What are the main themes your art conveys?

My art is always in progress. At different times, my paintings have reflected what I was feeling, sometimes more melancholic, sometimes more vibrant. Earlier works leaned toward surreal and intense imagery, while recent pieces have become calmer, even meditative.

How did your childhood enviornment shaped your art practice, especially your recurring motifs like sunsets and the sea?

I grew up in Taipo, near Tai Mei Tok, where calm water meets the open sea - divided by just a line. That landscape has stayed with me as a quiet metaphor. My father often took me to sit by the sea, and those moments became a way for me to reflect and recharge. They naturally shaped my visual language - sunsets, water, and horizon lines often appear in my work, not just as scenery but as emotional reflection.

How do you translate those memories into your paintings?

The sea, sunsets, and even village-style houses of Tai Po continue to appear in my compositions. I sometimes revisit those places to reconnect with them. Painting allows me to reinterpret those memories - turning them into something brighter. Each canvas becomes a conversation and a self-confrontation, where I always push my boundaries while staying connected to the places.

Your use of color is quite distinctive—often neon or contrasting. How do you approach color in your practice?

I’ve always loved using neon and vibrant colors. Color is very intuitive for me—it’s a way of matching my inner self, which is actually more vibrant than my outward personality. I often paint intuitively, but there’s also a rational side where I think about composition and contrast.

What do you hope audiences experience when viewing your exhibitions, especially your recent sunset series?

I prefer to leave my work open to interpretation. I’ve even designed frames that can be closed—so viewers can choose whether to engage or not. Some people have told me they use them for meditation, which I find interesting. Ultimately, I hope viewers can find their own meaning or emotional response, whether it’s a sense of calm, humor, or something else.

You sometimes build frames for your paintings that can be closed, almost like boxes. What’s the idea behind this?

For me, painting is a personal process, and I sometimes wonder why it needs to be shared. Traditionally, a painting is a window into another world, but I wanted to play with that idea—what if the window could be closed? So I created closable frames, like simple pine cabinets, allowing viewers to decide whether to enter or not. It’s about giving agency, not imposing a narrative.

How do you decide on new themes or directions in your work? Are there any recent influences?

My themes often shift based on what I’m reading or watching. I recently revisited the film Fargo by the Coen brothers—it’s dark, yet filled with subtle humor and unexpected hope. I’ve always been drawn to narratives that balance chaos with quiet resilience. That blend of dark humor and lightness resonates with me and often finds its way into my work.

Artist Gaylord Chan / Image Source: The Art Newspaper

Which artists have influenced you?

Gaylord Chan, a Hong Kong artist I met when I was just three years old. His work is fun, experimental, and full of life. He and his wife, who was also an artist, taught many children, including me. What I took most from him was his attitude—he followed his heart, and that spirit has encouraged me to pursue art the same.

You mentioned you often go to artist residencies in Jingdezhen. What draws you there, and how does it compare to your work in Hong Kong?

Yes, I sometimes go to Jingdezhen, which is famous for ceramics. Spending a month each year there gives me space to experiment and slow down. It is a different rhythm from Hong Kong, and the community is diverse and inspiring. I’ve explored decorative ceramics there, which adds another layer to my practice. Still, Hong Kong is home—it’s where my roots and energy live.

Have you exhibited your ceramic works? Would you consider doing so in the future?

I actually have made a lot of ceramic pieces in the past. About seven years ago, I created a series of ceramics, including many flamingos, which I still find cute and special. Ceramics is a challenging medium, especially when it comes to achieving certain colors—it takes a lot more time than painting. I’d love to have an exhibition of these works someday.

Your ceramic flamingos have a unique, almost mocking expression. What’s the story or meaning behind them?

Yes, the faces I use are quite cute, but there’s a cynical aspect to them. Before I began sculpting the flamingos, I was wondering why these birds—capable of flying long distances—are so often seen simply standing in gardens. I realized it’s because they’re content as long as they have what they want—like shrimp to eat. It made me reflect on the difference between humans and animals: humans always strive for freedom, but flamingos just want their shrimp. So it is a gentle reflection on human expectations and the simplicity of being.

If you could create an immersive exhibition anywhere in the world, where would it be and what would it look like?

I always imagine a show where the entire space is transformed—all the walls painted, maybe even the ceiling, to create an environment that surrounds the viewer. It would be a dream to create that kind of immersive experience.

Ep3. Hilarie Hon

Ep4. Cyril Lancelin

EP2. PEEP