To me, being an artist means I have survived.
Long before I knew how to draw well, art had already claimed its place in my life—through music, film, movement, and the quiet act of observing the world when no one else was paying attention. Art became the force that kept me present.
I have lived in very different environments, and each one taught me to question everything—myself, others, the structure of life itself. Through all of it, being an artist was never loud or demanding. It was simply there, steady and patient, grounding me when nothing else felt certain. That is passion to me: a force strong enough to keep you growing even when you doubt everything.
I have always known that no one will ever fully understand me, and I’ve learned to cherish that truth. Instead of translating my experiences and emotions directly, I let my art reflect the way I move through life: different mediums, different aesthetics, different emotional climates. My work doesn’t confess; it evolves. Anyone who sees it may not know my story, but they can feel its range, its ambition, its humanity.
Being an artist means carrying compassion that has nowhere else to go. I feel deeply for others, and art is how I live for them—how I give shape to care, curiosity, and awareness without asking for anything in return.
We live briefly. Art does not. To be an artist is to understand that tension—and to choose, every day, to live fully enough to leave something behind that keeps breathing after you are gone.
My own art book, designed by me at 13.
Awards (2022-2025):
My work (left) on the Chinese Language Festival website since 2020
Driven by passion
My work is shaped by movement—between cultures, cities, and ways of seeing the world. Having lived in Hong Kong, mainland China, Boston, and California, my sense of identity was never singular, and neither is my art. I move freely between Western and Eastern influences, realism and imagination, stillness and intensity. The diversity of my work is not experimentation for its own sake; it is the natural result of a life lived across contrasts.
Because my experiences are layered, my art is as well. I am drawn to different mediums, aesthetics, and subjects because no single visual language can contain how I see the world. I often create work that surprises people who expect consistency in style, but consistency has never interested me. What matters to me is honesty—responding fully to each idea, place, or emotion as it exists in that moment.
I care deeply about detail. About color choices, textures, and the quiet relationships between forms. I care about life itself, which is why I question its purpose so often. In a world that has grown desensitized, my work asks viewers to slow down and notice—to recognize the beauty of difference, complexity, and care.
If my art does anything, I hope it inspires and reminds people to feel again.
I have always struggled to understand why I was given so much stability and opportunity, while too many children around the world and me are denied even the right to live freely. That awareness became the reason I created a series of children’s digital paintings, hosted my own exhibitions, designed an art book, and donated all proceeds to charitable organizations like UNICEF. But this is only the beginning.
Looking forward, I want to create work that directly reaches and protects the vulnerable, that reminds them life is worth living, that makes them feel seen in a world that ignores them—whether through socially driven design, interactive platforms, or long-term humanitarian projects. One day, I hope to build a charity of my own. Until then, I will work relentlessly to make art that carries compassion loudly enough to be impossible to ignore. I don’t yet know exactly how I will achieve everything I want—but I know I will find a way. Because fulfillment, to me, has always meant helping others survive, dream, and live.
My work Freedom displayed in Paris, France in 2024