Constructing the Intangible: Ruoyun Dai’s Vision for Emotion-Driven Design

Oct 30th, 2025 by Shuwan Chen

Ruoyun Dai (www.dairuoyun.com)is a multidisciplinary designer whose work bridges immersive media, interactive design, and contemporary art. She specializes in AR/VR/XR installations, AI-driven product design, and lenticular print innovations, creating hybrid experiences that merge digital and physical storytelling. Her projects have been showcased at major international exhibitions, including the San Francisco Art Fair 2025, and recognized internationally with a DNA Paris Design Award Honorable Mention and a Gold Winner title at the MUSE Design Awards. In addition to her role as a Product Designer, she leads 2rt.studio as its Creative Director—a platform that transforms digital art into tangible formats and fosters collaboration with globally recognized artists.

You began in architecture before turning to digital design and immersive art. Can you remember a moment when that shift first became clear to you, when you realized space could become emotional data rather than just structure?

During my final year in architecture school, I kept running into the same frustration: so many of my ideas collapsed under technical constraints. There were concepts I loved, but structurally or materially they simply couldn’t exist in the real world. That was the moment I started wondering what would happen if design didn’t have to stop at physical limitations.

I became curious about how technology could extend design beyond “what can be built” into “what can be experienced.” Digital tools opened the possibility to create moments that feel almost impossible, like scenes you only find in novels or dreams.

I’ve always believed a designer’s role is to give form to human imagination through history. When I shifted into digital design and immersive art, it felt like stepping into a space where imagination didn’t have to shrink to fit the rules of gravity or material physics. It could finally expand.

When you started 2rt.studio, it wasn’t just a design label. It felt like building missing infrastructure for digital artists. Was there a specific experience or conversation that made you realize how invisible digital art still was in the physical art market?

When I started 2rt.studio, it came from noticing a persistent gap. Many digital artists around me were producing work that was imaginative, emotional, and technically advanced, yet the pieces stayed almost entirely inside screens. They were appreciated in festivals or museums but rarely entered the part of the art world where works are collected and given long term value.

After looking deeper, I realized it was not a creativity problem at all. It was an infrastructure problem. Digital art simply did not have a clear pathway into the physical market. There was no system that helped artists translate their work into something that could be owned, displayed, or circulated.

2rt.studio began as an attempt to build that missing bridge. I wanted digital art to have a structure where its value could move and be recognized, instead of remaining locked in virtual spaces.

Your lenticular works use up to 56 frames, which is rare in fine art. What did it take to push that medium beyond its commercial roots, and how do you decide when an image moves just right?

My lenticular work started from a desire to give digital motion a physical presence without losing its emotional nuance. Because lenticular printing is often treated as a commercial medium, pushing it into fine art meant reworking everything from the frame count to how the lens interacts with light and depth. Using up to 56 frames came from building a workflow that allowed the motion to feel soft and perceptual rather than graphic or abrupt.

During development, we ran countless tests: motion speed, color shifts, the direction of movement, and how different sequences behaved under the lens. Every small parameter changes the emotional rhythm of the image. I know a piece moves correctly when the transition feels like a natural breath, when the viewer stops noticing the mechanics and instead feels the image shift like a memory coming into focus.

In Dream Complex you combine AR, data, and dream psychology. How did you translate something as private as emotion into a system that viewers could actually feel through technology?

Dream Complex is a project that combines AR technology with physical models to build a spatial narrative of dreams. It uses a three dimensional coordinate system to classify dreams according to the type of emotion, the intensity of that emotion, and the level of consciousness involved.

By layering AR over physical structures, the project turns these classifications into a visual and spatial experience. Viewers can move through different emotional coordinates, watching the environment shift in response to their position. The aim is to explore subconscious meanings through storytelling, using psychology as a foundation to enhance self awareness and link dream states to real life experiences. In that sense, Dream Complex becomes more than an artwork. It becomes a gentle therapeutic tool, helping people understand themselves through the architecture of their own subconscious.

At the San Francisco Art Fair and Art on Paper you worked with artists like Meltem Şahin and Jiayue Li. What does that collaboration look like in practice? Are you more of a translator, a director, or an engineer of other people’s visions?

Working with artists like Meltem Şahin and Jiayue is very hands-on for me. In these collaborations I act as a director, a prototyper, and a curator. Before anything begins, I review and filter their artworks to identify which pieces have the right qualities for lenticular transformation. Not every digital work can translate well, so this first curatorial step is essential.

Once we choose the candidates, I lead the prototyping process. I run motion tests, color and depth studies, and lens experiments to understand how the work behaves physically. These prototypes go through several iterations, because lenticular animation requires precise timing, direction, and emotional rhythm. Only after the tests feel right do we move into the second stage of creative development, where the artwork is reshaped for its final form.

In that sense, my role is to guide the work through translation: selecting, directing, prototyping, and curating it into a version that can live meaningfully in a physical art context.

You’ve also built partnerships with iidrr Gallery, Freepik, and City X. Can you share one example where a collaboration unexpectedly changed how people understood lenticular or digital-physical art?

One moment that surprised me was our collaboration with City X, where we installed a series of lenticular pieces inside a space usually focused on fashion and urban culture rather than traditional art. Visitors who had never encountered lenticular before kept returning to the works from different angles, trying to understand why the images felt alive. Many of them told us it was the first time they realized digital motion could exist without a screen, and that physical art could behave like animation. That collaboration shifted people’s expectations of what “digital” can look like in the real world, and it showed me how powerful the digital-physical crossover becomes when it appears in unexpected environments.

You’ve received recognition from Red Dot, MUSE, and AIGA among others. Was there a specific project or moment when you felt your work began to be taken seriously by the international design community?

The turning point for me was Dream Complex. When it received recognition from Red Dot and MUSE, I felt a shift in how the international design community viewed my work. It was the first time a project that blended psychology, AR, and spatial storytelling was acknowledged on a global stage, and it signaled that the industry was starting to take digital-physical experimentation seriously. That moment made me realize my work was no longer seen as niche experimentation but as a contribution to the broader conversation about where design and new media can go.

Visitors spent unusually long inside Dream Complex during its exhibition. What did you observe in those reactions that told you the work was connecting on a psychological level rather than just visually?

What struck me most was how quiet people became inside Dream Complex. Instead of looking at the visuals and moving on, they slowed down, changed their pace, and started testing how the environment reacted to them. Some people walked back and forth in the same spot for several minutes, others stood still and simply breathed with the shifting colors and motion. A few even told me afterward that the space reminded them of a specific dream or feeling they had not thought about in years. Those behaviors showed me the work was tapping into something internal. It was not spectacle, it was recognition, the moment when the viewer realized the installation was mirroring an emotion rather than showing an image.

You’re developing software tools that let artists transform digital works into lenticular pieces. What is your long term vision for this platform? Could it become a new kind of production ecosystem for digital creators?

My long term vision is to build a software platform where artists and designers can create lenticular works on their own. Instead of relying on a curator or a technical specialist, they would be able to upload their digital pieces, run motion and color prototypes directly in the system, and generate files ready for production. I want lenticular printing to function as an accessible service rather than a closed process, something that gives digital creators a new way to bring their work into the physical world. Over time, I see this becoming a full production ecosystem where digital artists can experiment, iterate, and transform their ideas into collectible physical pieces with the same ease they publish work online.

You often talk about using design to strengthen emotional understanding. If your research were applied beyond art, perhaps in mental health or education, what would that look like?

Mental health is something people often feel but cannot see, measure, or visualize, which is why I believe design can play a meaningful role beyond art. If my research were applied in mental health or education, it would focus on turning invisible emotional states into forms people can understand and interact with. That could mean creating tools that map emotional patterns over time, or building visual systems that help individuals recognize shifts in mood, stress, or behavior in a more intuitive way. The goal would not be to diagnose but to give people a clearer sense of their inner landscape, so they can understand themselves with the same clarity they use to navigate physical space.

The Digital Body as a Site of Performativity and Disruption: A Critical Review of FEYU’s Work

writer: shuang cai
Oct 25th, 2024

In an age where the digital and physical realms intertwine, the body has evolved into a flexible site of identity formation, expression, and commodification. Technology enables us to transcend physical limitations, allowing us to reshape our identities, but it also subjects these identities to new forms of surveillance, performance, and consumption. Yu Li FEYU’s work, particularly in Elysia, Kill Me at The Dinner Party and Derung Daughter, explores the complex relationship between digital identity and reality. Her pieces prompt viewers to reflect on the balance between technological empowerment and the structures that constrain it. By creatively adopting game engines, AR/VR, and AI, FEYU crafts worlds where digital bodies become spaces for both performance and reflection. Her work captures the tension between innovation and exploitation, suggesting that while technology offers new ways to engage with identity, it also risks reinforcing the systems of control from which we seek to escape. Central to her approach is the role of the user’s agency, as the depth and impact of these digital identities are shaped not only by the artist’s vision but also by how deeply users choose to engage. As viewers navigate FEYU’s pieces, they are invited to reflect on the evolving role of technology in shaping—and sometimes distorting—our understanding of cultural heritage, identity, and agency.

Performative Identity in Digital Spaces

The digital world invites, if not demands, constant performance. Social media, gaming avatars, and even virtual meetings require us to craft, refine, and project versions of ourselves that may be far removed from our physical realities. In FEYU’s Elysia, Kill Me at The Dinner Party, this notion is pushed to its extreme. The e-lifeforms develop self-consciousness, only to realize they are the objects of human attention and consumption and eventually end themselves in action for self-preservation and redemption. The character Elysia, the e-form cyborg being, mirrors the way humans, too, must perform in the digital space. Whether on social media or in virtual realities, our digital identities are crafted in response to external validation. FEYU’s e-lifeforms may be digital constructs, but they embody a very human anxiety: the fear of becoming irrelevant, of losing one’s identity if not constantly performed for the audience.

Elysia, Kill Me At The Dinner Party, CG Film, 2024

While FEYU succeeds in capturing the uncanny juxtaposition of human anxiety and digital identities, I can’t help but wonder if FEYU’s fictional e-lifeforms ultimately reinforce the very system they seem poised to challenge. Instead of escaping the cycle of performance, they remain trapped in it—self-conscious digital beings aware of their existence only through the human gaze. It’s no coincidence that Elysia, Kill Me at The Dinner Party can be read through the lens of Donna Haraway’s Cyborg Manifesto. Haraway’s vision of the cyborg transcends binary distinctions—human vs. machine, nature vs. culture, male vs. female—yet for Elysia, a being beyond such categories, self-termination seems to be the only solution upon realizing their parasites. The devastating ending of Elysia overlooks the potential for hope and transformation in the digital realm, disregarding the possibility of a more liberating digital fantasy and once again projecting an exploited world onto the interdigital-physical asylum.

Elysia, Kill Me At The Dinner Party, CG Film, 2024

But perhaps this is precisely FEYU’s point. By presenting a “lack-of-escape,” FEYU highlights the urgent issue of how deeply the current system is ingrained in our worlds and emphasizes the "slippage of agency" as a core theme in the work. Moreover, instead of narrowly treating technologies as mere tools or romanticizing them further, FEYU suggests that technology should be viewed as equal peers to humans—reflecting upon and interacting with each other. This reciprocal relationship between humans and technology invites us to rethink the nature of digital identity and the systems of control that shape it.

Cultural Symbols in the Digital Space: Digital Identity as A Form of Reclamation

One of the most striking examples of the reclaiming of the digital body‘s agency comes through FEYU’s Derung Daughter. This AR project transforms users’ faces with digital representations of the traditional tattoos worn by the indigenous Derung women of China, a practice once used to protect women. Through augmented reality filters, users can inhabit this cultural history, their faces adorned with patterns meant to symbolize defiance and identity. Mirroring the traditional facial tattoo, the filter has flowing, wave-like patterns, with delicate lines and tendrils stretching across the skin, suggesting a fusion of organic and technological elements. The colors are mostly soft purples, greens, and golds, with highlights that give the mask a metallic sheen. Small golden spheres are integrated into the design, adding an ornamental touch and contributing to the sense of otherworldliness. At its core, the piece intends to empower and engage global audiences with marginalized traditions in an innovative format.

Derung Daughter, AR Lens, 2024

Without a doubt, FEYU has created a mystical experience with profound research into Derung culture. However, Derung Daughte treads a fine line between introducing a minority culture for public empowerment and commodifying it through digital exotification. Turning these deeply significant cultural symbols into an AR filter that users can easily turn off risks being “appropriative,” reducing a rich tradition to a consumable experience, easily stripped of its depth. Without care from users, the tattoos could be seen as mere novelties—momentary digital adornments in the fast-paced cycle of digital consumption.

As someone who adores adventurous uses of technology and believes in the importance of user agency, I see Derung Daughter as more than just a fleeting novelty. Its detailed yet futuristic design prompts deeper reflection on how technology can preserve and represent cultural heritage. In fact, I found the selected medium – AR filter – so clever, as it lowered the barrier for remote audiences to be familiarized with marginalized cultures. Even better, the particular narrative is rooted in profound Deruang women’s stories. Visually speaking, the flowing patterns and metallic sheen aren’t merely aesthetic; they symbolize the evolution of identity, where tradition and futurism intersect. Inspired by facial tattoos, the digital mask enveloping faces speaks directly to cyborg theories, creating hybrid identities shaped by layers of cultural history and self-expression. Here, the digital body becomes both a performance and a reclamation of identity.

Derung Daughter, AR Lens, 2024

While Derung Daughter relies on the user’s engagement to bring its fullness to life, FEYU’s work creates space for reflection and provides a fresh lens through which to experience these cultural symbols. The mask-like structure in Derung Daughter invokes both protection and performance, echoing the tattoos’ original purpose while allowing users to inhabit a reimagined cultural space through technology. This interaction, though dependent on the user’s choices, underscores the dynamic nature of the piece—where users can choose how deeply they engage with the cultural narrative. Ultimately, the piece transforms the digital body into a platform for engaging with history, identity, and the future, balancing the tension between commodification,cultural appreciation, and most importantly empowerments.

There is more to be revealed in FEYU’s pieces beyond the two mentioned above. Her exploration of the digital body as a space for both performance and reflection encourages viewers to confront the complexities of identity in the digital age. By world-building in new technologies and merging technologies with cultural symbols, her works concern not only how digital identities are constructed and consumed, but also how they might be reclaimed. Whether through the e-lifeforms of Elysia or the AR filters of Derung Daughter, FEYU challenges us to rethink the human- technology relationship. More than a critique, FEYU’s broader impact lies in her capacity to reimagine how technology can serve as a tool for reclaiming agency, fostering deeper connections between the digital and the human. By pushing the boundaries of what the digital body can represent, she creates a blueprint for how future technologies might enhance, rather than diminish, our understanding of identity, culture, and autonomy. Her work, while fraught with the tensions of commodification and appropriation, opens up necessary dialogues about the role of technology in shaping—and sometimes distorting—our understanding of cultural heritage and identity. In doing so, FEYU leaves us with a vision of the digital body that is not only a site of performance, but also a platform for deeper engagement with the past, present, and future.

Yu Li FEYU is a Chinese multimedia artist and filmmaker based in London, known for crafting alternative realities and digital fantasies through emerging technologies. Her practice is a blend of research and emotional introspection, examining how technology shapes spatial, philosophical, and cultural infrastructures. She focuses on themes like agency, shame/desire, and cultural identities in digital landscapes.

Through her creative worldbuilding, Yu examines the emotionality, aesthetics and architectures within networked realities. She articulates cyber subjectivities through the asymmetrical extraction of lands, bodies and information, while envisioning futures where humans and machines coexist in complex, evolving relationships. Utilizing game engines, AR/VR, and AI, she expands the boundaries of storytelling, creating immersive, interactive experiences that explore new forms of identity, sociability, and embodiment, all while reflecting her feminine and intimate perspective on digital life.

Her body of work spans films, narrative games, immersive installations, and critical writings. A notable project, “Elysia, Kill Me at the Dinner Party”, is a CG short film that investigates performative identity-making and power struggles in cyberspace, earning her the "Best Female Director Super Short Film" award at the World Film Festival in Cannes in 2024.

About Writer:
shuang cai is a curator, writer, educator, and multimedia artist. Their curatorial endeavors aim to bring forth the power of interconnectedness and diverse voices across communities. Their art practices focus on logic, interactions, and humor. shuang has previously published work at BAZAAR Art China, CultureHub, Passing Note, Art Insider, and Indienova.

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