Review of Kelly Wu’s ‘Missing Angel’
“I quit smoking by this is a special occasion” giggles Wu as we begin to chat about her life and work. It certainly is a special occasion- ‘Missing Angel’ marks Wu’s debut solo show after a string of successful group shows around London in the past years. Fizzing with enthusiasm and potential, Wu tells me that she’s embarking on a master's degree at the prestigious Slade School of Art come September, though she has many more shows on the cards before then. An emerging talent in London’s ever-fertile art scene, Wu is clearly very taken with the city. “London is popping. It’s a really great place to be making work.” I ask her why? “Because, unlike Essex, no one thinks I’m fucking strange!”
Acceptance and inclusivity are cornerstones of the Small-Time Project- the curatorial group playing host to ‘Missing Angel.’ Founded by friends Bowen Zhang and Jack Kinsman, they work with emerging artists to provide access to project spaces. Wu emphasises the importance of the group being a queer space. There is room for all sexualities, races, genders and identities.
‘Missing Angel’ is set in a building site. The venue at 8 Aylesbury Street is in the midst of conversion from an artists’ space to corporate offices (yet another blow to the city’s young creatives seeking spaces to call their own.) The exhibition space is truly mesmerising. It is a surprisingly huge open space playing host to three exhibitions, Wu’s being at the end. The building has been stripped to its bones becoming an industrial mix of raw concrete, exposed bricks, pipes, and a literal hole in the floor in Wu’s space (which she shows me with amusement.) It is the antithesis of the usual, white-walled art gallery.
Wu’s exhibition of found-object sculptures and installation works is highly personal, sensitive, and vulnerable; the antithesis of the building site where it lives. Pink streamers and a party banner reading ‘happy everyday’ catch my eye when I enter the space. This piece, named ‘Password’ is an example of the striking femininity that is so brilliantly contradictory to the space. This contrast is truly compelling. Bows adorn the walls alongside builders’ graffiti and scribbled maths equations. I find myself constantly questioning what is part of the show and what isn’t. Wu’s work and the building are in conversation with each other; a fluid dialogue exists between the works and the space.
Lining the floor in the centre of the space is sculptural piece ‘no problem/it’s ok’. Comprising of embroidered towels from Wu’s family home, each towel is tied up with pink ribbon into a neat bow. The work has much more depth than meets the eye, alluding to troubled experiences and family rifts through an intimate household object. As a Chinese-British artist, Wu’s work acts as an intermundium, linking both her Chinese heritage and upbringing amongst Essex’s working class.
“Last year I went to China for the first time in 15 years” says Wu. This visit to her family’s hometown of Beijing has influenced many of the works on show. Wu met many members of her family for the first time. It was here that she obtained a giclee print entitled ‘Photograph of Mum and Annie,’ which she describes as her favourite piece in the show. “I got it from my great uncle and it’s really beautiful. [My mother] looks exactly like me.”
Wu has never before seen an image of her mother as a child; all photographs became casualties of bitter family rifts. It's through the artwork that she attempts to piece together difficult family pasts, and to find her own identity in the process. When asked why the photograph is her favourite piece, she tell me it’s because “I didn’t make it; I don’t feel responsible for it.” This reminds me what huge vulnerability is required of artists; they open themselves up to judgement and scrutiny.
Wu, 23, doesn’t shy away from hard work. She has hand-made each programme over four days, spent seven days installing the work and five weeks making it. The intallation presented a unique set of challenges; the site was more of a wreck than expected and some works had to be quickly adapted. She installed alongside the site’s all-male construction workforce; another contrast to the queer spaces Wu usually inhabits. She hesitates before telling me “The builders are wonderful. I think they like that I’m from Essex.” I sense she has chosen her words carefully.
Our chat draws to a close as more and more visitors begin to populate the space. I tell Wu that I’m loving the contrast between her work and the space, and she coins the phrase ‘Fragile-Hard.’ A fitting synopsis for her debut solo show. The exhibition’s title comes from a piece of wood Wu found on the street a couple of years ago, inscribed with the words ‘Missing Angel’. This show is the cumulation of all of Wu’s unique lived experiences and challenges. Her unique talent is telling these stories through art. As viewers, we are invited into her life and psyche. Wu is on the cusp of big things, and ‘Missing Angel’ is just the beginning.
© Nik Macey 2025