“2. Gentle Wings 蜓意 (diptych 双联画）” has been added to your cart.
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$3,000.00
“Blooming together against all odds.
逆境中盛放。”
oil on canvas
61x61cm (1.5inch thick)
The baby slumbers quietly,
cradled by the mirrored blue ,
its breath rising with every ripple
Nourished by shadows,
it sleeps in the embrace of moss-green shade,
gathering its strength in the mud
Nights pass and winds gather,
yet the baby snores,
clinging stubbornly to Mother Earth
With a ray of golden sunlight,
long-awaited kiss of dawn,
petal by petal it breaks free -
A soft triumph,
a tender breakthrough,
fresh, pure and true
Birds awaken, insects sing,
the world glows,
in the wake of pink
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$3,000.00
“It brews, unfurls and soars.
酝酿，展翼，高飞。”
oil on canvas
61x61cm (1.5inch thick)
He lingers at the fragile edge,
trembling with the hush of cool air,
silvery wings veined in morning light
Born in the shallows,
he has known struggle and silence,
the patience of time,
the slow alchemy of change
Now he is ready,
each breath a gathering of courage,
each shimmer a determined promise
Unhurried and unafraid,
staring at the cool blue,
peering through the depths
Then - a sudden gleam,
a quick flash -
he takes to the air,
soaring
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$500.00
“The tender joy of self-discovery
原来我们本来就值得拥有。”
oil on canvas
31x41cm
For days he lumbered on in the dessert, the scorching sun beating down on his black, rusty hide. The sky was a flat, chalky blue, like the canvas of a painting that stretched above him.
The dull yellow sand sprawled endlessly ahead of him, without even a hint of the gleam of water and fruit. Not even the pale, dusty mirages that had fooled him countless times since he had embarked on this fruitless journey.
He had lost count of how many others had turned back over the years. How many times he had been told he wouldn’t make it - not him. Not him with his crooked frame, his slow gait, his odd, clunky shape.
But he walked anyway. For the little ones at home. For every voice that had whispered doubt to him. For the quiet hope that he stubbornly carried, even when he didn’t believe it himself.
Surely miracles weren’t real. But he couldn’t give up now.
Then suddenly, in the distance, something glinted. Perhaps yet another trick of the light or an illusion. The bright, golden glimmer of the promised fruit. Was it possible that he could have found it?
Him?
He approached slowly.
Step by step, the round, ripe and radiant shape took form. The solidness of the fruit, with the fragrant, sweet scent that told him, undeniably, that he had found it.
A wave of emotion rushed over him – disbelief, gratitude and a fragile joy that had waited a lifetime – and a tiny, glimmer of hope that he scarcely dared to let himself feel, that maybe, just maybe, he had been enough all along.
We wander for years, carrying our self-doubt, convinced of our own lacking. Yet the truest gifts arrive when we overcome our deepest fears, like water seeping into a desert – telling us we were deserving all along.
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$900.00
“Harmony in the rhythm of change, and the quiet grace of new beginnings.
随季而安，万物自新。”
oil on canvas
46x46cm
Every year, when leaves unfurled, frozen edges thawed, and it turned spring, the birds would rouse from their nests and gather. First borne out of survival instinct, it was now a time-honoured tradition – the welcoming of a new year.
The elders flew ahead, scouting for safe havens. The younger ones trailed behind, learning the rhythms of the land, flowing with the cycle of sun, seed and soil. And once a good spot was found – with grain, sun and peace, they’d stay, if only for a moment.
This year, the youngest among them found it first: a humble kitchen in an old shophouse, its wooden window left open to the cool morning breeze. In the glow of the first sunlight, someone had left a scoop of golden soybeans - a small gift in honour of the renewal of the season.
An unexpected delight.
The bird took only what it needed. And in that humble offering, a quiet blessing was exchanged – another year of harvest, harmony and abundance for them all.
Gratitude for the grace of spring’s arrival.
In the flow of the seasons, we learn to accept change without fear – to release the old and welcome the new. To live in harmony is to move in step with nature’s rhythm, finding peace in the certainty of new beginnings.
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$900.00
“Necessary farewells that honour shifting seasons and preserve shared memories.
三梨三别，二柿有情，
愿你柿事顺利，梨也好，别亦安。”
oil on canvas
46x46cm
After several months, the day was finally here.
He stood on the edge of the dusty road, eyes lingering on the ancient mountains he had known his whole life – soon to be just a distant memory. The carriage wheels groaned in the distance. The moment had come.
No fanfare, no speeches. Just a quiet parting.
His dearest friend arrived, holding a small cloth bundle. “A little something for the road.”
They didn’t say much. They didn’t need to. After a childhood of running wild through fields, and sneaking river swims, words only got in the way. The goodbye had been coming for a long time – and they both knew it. Still, when their eyes met, something flickered through them. Not regret, but love wrapped in the ache of change.
The hardest goodbyes were the ones that were necessary.
On the carriage, he opened the bundle. Inside lay three pears and two persimmons. Moved, he bit into a pear gently. It was the freshest pear he had ever eaten, but in his mouth, it was bittersweet.
Three pears, for the reluctant goodbyes.
Two persimmons, for the words unspoken.
Bon Voyage, dear friend.
三梨三别，二柿有情，
愿你柿事顺利，梨也好，别亦安
Some goodbyes are temporary, while others stretch along indefinitely. The bittersweet truth of necessary farewell: some endings honour shifting seasons, yet preserve the love that was shared in memory, like the sweetness of a fruit that lingers on the tongue long after it is finished.
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$1,000.00
“Glamour fades, grace endures.
光影流转，风华不减。”
oil on canvas
61x61cm
Hesitantly, she bows. There’s a smattering of applause, someone smiles, and people throng towards their next meal. Slowly, the audience dissipates into the night, while she gathers her skirts and steps gingerly off the stage.
Not long ago, it seemed, she had debuted to roaring crowds, the flashing lights of the film cameras almost blinding her, on the largest stage in the city.
She could still remember the flowers, the scent of jasmine, the gramophone jazz in the background, and the clinking of champagne glasses, all toasting to her.
Now, the lights dim earlier. The satin clings to a thin frame. And her voice is no longer the sparkling nightingale’s song, revered back in the day. But she sings anyway, not for fame but for something more enduring.
For the little girl who first discovered how to sing. For the mother who taught her to carry herself with grace. For the memory of a time when beauty wasn’t about youth, but poise.
As she ambled slowly along the cobblestoned street, her shadow dances under the streetlamps.
Glamour fades, but grace never does.
Light meets glass and memory clings —
a quiet moment from a sunlit past.
Bottles catch yesterday’s glow,
apples hold its fading warmth.
Beauty, once vivid, now settles softly,
a sigh in the afternoon stillness.
光映瓶影，暖留苹果，
昨日的阳光轻轻落在桌上，
像一声无言的叹息，
将美好封存于午后静谧中
Lights dim, applause fades, and crowds move on. But grace never disappears – in the poise of dignity, the resilience and courage, and the tenderness of our actions. It is the lasting glow, the aftertaste of elegance, the presence that endures.
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$1,000.00
“The flavour of memory that lingers longer than taste.
味已散去，忆犹留香。”
oil on canvas
51x61cm
I woke up to the sound of laughter – my siblings already bustling in the tiny kitchen. It was nearly 11am. Sunday and no school! A familiar scent immediately bombarded my nostrils. And then I recognized it: fried fish!
The scent reached me before the sun did - crispy, salty and sweetly spiced. It was the kind of smell that drew you out of bed with no complaint.
There they were, already seated, chattering between bites, sunlight pouring in.
In the middle of it all: a dish we had eaten a hundred times: fried fish, golden and glistening, wrapped in banana leaves. Simple, perfect.
And there she was too – my mother.
Moving between stove and table, effortless in her rhythm. She looked up, caught my eye, and smiled.
That smile – it lingers longer than the taste.
Some flavours fade quickly from the tongue, yet the memory stays – carrying with it our experiences of love, safety and belonging. They remind us of what grounds us, of the roots that never leave, even as the seasons change.
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$900.00
“Harmony flows in the embrace of growth, anchored by our deepest truths.
水流不息。”
oil on canvas
51x51cm
The soft porcelain surface -
dreams, wishes and memories swimming in its curve.
As the current of time passes, five remain.
Four leap outwards, chasing the shimmer of waves;
One lingers, floating, watching.
Some carried forth as unspoken hopes,
others kept close as memory.
The delicate balance of harmony -
a cradle for becoming.
九鱼之中，五中四外，寓意愿望有留有往；
跃出的是未来，留下的是思念；
鱼不停游，愿不曾止。
Being in harmony with ourself is a lifelong dialogue between holding on and letting go. In becoming who we are, some parts of us leap forward into the unknown – whether it is in the form of new dreams, shedding old limitations, or growth - while others remain, anchoring us to our history and dreams. The balance is not about choosing one over the other, but about letting both shape us.
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![In Full Bloom <br> 梦中之舞 [Sold]](https://i0.wp.com/artcsk.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/10/WhatsApp-Image-2025-10-08-at-2.23.29-PM.jpeg?resize=300%2C300&ssl=1)
$880.00
“Grace unfurls, effortless and free.
光落之处，皆为舞台。“
oil on canvas
46x46cm
The lights dimmed, and the orchestra sighed into stillness.
For a suspended breath, time stood still – the faint rustle of tulle, the glimmer of satin beneath the orchestra lights, the soft cadence of a heart about to take flight.
Then, she began to dance.
Her every motion unfurled like a whisper – fluid, unhurried, serene. Arms curved through air with the grace of petals opening to morning light. Each step, each turn, carried a quiet certainty – the kind that needs no witness.
Once, she had danced for perfection. But in that moment, she danced only for herself, because she was, finally, free.
The spotlight caught her mid-pirouette, her silhouette glowing in soft gold. For that fleeting instant, time folded – everything went silent, suspended, eternal.
And there, in the hush between motion and memory, she found peace – the kind that comes when confidence stops trying, and simply is.
In Full Bloom celebrates that dreamlike moment when confidence feels effortless – when grace transcends technique, and passion becomes stillness. It’s a reverie of joy, self-belief, and the quiet magic of standing tall in one’s own light.
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$1,200.00
“The soft fizz of unspoken joy.
小泡泡的喜悦。”
oil on canvas
41x51cm
Pop! Fizz….
The teddy bear jumped. The bottle beside him had just popped open, sending bubbles frothing across the brim.
“Careful now,” the bear whispered, “you’ll give it all away.”
But the bottle couldn’t help itself. It was graduation day, and pride was fizzing inside it like fireworks.
Mum sat nearby, silent as always, but beaming proudly at her son, who had not noticed.
The teddy bear took it all in. He knew the bottle’s secret: every bubble was a thought unsaid, a feeling unspoken. “I’m proud of you,” whispered in fizz, not in words. “I love you,” disguised as a clink of glass and a soft drink pressed into waiting hands.
Later, there would be a celebratory meal, perhaps some laughter shared over chicken and fries. But for now, the bear stood guard, watching pride overflow quietly, like soda escaping from a shaken bottle.
Just like the fizz of bottled up pride, and the quiet joy of a parent who struggles to express affirmation, whimsicality is about finding humour and tenderness in understated moments. Healing can come from recognising the love in these small, joyful moments, the love that has always been there, even unspoken.
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$780.00
“Harmony blooms from our roots and family, passed down in tradition.
莲花含苞环绕，仿佛一场静谧盛宴。寓意和谐安宁，福气绵长。”
oil on canvas
46x51cm
There’s something about lotus seeds that always fills her with excitement.
Every Lunar New Year, her mother would make her signature lotus seed soup – rich, sweet, and fragrant. She would peel, rinse, boil, stir – a ritual as steady as the seasons - until the scent of lotus wove itself through the kitchen, signalling that long awaited reunion dinner was near.
The scent of lotus is as vivid as those memories – laughter over round tables, sound of chopsticks clinking, tiles shuffling on the mahjong table, murmur of voices growing louder as the night deepened. Generations gathered around to share joy and responsibility in a celebration for the turn of a new year and a prosperous start ahead.
The lotus isn’t just a flower, nor are its seeds just food. It is a symbol of harmony as well as resilience.
May we never forget where we came from – and may we always keep a place for one another at the table.
Harmony is the presence of belonging. In family traditions and shared rituals, we inherit both love and resilience – a harmony passed down, reminding us that we are never alone.
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$680.00
“Your love guards the little things.
不起眼的一点一滴在不知觉中守候着我们。”
oil on canvas
46x46cm
Every night after the lights went out, Sergeant Smith took his post.
He wasn’t the biggest in the pantry, nor the loudest. But he had a job to do: to guard the biscuit tin, the sugar bowl and the milk jug with his life. After all, the biscuits were the children’s favourite - and under no circumstance were ants allowed in. Not on his watch.
By day, he was like clockwork, only performing as far as his gears allowed. But come nightfall, he sprang into action.
Squeaks of sugar-thieving mice? Dealt with. A family of ants on the countertop, waiting to sneak into the tin? Intercepted. He’d even once caught a cockroach red-handed, halfway up the biscuit tin.
And the next morning, when he saw the children happily digging into the biscuits at tea-time, chattering excitedly, the Sergeant would allow himself the smallest of nods.
Mission accomplished. Until tonight.
Love is often not expressed in grand battles, but in the smallest, everyday playful gestures. It often looks ordinary – checking the lights are off and doors are locked, covering someone with a blanket, waiting up for someone to come home. Devotion can be light hearted, even humorous, yet still profoundly tender. Sometimes love watches quietly, guarding the little things that make us feel safe.
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$780.00
“Eternal joy lives in childhood wonder.
童心如初，喜乐无穷。”
oil on canvas
51x61cm
The bell rang. With a sigh of relief, I picked up my bag and ran out of class, followed by my gaggle of giggling friends. Instead of heading home from school to do our homework, we went straight to our favourite hangout – the great banyan tree just beside the track.
There, in its leafy shade, one of us took out our favourite game – five stones. It had been a craze in our school the past few weeks.
Ever since my dad had brought back a brand new set for me, neatly sewn with pink polka-dotted cloth and filled with mung beans, we had been obsessed. He told me how, in his day, they used pebbles or dried seeds picked off the ground, wrapped in bits of cloth if they were lucky. Sometimes, even real rice grains tied into scraps of fabric.
That day, under the banyan tree, we laughed and squealed and cheered each other on, tossing and catching, picking and dropping. In those moments, there was no rush, no noise, no homework pressing down on us. Just the sound of cloth landing softly on the pavement, and the rhythm of breath between each throw.
Now, years later, I see us again – in the shade, laughing. We have all grown up – but in my mind, the game continues. The childlike joy, the clumsy first tries, the gentle competition, the laughter….
Play doesn’t need to be loud or exciting. Sometimes its soft, rhythmic. It’s how we paused. It’s how we endured.
忙里偷闲，才有余温。
Childhood play was where we first learned wonder, imagination and connection. The simple games of youth remind us that joy doesn’t need to be bought, or perfect. There is a kind of healing power in childlike wonder: a reminder that even in busy lives, we carry with us the ability to pause, play and rediscover simplicity.
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$220.00
“Harmony is found when we return to our truest, deepest selves.
一只空瓶，回望初心。”
oil on canvas
31x31cm
I stood there – proud, glistening, gleaming. Everyone gathered close, their eyes fixed on me, as though I were a relic of magic, or a star they had waited their whole lives to see.
Their faces told the story – wide-eyed wonder, quiet longing, disbelief tinged with reluctant hope.
Could a bottle really awaken your forgotten dreams?
They said if you whispered your first dreams – the one you had before life grew heavy with responsibility and doubt – I would stir it awake. The long-lost feeling of joy, of passion, of wonder.
And in that moment, you’d remember. The happiness that once made your eyes light up. The ache of yearning that you’d feel when you were parted from it. The fire that set your heart racing.
Because harmony isn’t just peace. It is also reconnecting with yourself – and to carry that truth with you, quietly but steadfastly, through the course of life.
So tell me –
What would you whisper to the bottle?
Harmony begins within us – when we reconnect with who we truly are. We spend years chasing and striving, yet the truest parts of ourselves never disappear. When we remember who we are, the fragments of longing gather, and we become whole once more.
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$900.00
“Harmony ripens in the quiet rituals and steadfast companionship of love.
热带风情，细水长流。”
oil on canvas
51x51cm
Ah Ma always came home with rambutans. A whole bunch – red, ripe and hairy – tied up with twine. She’d drop them into a big porcelain bowl on the kitchen counter, pluck a few, and eat it by the window, looking out. None of her children ever knew why – until much later.
It was Ah Gong. She said he never brought flowers, but he’d come back from the market on Rambutan Road with fruit so fresh the stems were still damp. The first time, she scolded him for spending money. The second time, she peeled one for him without a word.
That became their rhythm. Evenings under the frangipani tree after dinner, the air thick with the scent of night blooms. The radio playing the famous Hokkien songs of the day, cicadas humming in the dark. He always saved the last piece of rambutan for her, and every time, she would peel it for him, slipping the sweeter half into his palm. They never said “I love you.” But it echoed in the silence.
Decades passed. Their children grew up. Rambutans came packed in netting now, bought from the supermarkets, no longer freshly plucked but stacked under cold fluorescent lights. And Ah Gong was long gone.
But she would forever remember the evening night, music playing, the sweetness of the rambutan on her lips…
In the tropical hush, fruits and petals gather. A quiet harmony, ripened over a lifetime of love.
Harmony in love is not always loud or declared – sometimes, it’s in the small, steady gestures repeated over a lifetime, and the unspoken understanding between two people. The quiet rituals anchor us, and shared tradition keep love alive long after words are gone.
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$900.00
“The essence of love remains even when memories fade.
深情常在。”
oil on canvas
46x46cm
Across time and tide, fish appears in many guises — dried, grilled, salted, or swimming in porcelain blue.
Yet no matter how its shape shifts, one image stays with us:
that familiar, quiet presence on grandmother’s table,
the scent of home, wrapped in banana leaves and history.
In the hush of recollection,
we do not remember the recipe, nor the seasoning —
only the essence:
a fish rendered in care, served in love,
and etched forever in the plate of memory.
鱼的模样可以千变万化，
但记忆只留下那一条——
那年饭桌上的味道，
那是家的模样，也是心中不变的形状。
Memories fade with time, shedding details until everything blurs. Only love survives this distillation: shapes shift, seasons pass, love endures in its purest form – simple, timeless, unforgettable.
