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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
“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
“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.
