Aesthetic: Pan Daijing

The scene today is abundantly different. It’s Sunday morning and we’re eating croissants in an upscale cafe, surrounded by couples brunching in the sun. We’re discussing what all female artists are eventually asked to discuss in interviews – the complicated issue of gender. “I don’t speak very strongly about me being a female artist,” she says. “But all my work is actually related to women.”

The well of inspiration Pan Daijing draws from is eclectic to say the least. Her first remembered experience with music is a Michael Jackson cassette pitched down and distorted by a tape machine low on batteries. Childhood dreams of androgynous warriors from Chinese myths learned in her southwestern hometown. Opera. Dance. Psychedelic drug experiences. Experimental music pioneers like Pauline Oliveros. Putting expression to the inexpressible. BDSM philosophy. Melancholia. A thirst for intimacy.

While her music is stunning on its own, it is in performance where Pan Daijing truly hits her stride. She builds her shows to the last detail, thinking of costumes, physicality, lighting, and visuals. “I sometimes describe [performance] as therapy,” she tells me, “there’s a part of me that has this scream inside, something I need to communicate but don’t know how to say in a language we can understand in daily life.”

Daijing’s performances occupy a space of hyper-vulnerability – vulnerability that is so jarring it allows her to access a special wealth of power. And while the power she harnesses on stage could be interpreted by some as disturbing or aggressive, her intention is the opposite. “I like to film people when I perform because I try to understand other people,” she tells me. “When I look people in their eyes sometimes it’s fear, or they’re about to cry. It’s this kind of intimacy that I’ve been craving my whole life with people and I can get it when I’m performing. Even though my music is kind of heavy, and disturbing maybe, I’m just trying to hold people, hug them.”