Showing 17–32 of 37 results
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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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$1,800.00
“A study in small shifts.”
细微之处，悄然不同。“
oil on canvas
46×61 cm
Rei stretched lazily on the granite steps, bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun.
It was another weekend afternoon, and he had been left alone once again while his owner rushed out in a flurry – easel over one shoulder, bag of brushes in hand, already halfway distracted before the door had closed. Rei watched her go, the sound of her joyful footsteps fading, wondering when she would be back.
Two bottles of milk sat neatly on the step nearby, catching the same amber light. Rei studied them, savouring the anticipation where he could finally taste the cold, sweet milk.
Suddenly, something small shifted - a ladybug had found its way onto the step.
It moved slowly, testing the surface, then began its ambitious climb up the side of one of the milk bottles. The glass reflected its tiny shape as it climbed, each step patient yet precise. It was a long journey, and the ladybug paused when it reached the top.
Rei watched, more intently now.
“That’s quite the climb,” he said at last, admiringly. “Seems like a lot of effort for such a small place.”
The ladybug turned, as if surprised to be noticed. “Small?” It said after a moment. “Perhaps. But its higher than where I started.”
“Does it really make that much of a difference?” Rei asked. There was no judgement in his voice – only curiosity, and something more exposed. “To climb a little, I mean. When everything else stays the same.”
“I don’t need to change everything,” the ladybug said slowly. “Just enough so I can see it differently.”
“And when you’re done looking?” He asked. “When you go back down?”
The ladybug smiled. “Then I’ll still remember how it looked from up here.”
Rei lay back against the warm stone, thoughtfully. Nothing had changed – and yet, something had. Perspective didn’t belong to those who travelled far. Sometimes, it arrived quietly, through a small climb, a slight shift, a willingness to look again.
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$1,800.00
“From sour lessons come fresh beginnings.“
酸涩， 是成长的开始。“
oil on canvas
51×61 cm
"Lemon yellow, lime green, cerulean blue..."
Rei loved watching his owner, Susie, paint. As she mixed colours on her palette, he danced around her feet, fascinated by the swirling shades.
"Rei, please stay back," Susie warned. "You're going to mess this up."
But Rei was too captivated to listen. A swish of his tail caught the palette, splashing pale blue-green across the canvas.
The room fell silent.
With his ears drooping, Rei wandered to the beach.
As a gentle wave slipped away, it left behind a slice of lemon and a slice of lime. Two little crabs sat beside them.
"You seem troubled," said the older crab.
"I ruined something important," Rei whispered.
The older crab gently held up the lemon slice.
"When we outgrow our shells, we must leave them behind. For a while, our new shells are soft and tender. Even the smallest scrape can hurt."
The younger crab nodded. "That's when we use lemon. It stings terribly."
Rei looked puzzled. "Why use something that hurts?"
"Because not every sting is our enemy," the older crab replied. "The lemon cleans the wound so it can heal properly. A little pain now saves us from greater pain later."
The younger crab lifted the lime slice.
"And when the wound begins to heal, we breathe in the fresh scent of lime. It reminds us that every difficult lesson carries the promise of a new beginning."
The older crab smiled at Rei.
"Kind words make us feel good. Honest words may sting, but they help us become better."
Rei lowered his head.
"Perhaps Susie's words hurt because I needed to hear them."
"And what will you do now?" asked the younger crab.
Rei looked towards the little beach house in the distance.
"I'll apologise... and next time, I'll listen."
The two crabs smiled as another wave washed over the sand.
"Then your heart has already begun to heal."
Like lemon, the truth may sting for a moment. Like lime, learning from it brings a fresh beginning.
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$1,300.00
“Endurance of spirit, etched in history and legacy.
岁月流转，精神长存。”
oil on canvas
51x 61cm
She was a relic of the past, no doubt. She had lived through decades – but still, each morning, the world found a way to surprise her.
Once, she watched the proud Peranakan families of the Straits, with the air fresh with the scent of fragrantly spiced nyonya dishes. Children, crisply dressed, spilled out from the newly erected schools along the road. The tinkle of laughter was a common sound to her, but also the shadows - the days of secret societies, whispered deals, and police raids that left the streets uneasy.
As the years passed, she watched with growing curiosity and wonder as the world around her became modernized. Renovated, polished and preserved. The rowdy symphony of the old world softened into a quaint, cultured charm.
She thought she had seen it all. Yet the world kept growing, from bicycles to cars, from the gravelly streets to tree-lined sidewalks.
Now when people saw her, they would marvel at her elegant façade, capturing her tiles glazed with Peranakan details and European style archways on their digital cameras.
She glowed with pride, and not without a little nostalgia.
The world had changed, but she remained – watching, remembering. A witness to history, a vessel of stories.
History and life often share the same rhythm – both are marked by change, but yet are rooted in heritage and memory. This is both a tribute to Singapore’s heritage and the human spirit – the strength to adapt, to remember, and to remain across the test of time.
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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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$600.00
“The joy of letting dawn find us.
让清晨来拥抱你。“
oil on canvas
36x28cm
There was a strange phenomenon – once every hundred years, at exactly midnight, the moon would turn a pale, glassy, mirrored blue. Legends whispered – a star had fallen. To them, it was a mystical event.
However, to Rei, it was the trip he had been waiting for a lifetime.
For as long as he could remember, he had watched from far away – that bright blue globe swirling with green, speckled with wonder. He had heard tales of wind and sunlight.
So when the sky-path opened – that century gateway of blue, he didn’t hesitate. With a flick of his starlit tail and a breath filled with courage, he leapt.
Now, he lay there, looking curiously around him.
He heard the laughter first. Light, bright, ringing through the quiet dawn like little stars falling into place. Two children were running down a path – chasing bubbles, chasing sunlight, chasing nothing at all. When they skidded to a stop and spotted him, his entire body tensed, cautiously.
For a heartbeat, the world waited.
Then, recalling why he had come – travelling galaxies for a new adventure – he took a measured step forward.
The children crouched down curiously, looking at him with wonder, as he basked in the sunlight. One of them whispered, almost in awe, “Look, he’s…glowing.”.
Rei felt something warm and unfamiliar bloom in his tiny chest.
At that moment, Rei understood something the stars had never taught him: that a gaze could be warm like dawn itself – meeting you without demand, inviting you into the day just as you are.
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$1,800.00
“Where life’s moments steep into the perfect blend.“
让生活的点滴，酝酿出一盏温柔。“
oil on canvas
51×61 cm
How does one make tea?
Clean, fresh water -
Overflowing from the fountain springs of life,
Brimming joyfully
An assortment of tea leaves, in a handful
The aroma drifting in the air –
the sweetness of love and care,
the jasmine scent of hope,
and the lingering fragrance of age and experience
A balanced warmth,
fanned by the tender flames of passion
tempered by the cool porcelain of the teapot
A healthy dose of patience,
Slowly given -
Waiting
The ritual of tea -
sincerely, meticulously
hands steady, breath held,
both execution and adventure
And at last -
there it is
The perfect brew.
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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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$1,500.00
“The joy of almost.
乐在其中。“
oil on canvas
61x76cm
To most, it was just a forgotten wisp dangling off the edge of the table.
To him, it was destiny.
Shelby’s eyes locked onto the prize, pupils transfixed, whiskers trembling. To him, the string became the tail of a monstrous serpent, a golden flag, a rope to glory. He was no house cat in that moment, but a knight on the cusp of triumph, chosen for the quest.
And yet, he stayed still.
The house was silent. It was a mundane Saturday afternoon and for once, not even the children were there to tumble with him. The air was thick with boredom, and the dangling string was the only spark of magic left in the room.
He narrowed his eyes, calculating. Every fibre of his body begged him to leap. His paws flexed, claws half-unfurled. His whiskers twitched in anticipation. A fiery storm raged inside him: the thrill of the hunt against the dignity of restraint.
Minutes blurred into hours. The game was not in the catch, but in the waiting – the delicious, sweet ache of longing.
After what seemed like forever, the door burst open. “Shelby, why are you still sitting there?” One of the children exclaimed, fresh from the amusement park, his voice bright with laughter.
The spell broke. The knight sighed, returning to his ordinary form. He lowered his eyes and curled his tail, a little embarrassed but also oddly satisfied.
Playtime was over – or perhaps, he thought, the play had been there all along.
Desire can be a source of delight in itself. The joy is in savouring the anticipation - the playful ache of “almost”. Imagination can transform longing into lightness, reminding us that the true adventure often lives in the pause before the leap.
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$1,300.00
“Where the ordinary becomes eternal.
一念入梦。“
oil on canvas
51x61cm
He hadn’t planned to go far – just a quiet morning’s row, a way to ease the mind. The mist hung heavy over the water, soft as breath. But as the river curved, the world seemed to change.
The air shimmered faintly. Trees leaned closer, their reflections trembling like liquid glass. He thought he heard music – or maybe it was only the melody of the wind. Then, as if guided by something unseen, he entered a bay he had never noticed before.
The light there was unlike any he’d known – gold melting into rose, rippling like silk across the waves. Time slowed, then stilled. The scent of salt and moss wrapped around him, and for a moment he forgot everything – the sounds of the city, the endless errands of living – all faded, as though they belonged to another lifetime.
He felt no fear. Only awe. The world, vast and eternal, breathed through him. He was no longer man or wanderer, but part of something much more infinite – a whisper in the rhythm of wind and tide.
When he finally drifted back, the mist had thickened. The bay was gone, leaving no trace of its existence. And yet, deep inside, he knew – he had not imagined it.
For in that brief crossing, he had glimpsed the eternity of the universe – and found peace in being part of it.
In Reverie, memory and dream converge – and through that veil, the ordinary becomes eternal. This work is a quiet fable about transcendence: the fleeting, magical moment when we step beyond ourselves – not to escape, but to awaken.
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$600.00
“The trembling joy of firsts.
记忆随风升起，童心仍在天际。“
oil on canvas
36x46cm
Kite flying was always a family ritual – a gaggle of us trooping towards the park, colourful canvases in hand, giggling and laughing. With the sweet wind in our hair, sunlight on our faces, our feet against the emerald green grass, we released our colours into the cotton candy sky.
I was always too young to join in, watching enviously from the sidelines, wondering what the excitement was all about. And finally, on that dreamy afternoon, I was about to find out.
Someone – maybe my father, or my brother – knelt beside me, his hands guiding mine around the reel. “Wait for the wind”, he said. I remember squinting into the glare, the thread cutting softly against my palms, the kite trembling like it could sense my heartbeat.
Then – a gust, sudden and strong. It surged upward, taking the string with it, and I almost stumbled. Laughter erupted around me as the kite caught the sky, fluttering and steadying itself all at once. For a moment, I thought I was flying with it – breath held, heart racing, utterly alive.
Over the years, I’ve flown countless kites since. The motions come easily now, the familiar rhythm of pull and release.
But try as I might, I could never recreate that same trembling rush of joy, that small miracle of flight, that quiet pride of holding on for the first time.
That feeling lives somewhere beyond reach – in the soft folds of memory, in the quiet country of dreams – where time drifts, and the child in me still runs beneath a sky of colour.
Reverie drifts between waking and memory – the soft space where moments are half-remembered, yet felt completely. This painting captures that space of wonder: the trembling joy of a first experience, suspended forever in time.
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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.
