‘彼觸 collecting cipher’, Part Time Book Club, and ‘| | on paper’
By Ian Tee

A&M's Fresh Faces is where we profile an emerging artist from the region every month and speak to them about how they kick-started their career, how they continue to sustain their practice and what drives them as artists. Read our profile on Hong Shu-ying here.

You graduated with a Bachelors in Media Art (Photography) from Nanyang Technological University’s School of Art, Design, and Media (NTU ADM) in 2021. How would you describe your experience/education?

I have a tortured relationship with school, or any large system, for that matter. I studied photography in school but rarely use a camera for art now. After some twists and turns, I ended up in NTU ADM as it was the most affordable way to a fine arts education for me. It was an odd experience because I was in school at a time when there was only a small team of tutors, and we were impacted by the COVID-19 pandemic.

All that said, school gave me access to a darkroom and connected me with artists working with or on the peripheries of photography. This also led to friendships with people involved in photobooks and art books in Singapore, most notably Ang Song Nian (Song) and by extension the art book community opened up through THEBOOKSHOW, which he co-founded.

Rather than from classes, I felt I learnt the most from conversations over meals or at the smoking corner in school. These were spaces where I met other tutors and schoolmates from different departments. We would go into what we used to call “informal crits”, where the conversations about the works we were making and referencing could branch into many topics and hours-long chats. Another place where I learnt a lot of technical knowledge was the photo store in school. We had the sweetest store manager, Azhaki. Being in the store allowed us to test out and learn about different cameras, printers and darkroom techniques. The range of equipment we had access to was truly a luxury.

In my last year of school, I worked for the Singapore International Festival to produce their exhibitions and open calls. I was caught off guard by the stark shift from studying artists' works to reviewing over 500 entries from an open call. There were so many brilliant and interesting photos but few opportunities for showing them. This made me question why I was still taking more photos using a camera. I began to work more with found images and analogue experimental techniques for my graduation work. This change continues to inform my visual language and art-making today.

Photo of printing facility at NTU ADM. Image courtesy of the artist.

Behind the scenes look at Robert Zhao’s ‘The Forest Institute’ (2021) at Gillman Barracks, Singapore.

Who has been a mentor or an important artistic influence? And why?

Ning Chong, Ang Song Nian, Robert Zhao, and John Tung are friends and mentors I deeply respect. Their hard work and generosity are incredibly humbling.

Ning has been a great friend, always looking out for me in the arts. We met when I was a gallery intern, where I was naive and single-minded about being an “artist” in a storybook sense. Ning taught me about how the art market and its different players work. This mindset shift has been invaluable. Through her, I also discovered private museums and contemporary practices beyond what we learned in school, broadening my perspective.

Song has been an essential friend and mentor, supporting me through difficult periods and introducing me to the book form and its community. He is a role model for generosity and connecting people. As someone shy and inclined to work alone, I have learned from Song the joy and value of collaboration and mutual support.

I have worked with John and Robert in various capacities, and they consistently hold me accountable to my practice and craft. They often give feedback on how I present myself and my work, helping me improve my articulation and be more professional. With John, our discussions about what makes a good show or practice have deepened over the years, thanks to his patience and willingness to share. I have also learned from him about the importance of care and protecting the artists and people we work with. This commitment reflects the trust they place in us and the responsibility we share.

Robert has taught me that an artist must not compromise on the quality and value of our work. It feels hard and demanding to do so sometimes so it helps to have friends look out for me like this. He once emphasised the need to keep an artist’s heart pure—a concept I did not fully grasp at first. With time, I start to appreciate a certain quietness. This quietness is very precious and allows me to hear myself without distractions, and it is something that one needs to protect and fight for.

“I have also learned from him (John Tung) about the importance of care and protecting the artists and people we work with. This commitment reflects the trust they place in us and the responsibility we share.”

What was one important piece of advice you were given?

For the longest time, I kept in mind this line from a folk verse from the Han Dynasty, 《长歌行》(The Long Ballad) “少壮不努力,老大徒伤悲”. It translates loosely to mean that if we do not work hard when we are young, any regret is in vain when we are aged and old. I think this piece of advice was something imprinted onto me by various teachers and older relatives. It has spurred me to work hard and remain resilient. However, it has also led to an unhealthy relationship with work and time. I have been working to reframe this advice: to show up for all opportunities and challenges in the present and not live with regrets.

Specific to art, my GCE ‘A’ Level art teachers shared that a good piece of art changes anyone who encounters them a little on the inside. This sounds simple but is so difficult to realise. I wish to create works that are earnest and hold myself to that standard throughout my entire career.

Hong Shu-ying’s artist book ‘笔迹 script/notes’ (2021-22), designed by Mingli Seet and published by THEBOOKSHOW. Photo by Marvin Tang.

Do you make a living completely off being an artist? If not, could you share what other types of work you take on to supplement your income?

Haha, unfortunately, I do not make a living completely off being an artist. I also genuinely believe that it is something that would be quite out of reach while based in Singapore, especially without familial or spousal support. Instead, I have worked as a freelancer in various capacities since I was in school. Today, I manage print and production projects, do translation work, and teach the erhu, an instrument I have been playing for the last two decades.

How do these activities also inform or affect your practice?

Producing has been a great way to meet different people in the arts. It is a free front-row seat to observe how different artists work, opening my eyes to various ways of sustaining practices. These opportunities give me great insight, but there are moments when I struggle with imposter syndrome because I see so much of what other artists do. These days I want to be more discerning about the projects I take on, and engage more in projects with stronger synergy with my own practice.

Meanwhile, translation is something I enjoy and it also helps me to keep in touch with the Chinese language. I love the exercise of flipping an idea back and forth through translation, to hold a thought between languages and speculate how it would sound from a different language. In my practice, I often engage with the nuanced differences between the English and Chinese languages to examine ideas and definitions. Most of my works also have Chinese titles, which exist as a way for me to consolidate my ideas for each piece by using the multiple meanings of a single character as well as homophones to layer ideas and contradictions.

I spent nearly two decades of my formative years in Chinese instrumental orchestras and ensembles. This has given me a stream of income as a performer and instructor. While I no longer perform as much, this has been a formative experience.

Hong Shu-ying, ‘彼觸 collecting cipher’, 2024, exhibition view at Yao Alternative Art Space, Taichung. Image courtesy of the artist.

How did the opportunity for your solo show ‘彼觸 collecting cipher’ (2024) at Yao Alternative Art Space in Taichung come about? Could you talk about the body of work presented as well as one challenge you faced preparing for it?

I came to know of Yao from a friend who visited the space and had a very good conversation with one of its founders, Andy Hsieh. Yao was Andy’s childhood home, and many interesting nods to its past life as a residential space were kept even after being renovated into an art space. I found the space so charming and its exhibition programme both playful and earnest.

When the annual open call for exhibitions came, I applied and was super fortunate to be granted the chance to show there. I wanted to try sharing my work with a new audience and Taiwan felt like an intuitive starting point given the cultural proximity and language access. I was excited to take a more playful approach in showing ‘笔迹 script/ notes’, two years after its initial presentation in an artbook form in ‘ How We Learn(t)’ (2022), curated by Berny Tan.

The show I presented is titled ‘彼觸 collecting cipher’, the Chinese title means to touch each other, and is a homophone with “笔触” which means one’s handwriting, or literally translates to mean when pen touches the writing surface. There are five works in total and they revolve around the stories in hand-copied 简谱 , jiǎn pǔ, or cipher notation. As a mnemonic device, jianpu is almost like a language system, serving as the scaffolding for communal music-making. These inconspicuous notes are all traces of learning, adaptation, innovation and sharing. Embedded in them is the culture of ensembleship with curious quirks, rooted in a desire to carve out a shared language and identity.

Making this show was fun while being a unique challenge. It was my first exhibition abroad, where I had to bring and install everything by myself, and the space was huge. Yao is about the size of a five-room flat in Singapore or around 1000sqft. I spent many nights walking around my studio's carpark, imagining the space's linear navigation. I planned for many different iterations of the show, and shared various versions of the floorplan and artwork list with the team at Yao. I naively insisted on packing the entire show into my suitcase, which, in hindsight, was quite funny. I even had a heated discussion with Robert about bringing my own screens to Taichung. Eventually we weighed the pros and cons of it and I decided to adapt my work for a single-channel projection using the venue’s equipment. Andy was shocked when I arrived alone with my suitcase filled with prints and books.

Being able to share such a significant part of my formative years in a foreign place was quite an experience. I was so heartened to see the audiences of Yao: a mix of students, artists and even neighbours who habitually check out shows after their weekly grocery runs. It was encouraging to learn that my work is relatable to audiences with different experiences.

Shu-ying with dblspce founders Kimberly Shen and Sabrina Koh.

You completed a month-long residency at dblspce in Singapore in November 2024. Briefly, what did you explore during the residency? And how have you benefited from the programme?

I was looking at 错别字, cuò bié zì, or miswritten characters during the residency, first by taking apart the definition for this phrase. The characters are miswritten in a way that creates an entirely new word. They can also refer to existing words which are used in the wrong contexts. I find both definitions of the phrase quite funny, as such “miswritten” or “misused” words often end up becoming part of the vernacular with time or are understood by smaller in-groups.

It was also an interesting experience for me to be in dblspce. I wanted to take a step away from looking at annotations in jianpu as a way to “freshen” my eyes. During the check-in, dblspce founders Kimberly Shen (Kim) and Sabrina Koh (Sab) were kind to ensure that it was a space and opportunity to do anything. I took Sab’s invitation to reflect on the year and ended up rewriting my artist bio. I gained more clarity on how to align my producing practice to be in tandem with my interests in my art.

Many good conversations came out of the residency and open studio. I appreciate the chance to experiment with different presentation methods. I used post-it notes to annotate the whole open studio, partially to outsource the labour of talking about each work from scratch. It was also to make sure that anyone who did not read Chinese text had another point of entry to understand what I was exploring. I also tried a new way of video editing, annotating it to both translate and narrate what is going on.

Hong Shu-ying, ‘印映 reflections impressions’ (detail), 2023, installation view at Esplanade Community Wall, Singapore. Image courtesy of Esplanade - Theatres on the Bay.

Could you share your favourite art space or gallery in Singapore? Why are you drawn to that space and what does it offer to you/ your practice?

This is a tricky question! I will name a few instead.

The Esplanade Tunnel is one of my favourite art spaces. I have seen many different shows, and observed different types of audience behaviours here. I have been involved with the Esplanade as an audience, musician, artist, emcee and producer. I remember Kray Chen’s ‘I’m a Steamroller Baby’ (2017), which was a multi-channel video shot in the Esplanade carpark. I think it was one of the earlier large-scale multi-channel video and site-responsive works that left a deep impression on me. Yet, when I was working on Kurt Tong’s show in the Tunnel, ‘Combing for Ice and Jade’ (2020), the 69m-long space broke me. It was not easy pacing pieces at this scale, while ensuring the narrative arc works in both directions. I grew a lot from that project and became even more appreciative of every show thereafter.

8Q@SAM is no longer around but it was one of my favourite art spaces growing up. I used to take the bus from school and skip classes to see art there. There was something very charming about the old campus’ architecture. I remember ‘Art Garden’ (2013) as one of the key shows that made me interested in how art can be fun and “used”. 8Q felt like the MoMA PS1 of Singapore with shows and works that made bold statements and challenged definitions.

starch is another space I love in Singapore. I think its very existence is so generous and hopeful. Thank you Moses Tan and everyone who has put up shows there for creating this space! I always learn something new there and the layout of the space adds a dimension and challenge to how works are encountered. Personally, I also enjoy the walk in and out of the industrial area when I visit starch. Being able to take a long walk around nature is a great epilogue after a good show.

You are also one half of the collective Part Time Book Club, alongside Mingli Seet. Tell us more about what you do and your aims/intentions for the collective.

Part Time Book Club is a dream Ming and I had for a few years. We wanted to gather people and find out what books they have, be it ones they make or own. The format is just that, we call for a gathering of people and books whenever we have a chance to!

The name came as a self-depreciating jab at how we both love books and wish that could be our job, except it does not really pay the bills. Instead, we have to “part time” for our passions, and we thought why not encourage others to do so too? So far, we have had two gatherings, and it has been after work hours. It is touching to see people come in with their precious books and stories. Imagine someone lugging a thick photobook through rush-hour traffic from home to work, and work to the book club.

We ride on the community that has been growing with the Singapore Art Book Fair, and programmes at spaces such as Temporary Unit, THEBOOKSHOW and other initiatives by artists, collectives and bookmakers.

What are your hopes for your own local art scene, and regionally as well?

I hope that one day Singapore will have enough space and resources to allow for mistakes and experimentation. Taking risks here feels punishing, as failure can have lasting consequences. As an artist, I worry about doing a “bad show,” and as a producer, I stress over whether we have done enough for the artists we work with. There is a persistent fear that a “bad show” could jeopardise future funding or damage the reputation of independent spaces supporting us. It is also difficult to present the same work more than once, even though artworks take significant time and resources to create.

I have been learning more about inclusive programming from Marvin Tang, an artist who runs the collective Superhero Me, which advocates for inclusivity through creative arts. Programming for diverse audiences is challenging, and I wish there was more support for artists and entities exploring this, along with resources to learn how to engage effectively. It is tough enough to reach neuro-typical but non-art audiences, and we lack the space and support needed to overcome the learning process required to broaden our audience.

‘| | on paper’ (2025), a project initiated by Hong Shu-ying and Kirti Upadhyaya.

Are there any upcoming/ ongoing exhibitions or projects that you would like to share?

For Singapore Art Week 2025, I am most excited for my baby with Kirti Upadhyaya ‘| | on paper’. It is a bootleg residency of sorts, where we have extended an invitation to 20 artists to make/think/reflect/experiment with 4 pieces of A4 papers. Rather than the 4 walls of a conventional studio, we are providing 4 pieces of papers; the whole project is bookended by a letter from us to the artists, and vice versa at the end of the residency.

Later in the year, I will be working on some research as part of a collective for ‘Feng Shui in the Expanded Field’, a multi-disciplinary foray into new and alternative school of Feng Shui geomacy practices and its peripherals. I will be looking at music videos of studio recorded erhu performances to study the set design–which I believe draws references from the ideal Chinese study and architectural features.

In May, I will have a solo presentation ‘day in - day out: on telling time in a mall’ at Queensway Television. It is an extension of ‘乍鸣 creak of dawn’ (2024), a sound work I made with birdsongs, proposing to use the bird calls in the morning to indicate sunrise rather than a fixed time. I found out that there is an old announcement recording that plays at Queensway Shopping Centre every day when it opens and closes. While on residency at dblspce, I developed the habit of listening to the mall’s soundscape after hours. There would be the bass and occasional karaoke screeches coming from night clubs while a playlist of music from the 1980s and 1990s can be heard in the rest of the mall. I am curious to discover more of such observations and affinities.