SEEING COLOUR, CAPTURING CHANGE: AROUND THE GLASS OF ZHAO JINYA

When I first stumbled across Zhao Jinya’s work, I had one of those oh, damn moments. You know the kind, when someone else is doing something so stunningly close to what you’ve been dreaming of that you half want to applaud and half want to sulk. Her glass doesn’t just sit quietly being decorative; it hums, it vibrates, it glows.

Zhao Jinya portrait

Zhao was born in China and trained at the China Academy of Art before heading to the Royal College of Art in London, where she clearly made friends with every colour in the spectrum. Her glass pieces are blown, layered, and occasionally a bit audacious. Think of colour not as surface decoration but as personality, one that keeps changing moods depending on the light. Here’s her page if you fancy falling down that rabbit hole.

I love blown glass for its contradictions: solid yet liquid in memory, fragile yet demanding strength. Zhao gets that. Her work feels like she’s in conversation with the glass rather than controlling it. It’s the sort of relationship I aspire to in the studio, me and the furnace, a toxic romance with excellent lighting.

One of her pieces that really knocked me sideways is The Two of Us No. 9 (2021), created in Zibo, Shandong. It plays with duality and reflection, light bouncing off coloured layers that seem to breathe. It’s like glass having an existential crisis, and I mean that as a compliment. You can see it below.

Right now, Zhao’s work is part of the Contemporary Chinese Studio Crafts exhibition at the Victoria and Albert Museum in London. Here’s the listing. I’ll admit, I’m a little envious of anyone who gets to see it in person, blown glass and strong colour in the V&A’s moody lighting sounds like pure theatre.

What I love about Zhao’s approach is that she lets colour misbehave. She layers translucency and opacity like gossip, each hue whispering over the other. It’s a sort of visual tension that reminds me why I fell in love with glass in the first place. When I’m working, melting down recycled bits, pulling colour where it shouldn’t go, I feel that same urge to see what happens if I don’t play nice.

I suppose that’s why her work hits a nerve for me. It’s not just beautiful; it’s slightly unruly. And maybe that’s what glass needs more of, a bit of attitude, a bit of chaos, and just enough control to stop it collapsing into a shiny puddle.

If you’re in London, go see Zhao Jinya’s work at the V&A. If not, pour yourself a drink, stare into something reflective, and imagine how light feels when it decides to dance.