Ginnipishi For Art

Meet the Artist

Ginnipishi For Art is the studio practice of Austin Lai (b. 2000), a Taiwanese American artist based in New York. Raised in Taipei, Austin’s love of art began with a drawing of an “automatic pineapple cake machine” that could produce pineapple cakes and deliver them directly to anyone who was hungry, a playful idea that already hinted at his fascination with systems, humor, and human behavior. While attending boarding school in London, he developed a deeper commitment to art; living away from home sharpened his sensitivity to displacement, memory, and the ways identity shifts across places and cultures. Drawn to both visual expression and analytical thinking, he went on to The Cooper Union, earning a degree in architecture with a minor in art history. Although he has no formal studio training in fine art, his practice is shaped by architectural precision and sustained observation of human behavior and emotion.

Austin is especially interested in facial expression and the uncertainty of contemporary life, where feelings can be fragile, shifting, and contradictory at once. His work brings architectural thinking into the realm of feeling, often holding multiple viewpoints within a single frame, like memory replayed from different angles. He constructs faces through edges, joints, and overlaps, then disrupts that structure until it becomes unstable and unmistakably human. His drawings invite a slower kind of looking—not to solve the image, but to notice what changes each time you return.

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A brief studio Q&A.

Questions for the Artist

What does “Ginnipishi” mean?

“Ginnipishi” comes from a Mandarin phrase that roughly means “none of your business.” For me, it’s a reminder to tune out the noise, trust my instincts, and make the work I genuinely want to make, without living for other people’s approval.

Why faces?

I am drawn to faces because they’re both intimate and unknowable. A face reads like a map of a moment, but it never settles into one truth. Fragmenting the portrait lets uncertainty stay visible instead of being smoothed away.

How do you know when a drawing is finished?

What are you trying to hold in these fragmented portraits?

I am trying to hold the feeling of a memory replaying from different angles. Not a single likeness, but a shifting set of impressions that stays slightly unstable, the way a person can.

What’s one detail you hope viewers notice up close?

I hope they feel that the drawing has more than one reading. I want to leave room for viewers to project their own interpretation, so the work stays open rather than solved.

What frame colors do you offer, and how do I choose (Black / White / Oak)?

Black feels graphic and architectural. White feels quiet and airy. Oak warms the work and brings out a more natural softness. I usually pick based on your space: contrast (black), minimal (white), or warmth (oak).

Does the framed print come with a mat? What does the mat do visually?

Yes. Framed prints come with a mat. The mat creates breathing room around the artwork, makes the piece feel more “gallery,” and helps keep the print from touching the front protector.

What does “unframed (ships rolled)” mean—will it arrive flat eventually?

Unframed prints ship rolled in a protective tube to keep them safe. Once you unroll it, it naturally relaxes over time, especially after it’s pressed flat in a frame.

What paper do you print on, and why does it matter?

I print on museum-quality matte paper sourced from Japan. It holds detail beautifully, keeps blacks rich, and gives the work a soft, non-glare finish that feels intentional, like a piece meant to live on a wall, not a screen.

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