01: The River Of Not-Knowing
The River Of Not-Knowing explores the tension between weight and lightness, belonging and dislocation. Across four years, I photographed between a small apartment in Singapore and the stillness of rural Japan. Though separated by geography and time, the images share a soft, dreamlike quality — light and ephemeral, yet edged with a quiet unease.
Threaded throughout are recurring views from train windows: metal beams cutting across the frame, appearing at beginnings, in-betweens, and endings. The train became both vessel and metaphor — carrying me between home and elsewhere, memory and longing.
In a world where planes take us anywhere and screens keep us everywhere at once, we are always moving yet rarely at rest. This work lingers in that unsettled space — hovering between here and elsewhere, between belonging and dislocation, presence and drift.
2021 — 2025
02: Flowers From A Dying Field
Singapore changes quickly, often erasing the corners where memory lingers. Marsiling, the town where I grew up and where my grandmother still lives, is one of those corners. Soon, the neighbourhood will make way for checkpoint expansion, and its elders are left with just a few years to carry a lifetime elsewhere.
Flowers From A Dying Field traces the small, quiet signs of life that remain. Flowers appear in worn tiles, in plants tended along narrow corridors, in paintings hung long ago, and in the patterns of clothes. Drawing also from archival photographs of Marsiling from more than 25 years ago, the work layers past and present to show how life, memory, and care quietly persist.
Where else will the flowers bloom once the neighbourhood is gone?
Ongoing
03: illuminance
illuminance is a series of photographs made during solitary walks into the night. Turning away from lit paths, the work embraces darkness as both subject and condition, where walking itself becomes an act of surrender.
Each photograph is shaped not by control but by intuition, capturing fragments that surface in the dark — a branch catching light, insects humming, a path dissolving into shadow.
Rather than absence, darkness here is a space of encounter. illuminance reflects on how disorientation can sharpen presence, and how moving without certainty reveals a different way of seeing.
Ongoing
04: My Camera Died in Venice
My Camera Died in Venice is a diaristic zine made from screen grabs of an hour of camcorder footage recorded during my travels through Italy.
It wasn’t planned—it really only happened because my main camera broke. The backup camcorder is 20 years old, and its low-fidelity images became a quiet metaphor for the blurred memories my partner and I carried home from the trip.
Ongoing