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Temporality And Harmony: With Henry Hu
by Maryam Arshad
An interview with Maryam Arshad for FAYD, January 2022
MA: Can you tell us a bit about yourself, as an artist?
HH: I was born and raised in Hong Kong. At fourteen, I started attending a boarding school in Queensland, Australia. Following that, I went to university in Sydney—civil engineering with architecture. Up till then, I had no definite passion, no defined career path. I was never any good at school. But then shortly thereafter, few months into the degree. An intuitive calling of sorts struck. An impulse. A necessity to pursue arts and film. I was committed. There was an urgency to it, an obligation even. And, ever since, I have been continuing, expanding my, well, creative practice.
MA: There is a beautifully minimal and cinematic feel to both series (shading port, BEAMS and passing parade). How did you find yourself at this intersection - visuals, notions, art, life, colour?
HH: Although I started out with visual arts—I had intended, in the first place, I had the self-understanding that films would be the main outlet. With that, the last years I have been working on film scripts. Reading, writing, revising. As it went on, I was sort of seeing it, picturing it all in my mind. The frames, the shots, the angles. And so to take it further I wanted more visual references, visual notes for myself. I then spent the hours going through a history of paintings. In particular works by Danish painters of the late 19th Century—Vilhelm Hammershøi, Peter Ilsted, mostly domestic interior scenes. There was an instant connection. I identified with the muted tones. I do so like the melancholy, the desolation of it all. It was immersive. The pieces are very hushed, very composed, very poised, sort of mystical, almost. And, I suppose, these paintings, while static, or perhaps because static, are somewhat, transparent—distills time gracefully—a distinct period of the past, a different sort of tempo, a different kind of era. It all just fascinated me deeply, ingrained in me, I guess, an imprint of certain imageries, certain perceptions of existing really.
And these two series came in the midst of all that research and learning, discovering. At which I suppose, these photographs were in a way—a surface level of practice, for me to put out something visual without the limits of a structured narrative.
MA: Has your practice evolved and changed over time, has it changed since these series?
HH: Digital art was my first medium. It was easily accessible, a single laptop was all there is. And I was just very eager to get started, to start making little things really. The digital tools were an immediate resource. It was practical, there were no initial costs, it made sense. Then, photography came into play. It seemed the natural next step. Along with writing, modern technology has made it all very feasible.
Since then, I shifted in a slightly opposite direction—to develop works that are more concrete, in a more physical manner, so to speak. The earliest thoughts were the wish to incorporate digital works into physical pieces. A kind of mixed-media. By testing out digital prints on various fabrics, together with paints, threads, canvases, plastics, modelling doughs. Sets of new works objectified themselves. It felt very natural. It felt right. Trials and errors. Odd mixtures of materials, tiny experiments. It was good. And is most definitely a direction I fancy myself further exploring.
It is a nice balance, doing little visual projects here and there. One series at a time scattered over a period of months. Small scaled personal projects, be it photographs or motion works or graphic designs. I do get a fair amount of thrill out of it, the process of crafting something new, so that’s always positive.
MA: The two series complement each other visually and yet possess the ability to portray two opposing moments - one of the present and one of the future. Which do you connect to more (or are both equally captivating)?
HH: Rather equally I would say. A way of looking at it, with my writings—I am in the present. I am working on scripts that hopefully, I get to make in the future. I am planning ahead for future events. But while I write, I turn to books, journals from past poets. I look at aged films. I very much treasure the ancients. They were at the root of things. They built the ground, where everything grew out of. I just found it sensible, to make myself relevant, to the ancients. To revisit and muse over what they were really doing, from their side. What they have achieved. What they have accomplished. There is a very chasmic energy that’s retained in their work. And, given that, I suppose, the present, future, past all just sort of merged, mingled, melded together into one.
MA: What do you see in the future - and in life - as it changes rapidly? Are there any places you resonate with the most, any you are most inspired by, any you feel connected/disconnected to?
HH: I had always a peculiar association, a close attachment to England. Europe in general, especially the Nordic countries. I am at ease with the grey, the rain. I idolize the architecture, very much excited by the historic sense of it all. Simple things and quite obvious things. Also with the films I have envisioned, from the very beginning, I had Europe and Asia in mind. So yes, down the line, it would be ideal splitting the time between the two continents.
MA: How are the following elements explored within this series?
FUTURE, PLACE, QUIET, CALM, LIGHT, SKY, BELIEF, REFLECTION
HH: Much of this series is a meditation on the feeling of shared comfort. For instance, say, we visit a foreign country. We take a tour of—a church, a temple, a shrine, a chapel, a sanctuary, a cathedral, a monastery—whatever places of worship. We walk around, look about, and, slowly, by degrees … this faint flare of calm, of relief. To be in the presence of the locals, their reverence, their belief. A tender regard of faith. Sometimes that’s enough, to share the comfort, share the actions. It should not matter very much what culture or religious background we have. It is truly a human thing. A companionship. A resonance. You feel expectant, warmth. A mutual understanding. A genuine sense of reassurance, contentment—among the believers.
Similarly, the sky. Our ancestors looked upon the sky for comfort, for answers. Afar and beyond. We still do. A tendency to gaze up high. We stare at the night sky. The stars. The moon. We are literally seeing the past. We see the sky not as it is tonight, but as it would have looked years ago, from a few to a million. In our wakeful hours. Under the light, under the sky. There is always a blessing. A mental fulfilment. In accordance with nature.
These photographs are also a nod to the universal notion—as a child, if we were to wish for something. Wishing for gifts, fortune, the future. We were taught to an extent, be still, be quiet—in the form of a prayer. An Inner voice. It is a spiritual projection of sorts. This act of belief, I think, has quite the consoling effect on a child. A primitive expression of caring. Self care. The care of others. A goodwill gesture.
I am very much drawn to the divine, the sacred, the ethereal. It is an agreed upon sentiment, I suppose, that a life is richer with some sort of spiritual existence. In one form or another. It is an essential front of our being. But ultimately, it is the pursuit of it that has meaning. Any belief we choose to accept, we choose to acknowledge. Will have an impact upon the life that we live, the life that we decide to live or struggle to live. Constitute our whole psychology, the mechanisms that regulate our lives. I just find nothing is more interesting. The course of life. Death. Grief. Senility. The inevitables. So I cling to it. They are a predominant, recurring theme in the works I do. Books I love. Films I adore. Music I enjoy.
WHERE, WHY
MA: What place/s was this series captured in? Why was this place chosen, and was the focus decided on before or after?
HH: This whole series was shot in Mount Wutai, Shanxi Province, China. I was with my family on a group tour in China. We were visiting selected Buddhist sites, the sacred mountains. Mount Wutai was one of our destinations. But yet, in truth, I brought a camera and had wanted to simply document the journey. I didn’t much like having to prepare. I did no research. I wasn’t sure what the places would be. I had no idea what images I was going to get, or the ‘subtext’ they could have, if any. Even while we were there. I did not consciously think about it at all. It was only afterwards, finally, seeing the photographs altogether. I had a very clear fix on the sequencing, for it all to be fully realized as a set of visuals.
On top of it, I think, the fact that these photographs were all taken in the span of a day. Made it more logical to present them as a whole. Instead of strings of related pictures. We were in this van travelling from one ridge to another in such haste. We were very much pressed for time, rushing to make all the stops within daylight. It was a grand day, exhausting, really rather hectic. And, I guess, there was also a certain interval of anguish about this location I thought I would never see again. It was a unique occasion, a precious chance to capture these scenes. I wasn’t anxious, didn’t want to be anxious. But there were still these slight intimations that I hadn’t been sufficient. That I couldn’t sustain it. So it was satisfying to see the end results.
LIGHT
MA: What meaning does “light” have - in relation to these photographs as a whole? How does something intangible like “light” become visualised? Is the process intensive, easy, long?
HH: Light in colour. In tone. Light-filled. An air of lightness. Brisk. Bright. Easy on the eyes, ‘pretty’ in a sense, aesthetically pleasing. Or appears to do so. I don’t know really. I suppose what I was after—something good-natured, plain, pure, without the intrusion of a destructive voice. It is an abstract form of resolution, I feel, an attempt at clarity.
RECURRING ELEMENTS, TREES, HILLS, WORKERS
MA: We notice recurring elements within the photographs include things like trees, hills, construction workers, animals. Was this intentional, do they have a collective meaning?
HH: I can’t say it was completely intentional, partly because, well, that was all there is. But it did dawn on me very quickly—this value of contrast. The dramatic shift in the weather, in the environment. We were high up on these convoluted mountain roads. Nature and earth in all their glory. Hills and rocks. Animals. Wildlife. Then we have all these man made structures which were all beautifully sculpted. Exquisitely carved. Really quite remarkable. I have always been very fond of construction sites. The actual building process. The assembly of a structure. The workers—active, engaged. We are building things for the time to come. There is a subtle splendor in anticipation. Something freeing about it. And I wanted to show the wonder in all that.
Now, in retrospect, taking stock of it all—it was a very stimulating, very sensory experience. We would go from the sweep of fresh winds. Smell of meadows. Incense. To dust. Smokes. Drills and bangs. Swirling engines. Buzzing machines. Then back to the murmurs of birds. Humming breezes. Landscapes. We were flooded with sensations, sights, smells. And really, there was such a delightful charm in all that co-existing. It was a profound journey. I am glad to have these pictures to keep. Photographs are enthralling that way. A safeguard of memories and feelings that we can’t really paraphrase. And they last ... at least, a good bit after it all went down.
MA: How are the following elements explored within this series?
LIFE, TEMPORALITY, SPACE, MOVEMENT, MOMENTS, IN-BETWEEN, NOSTALGIA
HH: It is no mystery that our consciousness grows, matures, evolves. The poignancy of time passing is often felt by us in life. Passions. Goals. Dreams. Relationships. They fade. They sink. They adjust in new realities. Eventually, in years, decades later. This past we own. Encounters, recognitions. All that history. Our fragile existence. They become invalid, incomplete if not fabricated. Only a few traces of it all even survive. Much of what we remember is probably not so true anymore, yet we stick to it, we insist. To keep our bearings. This sense of belonging. As if our very identities are tied up with it.
But still, every once in a while, a memory hits—here a train ride, there a conversation, there the old apartment. The old bedroom. The old kitchen, and so forth. Forgotten spaces. There are no memories without a place. We are always situated somewhere. The movements of things stay. We change houses. We settle in different countries. These big, overwhelming choices in life. But we remember the floorboards. The sofa. The wallpapers. The driveway. The returning car ride. Small bits here and there. They remain. And truthfully, these recollections might not be accurate. Who knows? Who cares? And that’s all right. As long as they still bring us joy. It’s not so bad, there’s no harm. After all, in time, at last, it is these little moments that make it all worthwhile. They are the little reminders that, hey, it is going to be just fine.
That’s what these photographs are really—taking a step back, just to appreciate it all, what we have, what we had. A little nostalgia isn’t so awful.
WHERE, WHY
MA: What place/s was this series captured in? Why was this place chosen, and was the focus decided on before or after?
HH: These pictures were shot all over China. I don’t recall very well the exact locations. But I suppose, with this series, it could have taken place anywhere in the world. The actual setting had no significance. Again, the feelings are collective, the emotions that connect humanity. Perhaps not in the particular, but at least in the universal. It is the raw human experience, the familiarity—not bound by any culture, not specific to any single race. There are no social or political commitments. It might not be an exact rendering of reality. Naturally living in a certain civilized society, we are influenced by the daily occurrences. The qualities of people. Appearances. Their clothing. Their means and manner. Considering that, I do try to avoid being conditioned by it all.
There are more to this series. There are more photographs from both series actually. My original idea was to release a smaller, more concise version of both digitally. Which very much stand on their own. Their own complete body of work. It’s just there is more. A wider outlook. A broader perspective. This rhythm of life. Occasionally subdued. Then everything comes blaring down, with no way of comprehending. It is my intention to produce a book featuring the entire extended sets of visuals. In print form.
LIFE
MA: Life is epitomised here. Life in all its simplicity, mundane, passing, fleeting nature. What does this series symbolise for you?
HH: The ‘dead’ moments in life. All those pauses, transitions, silences. Which, I feel, are the most authentic part of us being human. Languishing in the afternoon. A stroll in the park. Resting on a bench. By the river. By the ocean. The endless bus rides. The wait for transports. The plane. The train. At a restaurant, waiting for the meal, for takeaways. Staring into the distance. The mind just sort of slipped away, drifted off. We are greeted with apprehensions. Lingering regrets. We get these brief moments of ruefulness, remoteness. Visions, memories—then we carry on, we go on. The daily routine. The life we lead.
It was my desire to seize this ‘vanishing’ into still images. This blank, hollow void. Seemingly nothing happens. Oblivion. Emptiness. And, well, I do feel it now that some of these photographs are pictures of nothing. Very suggestive pictures of nothing. None of them have any narrative drive. They are just existing. Passive existing.
PEOPLE AND FACES, SIDE-ON, CAUGHT
MA: The works feature people, and faces, but always side on/ from behind/ caught in the edge of the photograph. Was this intentional, or was it just the way it happened and was captured naturally?
HH: A bit of both really. In dreams, we never really grasp the faces clearly. More so just the atmosphere, the scenery and so on. The human presence is mostly in disguise. Shapeless figures, present but unrecognizable. This very feeling of incoherence and vagueness.
In this case, people are not the center of attention. Merely an element. I do have great sympathy for objects and buildings. Their relation to a person, a surrounding. So it was very much organic. I made no deliberate effort to frame things in a specific way. And, at times, the community, an individual, they just don't appeal to me. It gets tiring. Same old gestures. Has become a rather aimless thing—a thing of regularity and formality. I haven't much sense of, or interest in portraits. I mean they do intrigue me vastly, the study of faces, and such. I will get around to it someday, I guess.
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Artist Spotlight
by Malaika Astorga
An interview with Malaika Astorga for Also Cool, September 2021
How do you decide to go from civil engineering to making a career for yourself as a visual artist? How do you know when it’s the right time to trust your intuition, and make that major life change that you need? For Henry Hu, these kinds of decisions have shaped his journey to becoming a full-time visual artist.
Exercising through various mediums, Henry Hu's (born 1995 Hong Kong) emerging practice commits to an infusion. An exchange. An immediacy. A link between the interior and the exterior—of a self, a being, an identity, a consciousness.
Each individual series offers an overarching narrative, steps away from the present for a spell: tasked with casting new perspectives, fresh air to breathe, a spiritual relief. Often juxtaposing the past with the future, differing forms of surrealistic fantasies unfold across his works; along with a recurring structure, the heart of all series rests in harmony.
To be presented in dialogue with one another, all proposing works speak to the different natures of human existence, the quiet, the chaotic, those hushed periods, and at times the buzzing bangs.
Earlier this summer, we spoke to Henry about his work, travels, and how he decided to switch from civil engineering to visual art.
AC: Let’s start at the beginning. Has your creative practice always been a part of your life? How has it changed over time?
HH: No, not at all—growing up, on no occasion was I engaged in anything creative, I suppose I just didn’t particularly care for it. Looking back, I was nonchalant, my younger self, rather indifferent, nothing at school piqued my interest, never really paid much attention or even the ambition to achieve. Quite honestly, I was just sort of present, unoccupied, existing really, that’s all. Not once did it cross my mind, the desire to devote myself—any old creative professions. But I did enjoy movies, the one childhood obsession that persisted over the years.
It wasn’t until at university, shortly after I started a degree in civil engineering—didn’t seem worthwhile, didn’t dare to picture a future in that line of work. Then, it all came about ... a realization, I was assertive, acted on an impulse, from there on my inclination to pursue arts and film very quickly hardened into determination.
I began doing small series of digital arts, both static and motion works. It made sense for me spatially, didn’t cost a lot, only a computer was needed. Meanwhile, I buried myself in films, day in, day out, revisiting different eras of past cinema. Eventually the works from directors like Antonioni, Éric Rohmer, Víctor Erice, Edward Yang, Kieślowski, Woody Allen, they stood out—entirely broadened, reshaped my perception of films. It was then I started to write. Straightway I recognized the familiarity, it was comfortable. I was at ease, and was certain that films would be my primary outlet. I also registered the fact, it is a long road ahead before I could actualize my screenplays.
Anyhow, I kept on with the visual works, trying out various mediums in graphics, artbooks, photographs, and a little later, mixed media—initiated from the urge to coexist physical and digital arts. I had been utilizing solely digital tools up till then, so it was essentially the wish to do something concrete, dynamic, perhaps on a larger scale. With that in mind, I made new sets of digital artworks, specifically for print, onto numerous fabrics, surfaces — eager to see how they would interact with raw materials: acrylics, spray paints, threads, modeling doughs. Trials and errors charted the progress, noting the little details, alert to the little changes, without being forceful. The end result, a plunge into maximalism, a playful flux of colour. But still, traces of everything pre-existed.
AC: You’ve lived in so many incredible cultural hubs. Can you tell us a bit about each one, and what your experience was like there?
HH: I was raised in Hong Kong, up north. A pleasant childhood, I must say, uneventful years of growth. Wouldn’t have appreciated it then, it is a time now I feel very fond of, will always carry a sort of tenderness for those memories. My parents took us hiking quite often, surprisingly for such a small city, Hong Kong has a wide-ranging of walking trails and mountains. Nature, I think, the fields, the woods, spring, winter, the clouds overhead, the streams beneath, they are gifts for a child.
At fourteen, I started attending a boarding school in Queensland, Australia. A drastic shift in environment to say the least, but frankly there wasn’t much to take away, they were good years. And the changes, they were all surface level, however significant they might appear at first. It's still purely human reality. The essence remains.
Following high school, I moved to Sydney for university, and, well, that’s that. To be fair, I never did feel deeply rooted to any certain place, culture—but I am awfully glad for the experiences. It is what it is.
AC: You switched out of a degree in civil engineering, and instead developed your passion for art and film. What was that process like? How did you learn to trust your intuition in that way?
HH: It was months of dissonance and dread. A turbulent time for me, so to speak. The loss of a dear friend. Riddled with unrest, unsettled. I turned inward. It wasn’t very dramatic, and it didn't happen overnight. But once I went forward with the visual works, the writings, I just had the notion that I belonged. That was it.
Strangely enough, it was then that I saw myself coming into being, for the first time. I suppose you have to narrow yourself to a point, for better or worse. Staying truthful, being mindful, what to do, what not to do, within reason. The ring of authenticity. It is difficult to hold the line and it is difficult to stay true, but when you do, it is very fulfilling to the spirit. Having reached an understanding, of sorts, to yourself.
Now I tend to believe there wasn’t actually any underlying cause—obviously the events that occurred factored in. Everything factored in. And yet, sometimes, it’s just meant to be. When I discontinued the degree, it was liberating. I never gave it a thought other than to be sort of pleased. I wasn’t at all seeking validations, or whatnot. I just got on with it. So it was, more or less, the willingness to accept, to really heed your own thoughts and feelings. They can be very telling. All things considered, I am grateful, at that very moment the external circumstances, allowed me to proceed, to an extent. I was granted the privilege to move forward, so it was fortunate for me, I guess.
In the end, it also just boils down, instead of letting the decisions be governed by fear—simply, a leap of faith. Not necessarily any grand expectations. More so, a belief, the self-assurance that it was the right path—I, myself made the conscious decision to commit, with that, whatever happens, happens … and, that’s okay.
AC: What’s the creative scene like where you are right now? What do you like about it, and what do you wish there was more of?
HH: Earlier in the year, I had the opportunities to assist with indie films around Sydney. It was educative, to spend the time on set, to be observant. All around it was delightful. As far as visual arts, well, in truth, I don’t really know … Everybody does it differently. There are no rules. I had always intended to make some things on my own before branching out, to connect, to share. And so I did, I stayed underground, gave myself the time and space to work. But I am sure it’s a very interesting scene out there, and now I look forward to getting more involved.
AC: I’m interested in how you incorporate sequencing into your work. Can you expand on this?
HH: Right from the beginning, my approach was to develop full bodies of work, no matter the medium. For the most part, especially with the photographs and digital stuff, once I feel I have enough materials. I take a few days, occasionally a few weeks off, a clearing. Afterwards I come back, work on the sequencing, and finish off. This was a process that emerged incidentally. Now I do it on purpose.
With the mixed media works, it was somewhat different. I had all the pieces visualized, sketched out before getting hands on with the paints. I was attentive, a bit more meticulous, I was very much deliberate with the materials and structures—how this particular piece should close out the series, or how this colour won’t work unless it is applied to that specific texture. I did put in extra precision and clarity—constructing, rearranging, bits here, pieces there. It was a new thing for me, I had no prior knowledge in paints. I thought if I were to do this, might as well do it the way that felt most organic. I listen to music when I work. My mind would have been filled with second hand rhythms and tempos, ingrained with a given flow, pacing of things. After all, it is instinctive. Now and then things naturally align. They seem genuine and sincere. I will just leave it at that. It would be very unwise to fight against it.
AC: Who are some artists / creatives that are really inspiring you right now?
HH: I have been reading, re-reading a bunch lately. Sylvia Plath, her journals are something I return to regularly. Anne Truitt, who was known for her sculptures but her writings are very stimulating to me. They are well worth the read.
With films, this young Chinese writer-director Bi Gan, his works are precious, I highly await whatever he does next.
Current music excites me a great deal. Mount Eerie, Julia Holter, Beach House, Weyes Blood, Florist, Perfume Genius, Car Seat Headrest, Let’s Eat Grandma, James Blake, Tomberlin, Jockstrap, Laura Marling, Snail Mail. This year only, new records from Dry Cleaning, Vince Staples, Wolf Alice, Black Country New Road, Julien Baker. It’s just joyful to have so much I could anticipate all the time. It’s a good feeling. And also Helena Deland, I came across her debut last year, been playing it ever since.
AC: What are you hoping to do more of in 2021 both creatively and career-wise?
HH: Sydney is in lockdown at the moment. A chance to entertain new ideas. It’s been productive. Did some digital arts stuff. Continuing with the screenplays, visual references and research, all that. Just getting on really—I don’t know how it’s all going to pan out, but I am satisfied, the journey so far, guess we will see.
Interview
An interview with CreativPaper Issue No. 008 Vol 2, March 2018
CP: Your creations often consist of multiple pieces working in unison, how do you make sure the story you are trying to tell stays consistent through them?
HH: For me the order of the pieces within a series is rather crucial, thoughts are put into sequencing, picking the right piece as the first one or how a series should end, etc. But yet I never particularly pressure myself into, I suppose, making sure all the pieces fit perfectly, consistently, in a sense. The whole process has always been very much intuitive, organic. I allow myself the freedom to explore, to just be natural—whatever that is clicking at the time—all the ideas, then, sort of evolve mentally.
That being said, I do have a clear vision when approaching a brand new series as to what I am after visually, thematically. And I very much do try and ensure each series to be a cohesive, fluid body of work instead of strings of related visuals.
CP: We believe you were born in Hong Kong, could you tell us a bit about the time you spent there?
HH: I was born and raised in Hong Kong—although my family did spend a few years in Australia when I was little.
CP: How did that influence you artistically?
HH: In a way it didn’t—I left Hong Kong at age 14 to attend a boarding school in Australia, with that I can’t necessarily say growing up there had any real direct impact on the works I have done so far. But I do draw on my own memories a lot, and sometimes these little thoughts are the bases for new series and I just kind of built on them, built off them. I do have very fond, soothing memories of my childhood there, so they have been a joy for me to play with, to look back on—which I would say can be factored in as influences.
Also, now I suppose, the thing I realise about memories is, once in a while, we don’t exactly recall what went down in the past, and when we do romanticise about these memories, they just sort of fade swiftly into fantasies. I accept that there is only a thin line between fantasies and memories, but still I am torn with the idea that how we remember the past isn’t the point, we can willingly choose to acknowledge all the positives and isolate everything else. And, to be honest, that isn’t so bad, there is no harm.
CP: Do you think more artists should incorporate digital tools into their work like yourself?
HH: No, I don’t. I believe all creatives deserve to choose their own platforms, tools and so forth. There is no correlation at all between using a certain tool and achieving something greater, or more superior. So for me the resources are available, they are for everyone, it really is up to each individual to decide what sort of work they want to produce, and what is the most practical, most sensible medium for them to actualize the ideas.
CP: Could you tell us a bit more about your body of work titled “base(s)(d)”?
HH: This new series is a gleaming dive into maximalism. As of now, with the pieces I have, they kind of glimpse into the fragility of one’s memory, and the feeling that certain future events are somewhat predictable. It’s all quite a natural progression and extension from my previous works.
Interview
An interview with The Journal Issue 43.1 Summer, August 2017
TJ: This set of images is so visually dynamic and diverse. Can you talk a bit about your influences, and the tension between different types of imagery or influence in your work?
HH: I don’t particularly look at any visual arts for reference, inspiration, or so on. A lot of the time I simply grant myself the privilege to fully explore, to experiment, and just to search and discover whatever that feels right for me at the time. I always knew I wanted to produce artworks as individual series, presenting them as a full body of work in a specific order. It is similar to how musicians put together an album—each track interconnects, flows to another. I do listen a great deal of music records from front to back when I am working, sometimes they do give me certain rhythms as to how I should sequence the pieces. Albums from James Blake, Julie Byrne, Kendrick Lamar, Frank Ocean, Vince Staples, they have influenced my works. It is difficult to actually pinpoint how exactly the music help shaped the artworks I am doing visually, but I suppose there is just a sense of subtlety in the music that resonates with me. Everything feels organic from the get-go.
TJ: Two of the landscapes seem to be from your series ‘walks of life,’ and are titled ‘guilt’ and ‘accept.’ Could you talk more about this series?
HH: Being one of the earlier series I worked on, ‘walks of life’ is all about opening up and self reflections. The series documents the memories of childhood, of growth, and just living life in general really. They are not necessarily my own personal stories, but as I got older, I just feel I can identify the actual experience of human existence and relationships with more empathy—and so I had the urge to make something a bit more perceptive, grounded.
TJ: We noticed on your website that you also do computer animation. Does the work you submitted have any relation to you work in animation? If so, could you explain the relationship of particular images to your animated works?
HH: Yes. I did this little short story motion visual ‘should’ve never’ a while back. It is sort of a spin off from the ‘walks of life’ art series. The animation covers a specific span of the narrative and the art series carries out the rest, connecting the bigger picture.
TJ: You’ve said that your art has “a focus on storytelling,” which we love. What was the process of crafting the story told by this set of images?
HH: ‘Where The Rainbow Ends’ was my first art series. It largely built off the ‘rainbow’ hidden theme in Stanley Kubrick’s Eyes Wide Shut. It plays around with subjects like elite occults, mind controlled slaveries, illusions, dreams. I was very much fascinated about it all at the time—read articles, researched theories. Eventually I just got really inspired and started doing some art on it.
TJ: We also saw that you’ve published zines! Could you talk to us a bit about those, and how your zines are related to or differ from your other work?
HH: I came out with ‘titles 01’ at the very beginning of the year. The book features a majority of the artworks and graphics I did prior to 2017. There are also a good chunk of unreleased, ‘b-sides’ materials in it. A lot of those pieces didn’t make the final cut into a series—art is all subjective, so I thought it would be nice to put some of the works out because, well, somebody else might enjoy them.
TJ: Related to that, as an artist who’s been published in a ton of literary magazines, do you have any thoughts on the ever-evolving world of literary publishing? What roles do you see literary magazines and zines playing in this landscape?
HH: I suppose the most important thing literary magazines provide is the platform for writers and artists to share, to connect. Any kind of attention is temporary, so it does make a huge difference when the audience actually cares about the works being shown, doesn’t matter if it’s print or online.
Interview
An interview with FORTH Magazine, August 2016
FM: What are you most trying to communicate with your art?
HH: Probably just scattered, stray memories of life. For me, art had always been about creating materials to reflect and to produce a collective consciousness that last. No matter the medium—music or films, visual arts or poetries. By personally translating the intimate moments, artists create a pathway to share themselves. These raw, vulnerable feelings connect and react differently with people. They flood memories, they act as a healing device, they allow people to romanticise the past which is also fantasies, because, well, that is usually not how things went down, because no one owns a memory.
FM: What’s the most important wisdom you’ve gained from art?
There is so much. I do have a sort of pessimistic view on things, that’s probably the reason Woody Allen’s works resonate heavily with me. I mean you can pretty much learn two lifetimes worth of philosophy off the guy. Films from Terrence Malick also bring something unique to me personally, his latest project ‘Knight of Cups’ was really rather intriguing.
At the end of the day, I do very much appreciate the value of arts. It preserves and pushes a culture forward and ultimately it is an endless cycle. For generations we learnt about the past through paintings, books, films, architecture, and nothing is changed. It has always been the responsibility of the artists to reflect, identify, interpret the hard truth of their belonging society. Recognizing the darkness, the despair, the grimness. Saturate the colors.
FM: How is your personality reflected in your work?
HH: Not too sure really, never thought about it. Since day one, my works have been intentional, personal. I always knew what I wanted to do and I just sort of let them be. I wouldn’t stress about how people perceive them or question the fact that each of us should stand as individuals. Just the way it is, I guess.
FM: How exactly do you translate certain concepts through your art?
HH: Most of the time, I begin with waves of vague, broken visuals, or just forgotten scenes circling in the back of my mind. And by slowly molding these fragments of memories, a specific order of events start to take shape. It is a thrilling process, at times, it does get confusing, but you get used to it after a while.
FM: How has your work developed and changed over the years?
HH: There aren’t too many significant changes thus far, I only really started my practice little bit under two years. But I would say my recent projects or just the stuff I am currently working on are definitely larger in scope, and are byproducts of the changes in life and growing up in general. Perhaps the tone of my newer works is getting more grounded in a sense, with my cynical perception on things, the view of things.
Currently I have the opportunity to do something I really care for and I wouldn’t take it for granted. Time passes, people come and go, dreams adjust in realities. I feel now … as if I owe to myself that I have a lot more to offer … just getting started.
FM: Are there any particular artists that have influenced you?
HH: Currently, Frank Ocean’s new record sounds like a moment in time and have been playing it ever since the release. I love watching classic films, noirs, character studies, it’s just the atmosphere, setting, the character interactions that fascinates me every time. That being said, I do enjoy modern films and am patiently waiting for Paul Thomas Anderson to start production on his new project.