X4, this is not just a technological shift; it is a call for increased intellectual rigor.

With an MFA from the Rhode Island School of Design (RISD), Duddalwar has built his career on the intersection of structure, geometry, and human-centered storytelling. In the face of generative AI, he views his practice through the lens of an editor or even a curator.

“AI has shifted the speed and scale that ideas can be explored,” Duddalwar says. “Tasks that once took days can now happen in hours. That changes the role of the designer. I spend less time producing variations, and more time deciding what is worth pursuing.” 

As he sums up the creative process: “The judgment becomes more important than the execution.”

For Duddalwar, the democratization of creative tools means that technical proficiency is no longer the differentiator. If the barrier is lowered, the value shifts toward the designer’s own personal taste, intent and creative clarity. He describes his current process as both generative and editorial: building from scratch while also selecting, refining, and shaping ideas, at times taking on a more curatorial role.. “It is useful,” he notes, “but it also demands more responsibility in how you use it.”

There is a danger of dependency, however. While AI offers unprecedented efficiency, Duddalwar warns of a creeping culture of complacency. He argues that when designers rely on automation without critical oversight, the result is often work that feels repetitive, bland and lacking in intention.

“The problem is not the tool itself, but how it is used,” he said. 

If AI becomes a substitute for thinking, the work starts to feel generic,” he explains. “You see patterns repeating without any intention behind them. I think the role of the designer is to stay critical. To question why something exists, not just how it looks.”

To Duddalwar, AI should function as an extension of the designer’s intent. It isn’t a replacement for their decision-making. As long as the designer maintains the “why” behind   their work, the technology remains a tool (rather than a crutch).

Despite the growing shift toward digital and screen-based design, Duddalwar’s core philosophy remains anchored in human resonance. His approach to design is a form of storytelling; a delicate balance of form, function, and feeling.

“Form gives the work its clarity, function ensures it works in context and feeling is what makes it resonate,” he says. His process often begins with the logic of grids and hierarchy, the structural foundation, before layering in emotion through pacing, imagery, or intentional restraint. “I try not to force it. The goal is not to dramatize, but to let the content carry its own  weight.”

This way of thinking carries directly into his approach to brand identity, where conceptual coherence and critical judgment is key. 

Whether he is shaping the systematic iconography for The New York Times across products like  Games, Cooking, Audio, Wirecutter and The Athletic, Duddalwar sees AI as a useful tool for visualization, but  not a substitute for a strong conceptual foundation. If anything, he suggests that living in an age of infinite digital variation makes a clear, consistent identity more valuable than ever.

“At The New York Times, especially in work around Audio and editorial visuals, the focus was often on clarity and tone, rather than novelty,” he said. “The goal was to create systems that could support a wide range of stories while still feeling grounded and human.” 

Feelings, empathy, and human perspective will become the defining qualities of creative work as AI and automation expand, notes Duddalwar.

“As more work becomes automated, the value of human perspective becomes clearer,” he explains. “AI can replicate patterns, but it does not have lived experience. It cannot understand context in the way people do. Feelings and empathy come from that understanding. They shape how something is communicated and how it is received. I think we will start to notice the difference more; work that feels considered, that reflects a point of view, will stand out. It is not about adding emotion artificially; it is about grounding the work in something real. That is where design can remain distinct.”

Across his work in brand identity, visual systems, digital products, and editorial design , holding back becomes a form of creative expressions.

“A lot of design decisions came down to restraint,” he said. “Letting typography, pacing and imagery carry the narrative, without overdesigning it, was key. Even when working at scale, we tried to retain a sense of care in how each piece was presented. That consistency builds trust.” 

The rise of automation hasn’t diminished the role of a designer; if anything it has invited them to be more intentional, more critical, and ultimately, more human.

As Duddalwar puts it,  “It may not be immediately visible, but it shapes how people experience and connect with the work over time.”

Visit Harshal Duddalwar’s website, harshald.com.