Weaving together Chinese traditional techniques, Japanese iconography and contemporary critical perspectives, the practice of Hong Kong artist Chan Kwan Lok draws on his daily experiences and observation of nature. His works depict human beings – and often himself – grappling with their environment, set against grand landscapes that both subsume and permeate them, while confronting their own emotions. The delicate ink lines facilitate the intertwining of worlds and perceptions, where elements overflow and merge. The sea, along with the forest and the mountain, provides the artist with particularly inspiring settings.
Courtesy the artist.
CHT: Coral Reef (2013) and The Odyssey in Waves (2014) are among your first long handscrolls. Both depict the ocean. Later, one of your solo exhibitions was titled Threading Ocean. Where does this interest for the sea come from? Chan Kwan Lok: The first long scroll painting about the ocean can be traced back to my childhood work The Ocean (1999). I created it while having dim sum with my family, using pages torn from my school dictation book, drawing one page at a time and gradually sticking them together into a long ocean scroll. It represents the beautiful, imagined world of the ocean in my mind.
The ocean has always held a significant place in my life. In childhood, as I suffered from asthma, my family would often take me to beaches and swimming pools for my health, which aroused my interest in the ocean. Late, I learned to scuba dive and obtained my diving certification. I enjoy exploring different places and diving in various locations.
My artworks are like my diary, capturing experiences and emotions from different periods of my life. To me, the ocean represents freedom. Under the water, everything becomes very peaceful, and while diving, all I can hear is the sound of my own breath. I want to express my feelings, and many of my works aim to depict the world under the water.
Events that happen in society also influence my emotional state during my creative process. I express my feelings through various marine creatures, using them as a medium to convey my emotions. Thus, the underwater world is not merely a record of the ocean’s beauty but also a way for me to express my emotions.
CHT: Your style borrows from various styles of traditional iconography, from classical Chinese painting to Japanese ukiyo-e. How did you weave together these different influences to create your personal style? CKL: I have been studying waves from Ma Yuan, the Chinese painter of the Song dynasty, who did a series of 12 paintings titled Studies of Water. I am also influenced by Japanese culture, Hokusai for instance, and I really enjoy the creative universe of artists such as Fuyuko Matsui, who often depicts decaying bodies, and manga artist Satoshi Kon.
I like to work with contrasts. I borrow the calmness from Chinese masters and the dynamics from the Japanese artists. For me, it is essential to find a balance in each composition.
Courtesy the artist.
CHT: From the beginning of your practice, you have used the gongbi technique to create your compositions. What drove you to explore this traditional brush technique and why do you feel it is still relevant for you today? CKL: I was first introduced to gongbi painting during my time at university. Traditionally, gongbi is taught by copying the works of ancient masters. In our first lesson, we practised outlining these classical works using only lines – a technique known as baimiao. I hadn’t expected that drawing simple lines could be so challenging. When I wasn’t in a good mood, my lines would gradually lose their fineness, becoming uneven or too thick. Maintaining consistency was especially difficult. Sometimes, after just 15 minutes of drawing, I would feel exhausted and my lines would start to waver.
I came to realise that lines are incredibly revealing – they directly reflect my mood and mental state. There is so much expressive potential in a single line. Even without colour, it’s possible to convey a wide range of textures and forms: the fineness of hair, the flowing motion of fabric or the roughness of stone. That’s why I’ve continued to pursue the art of drawing good lines – something I’m still working toward today.
The gongbi painting process is slow and time-consuming but it also offers a valuable journey of self-reflection. It provides a rare chance to slow down and engage in deep introspection through the act of creation.
CHT: What are the biggest challenges you face with this technique? CKL: One of them is completing a large-scale work using only lines. While lines have tremendous expressive power, relying solely on them – without colour – can make it difficult to support the overall composition and convey atmosphere. This remains a challenge I continue to strive to overcome.
I often wear out a brush while working on a single painting. So whenever I visit Japan, I make sure to stock up on plenty of brushes.
CHT: Most of your artworks are in black and white. However, from time to time, you inject colour. This is particularly striking in your series about corals, for instance Bleaching (2020). CKL: This series echoes my diving experience in Australia. The Cairns region, where we can reach the Great Barrier Reef, has always been a dream diving destination for me since I was young. However, when I finally got a chance to visit this place, I discovered that the coral bleaching issue was severe, contrasting greatly with the image I had imagined. Therefore, I created this piece depicting the damaged marine environment. While diving, I often witness corals gradually dying, which is distressing.
The red parts are flames that represent the threat of climate change.
Courtesy the artist.
CHT: Grouper (2020), from the same series, features an angry fish that seems to threaten the diver. CKL: This fish is a giant grouper. He is angry against human beings who are destroying his habitat and ecosystem. The diver is myself.
In the real world, marine creatures are passive beings; in the face of humans, they can only play the role of victims. That’s why I created this artwork, depicting fish in the ocean rising up against humans, trying to stop them from further destroying the marine environment.
I bought the fish at a Hong Kong wet market so that I could study it better – then I asked my mother to cook it.
CHT: Do you always study the anatomy of the creatures you paint? Some of them are rather fictional and hybrid. CKL: I guess there is a balance between realism and fiction. I like to play with the natural elements. I combined the elements of imagination into real-life experiences; for example, in Way Down Deep (1) (2019), I depicted an experience of diving. While underwater, I loved looking up at the surface and seeing the reflection of sunlight. The way sunlight pierced through the water and illuminated the world beneath was so magical.
At one point, a large school of fish swam above me. Because of the light and reflections, I experienced an optical illusion: the fish appeared to transform into leaves. The sunlight filtering through them reminded me of the Japanese term “木漏れ日” (komorebi), which describes sunlight streaming through the leaves of trees. This vision inspired an imagined scene: tall trees growing from the seabed up toward the surface, with the school of fish becoming leaves in an underwater forest.
It is true that I also invent some hybrid figures. For instance, in Fishy River (2019) we can see a heron with a suit, fishes with legs…
Courtesy the artist.
CHT: Who are these creatures? CKL: I’m not an animist but I do feel the presence of nature deeply. Nature often carries a sacred quality that transcends me. When I’m feeling unsettled or anxious, it has a calming, healing effect. At times, I personify nature as different characters – it’s a way for me to feel more connected and emotionally attuned to it.
For instance, in the artwork Sea of Living Mountain (2023), the painting merges the imagery of mountain and sea. When the wind blows through the mountains, the trees sway rhythmically, like waves. This wave-like motion extends outward, eventually engulfing a car – the only artificial object in the composition. The mountains appear to come alive, transforming into a woman who swims freely among the shadows of the trees. “She” becomes a living presence within nature.
CHT: Some of your waves look like clouds and vice versa: do you see an analogy between the underwater world and the universe? CKL: Nature has always felt fluid to me: it’s constantly shifting and continuously changing. Therefore, when depicting different aspects of nature in my work, I often choose to express it through flowing lines that convey this sense of movement.
CHT: Galaxy (2019), for example, features a hidden woman whose body is combined with both the sky and the sea. In fact, waves, clouds and stars seem to mingle in this very dynamic composition. CKL: This piece is based on my first experience of staying on a boat and diving at night in Cairns. After the night dive, when I surfaced, everything was completely dark; I couldn’t tell where the sky ended and the ocean began.
There were no lights in the middle of the sea, only a sky full of stars. It was also the first time I had ever seen the galaxy through my eyes. The stars were so many, they seemed to form a vast painting across the sky. Reflected on the surface of the ocean, they created a sense of warmth. I imagined the sea assuming human form and embracing me.
Courtesy the artist.
CHT: Some of your paintings are very dramatic and feature human skeletons, as if human beings had disappeared, such as in Stingray (2020). In contrast, some compositions seem to celebrate the beauty of the ocean. For example, Swirl (2019) features human swimmers admiring dancing schools of fish. Do you wish to reflect on the complex – and I guess sometimes contradictory – relationships between the natural world and human beings? CKL: Yes, because every time I enter the ocean world, I’m amazed by the incredible diversity of marine life. Each diving experience brings moments of surprise and endless inspiration.
However, I’ve also noticed that whenever a place becomes too crowded with people, it’s very easy for the environment to be damaged. So, for me, the relationship between humans and nature is always filled with a sense of contradiction.
CHT: Many compositions reflect directly your personal experiences of diving, swimming or hiking. What is your working process: do you do sketch on site or do you write notes?CKL: I often take photographs, even when I dive. However, I never work directly from these photographs – they are part of my reference material. It might take months before I start a new work reflecting on a past experience. I have noticed that if I rush too much, my composition might be too simple and not good. I need to accumulate feelings and layers to begin working.
CHT: The act of creating and its challenges are also at the core of some of your more self-reflexive works. Temptation (2023) features a giant female figure crushing a man’s head in what resembles a messy studio. Is this a self-portrait? CKL: The beheaded head is, in fact, myself. This work was inspired by Venetian painters Palma Vecchio and Giorgione, drawing on the story of Judith and Holofernes – where Holofernes is killed after having been seduced by Judith. For me, this is an incarnation of temptation.
In my creative process, I often face temptations that disrupt my focus. Working alone in the studio, it’s easy to become lazy – meal breaks stretch longer and motivation wanes. I illustrated various foods in the painting as metaphors for these everyday distractions.
Laziness can also stem from creative inertia – falling into repetitive habits or themes. To represent this, I included blank sheets of paper drifting away, symbolising meaningless, unreflective work.
At the other extreme, rushing to meet deadlines and overworking can harm the body. My eyes, back and hands often suffer. In the painting, a cabinet filled with spare hands and eyes imagines a surreal solution – replacing worn-out parts – while also warning me to seek better balance.
A female figure in the image represents the temptations that affect my creative freedom. For me, true art comes from working freely. When external pressures or inner distractions take over, I feel I lose that freedom – and with it, the essence of being an artist. That’s why I painted my own severed head: a metaphor for the loss of creative self.
CHT: You also often represent yourself at work. In Vain (2024) features an artist drawing and throwing away sketches in what looks like both a studio and the bottom of the sea. CKL: With ink, I cannot correct my drawing. When I feel dissatisfied, I end up destroying what I’ve created and starting anew. Yet I always keep the previous drafts in mind, as if layering my experiences. In this artwork, I represent myself three times to embody this dynamic in the composition, playing with different layers through transparency effects. I only maintain control to a certain point while drawing, when I must let go and allow myself to follow the flow of my emotions, my brush and the energy of the waves. Here, I create fish, but in turn, the fish create me in a mutual convergence.
In Exhibition Unbound (2025), where I also depict myself at work, the theme shifts. You see me attempting to paint a long scroll, as well as recreating all the exhibitions I’ve held, including dismantled ones and artworks that have yet to be created. For instance, this scroll remained unfinished. The waves surrounding it symbolise time and the movement of disappearance; after each show, it feels as if all the artworks vanish, cast into the sea of time or the sea of oblivion. I always face the future, never looking back at past works.
CHT: Time is an important component of your work: each of your compositions is very dynamic and usually includes several moments, just like ancient scrolls or today’s comics. CKL: Yes, you can read them from right to left. Ebb and Flow (2024), for instance, features five panels.
They describe the moment when, while travelling, I received news of my grandfather’s passing. Alone in an outdoor hot spring, I sat immersed in its stillness. In the distance, the roar of a waterfall broke the silence, echoing through the mountains like grief given voice. The hot spring held me in its quiet embrace, emotions simmering beneath a calm surface. The waterfall embodied the sudden storm – a torrent of sorrow, turbulent and unstoppable.
CHT: Your grandfather was very much present in your last solo show, at Grotto Fine Art in Hong Kong in 2025. You told me that you could not keep a promise that you made to him, to swim with him in Hong Kong water, as he passed away in 2023. CKL: Absolutely. My grandfather used to swim every day and I told him I would go, but I never did. After a while, I stopped swimming and it is only last year that I resumed, in a pool, for a competition, and I often went in the evening, after working in the studio. Oasis in the Wasteland (2025) features an empty pool, at night. The sea, on its edge, seems to call me. In the middle of the composition, there is an island that represents the island of memory. Just like in Waves of Nostalgia (2024), this is about my childhood memory, which suddenly resurfaced once I went back to swim. I have worked with different colours of ink and techniques to paint the tiles of the pool and create depth. It seems it is alive.
The abandoned swimming pool is connected to the distant ocean, where a vibrant marine realm quietly spreads and grows within the pool, carrying on my unfulfilled promise to my grandfather – to swim in the sea together, a vow that can never be realised.
CHT: Do you wish to convey the feeling of the ephemerality of things? Is this a Buddhist influence? CKL: I’ve been influenced by Buddhist philosophy. Although I’m not a Buddhist myself, I enjoy reading books related to Buddhism.
The loss of my grandfather made me realise that nothing is truly permanent – everything is constantly changing. This idea resonates with my artwork, where a sense of fluidity and transformation often appears, showing the impermanence of life.
香港藝術家陳鈞樂的創作源自對日常生活的經驗與對自然的觀察，將中國傳統技術、日本圖像符號與當代批判視角交織，作品描繪人類（通常是他自己）與環境的搏鬥，被壯麗的山海景觀吞沒滲透，同時直視自身的情感。細膩的水墨線條將不同的世界與感知交織互融，多種元素洋溢交疊。海洋、森林與山嶺，為他提供了豐富的靈感。
CHT：你早期的長卷作品如《珊瑚連枕》（2013年）和《戲海圖》（2014年）都描繪海洋，後期你的個展更命名為「海歸線」。為甚麼你對海洋有如此深厚的興趣？陳鈞樂：我第一幅以海洋為題的長卷作品，可以追溯至童年時期的《The Ocean》（1999年）。與家人飲茶時，我會將學校默書簿的紙撕下，一頁頁畫上海景，最後將它們貼成一幅長卷。那是我心中對海洋的美麗幻想。
海洋一直在我生命中佔有重要的地位。童年時因為患有哮喘，家人為了我的健康，常帶我到沙灘和泳池游泳，慢慢喚起我對海洋的興趣。之後我學習了水肺潛水，並考了潛水證書。我喜歡探索不同地方，並在世界各地潛水。
我的作品就像日記一樣，記錄我人生不同階段的經歷與情感。對我來說，海洋象徵自由。置身水底，一切都變得非常安靜，潛水的時候只聽到自己的呼吸聲。我很想表達這種感受，所以很多作品都描繪水底世界。
在創作過程中，不同的社會事件也會影響我的情緒。我會透過各種海洋生物傳達情感，以它們作為我表達情緒的媒介。所以我不只是想透過水底世界記錄海洋的美，亦是想抒發自身的情感。
你的風格融合了中國傳統水墨與日本浮世繪的元素。你如何將這些不同的元素編織成屬於自己的風格？陳鈞樂：我一直有研究繪畫十二幅《水圖》的宋代畫家馬遠所描繪的浪濤，亦深受日本文化影響，很喜歡葛飾北齋、經常描繪腐屍的松井冬子與漫畫家今敏的創作世界。
我很喜歡對比，我借鑑了中國大師的靜態，以及日本藝術家的動感。對我來說，在每幅作品中尋找平衡非常重要。
你自創作初期起便開始採用工筆畫的技法。為甚麼你會選擇這種傳統畫法？時至今日，它對你還有甚麼意義？陳鈞樂：我第一次接觸工筆畫是在大學時期。傳統的工筆訓練多以臨摹古畫開始，第一堂課便是練習只用線條勾勒的「白描」。我沒想到畫線會這麼困難，心情不好時線條就會不夠細緻，變得粗重不均，要保持一致非常困難。有時只畫十五分鐘就會開始感到疲累，線條便開始動搖。
我發現線條是非常誠實的，它會直接反映你的心境，只要一條線就已經可以有豐富的表達。即使沒有顏色，也能呈現多樣的質感和形態，例如髮絲的細膩、布料的順滑和石頭的粗糙等。因此我一直努力想畫好線條，至今仍在努力當中。
工筆創作過程緩慢耗時，但亦是一段難得的自我反思過程，讓我在創作中放慢腳步，進行深度內省。
這種畫法最難是甚麼？陳鈞樂：只靠線條完成大幅作品是其中一個最難的地方。雖然線條具有強大的表現力，但在沒有顏色支撐的情況下，往往難以撐起整體構圖和營造氛圍。這個至今仍然是我努力尋求突破的課題。
我經常每畫一幅畫，就用壞一支毛筆，所以每次去日本都會大手購入畫筆。
你的作品多為黑白，但偶爾也會注入色彩，例如關於珊瑚的系列《白化》（2020年）。陳鈞樂：這個系列呼應了我在澳洲的潛水經歷。通往大堡礁的凱恩斯是我從小就夢寐以求的潛水地，但當我終於有機會到訪時，卻發現那裡珊瑚白化的問題非常嚴重，與我想像中的畫面大相逕庭。於是我創作了這件作品，呈現受污染的海洋環境。潛水時，我經常會親眼目睹珊瑚逐漸死亡的過程，令我非常心痛。
作品中的紅色象徵火焰，代表氣候變化的威脅。
《石斑魚》（2020年）則描繪一條看似在威嚇潛水員的憤怒大魚。陳鈞樂：那條大魚是一條巨型的石斑魚，牠對破壞棲息地與生態系統的人類感到憤怒，而畫中的潛水員正是我自己。
在現實世界中，海洋生物很被動，只能在人類面前做受害者。所以我創作了這件作品，牠們在畫中反抗人類，阻止他們進一步破壞海洋環境。
為了研究牠，我特地在香港街市買了一條石斑魚，然後請媽媽把牠煮來吃。
你經常會研究生物的結構嗎？有些作品中的生物比較像是虛構或者半真半假。陳鈞樂：我會在真實與想像之間尋找平衡，研究自然元素，將真實經歷與幻想結合。《深山大澤》（2019年）是源自我一次潛水經歷，我喜歡在水底仰望水面，欣賞陽光的折射，陽光穿透水層的光影奇妙無比。
有一刻，一大群魚游過我的頭頂。在光線折射下，魚群竟像樹葉飄動，令我想起日語的「木漏れ日」（意指陽光穿過樹葉的光影）。於是我構想了一個奇景，高大的樹木從海底向海面生長，魚群化作樹葉，在水底形成一片森林。
的確，我亦創作過一些半真半假的形象，例如《糸魚川》（2019年）中穿西裝的鷺鳥和有腳的魚……
誰是這些生物？陳鈞樂：我不是泛靈論者，但我也深深感受到自然的存在。自然往往有著神聖的感覺，在焦慮不安時安撫和治癒我的心靈。有時我會將自然擬人化成不同角色，讓我更能與之連結和情緒感應。
例如在《山海圖》（2023年）中，畫面融合山與海的意象。風吹過山林，樹木有如波浪般起伏，波浪的律動向外延伸，最終把汽車（畫中唯一的人造物）吞噬。山脈化為一位女性，在林影間自由游動，成為自然中活生生的存在。
你畫中的浪有時像雲，雲有時又像浪。你認為水底世界與宇宙相似嗎？陳鈞樂：在我眼中，自然一直都是流動的，不斷處於移動和變化之間。因此在描繪自然的不同層面時，我經常會以流暢的線條來表達這種動態。
《銀河》（2019年）中隱現一位女性，她的身體與天空及海洋融為一體，波浪、雲層與星辰彼此交織。陳鈞樂：作品的靈感來自我在凱恩斯的第一次船宿夜潛。夜潛後浮上海面時，四周漆黑一片，連天際與海面的交界也無法分辨。
海中央沒有燈光，只有滿天繁星，那是我第一次親眼看到銀河。繁星猶如一幅巨畫鋪展天際，倒映在海面上給我溫暖。我將海洋想像成人，緊緊將我抱著。
有些作品非常有戲劇性，例如在《魟魚》（2020年）中甚至會出現人骨，彷彿人類已消失；但也有些作品歌頌海洋之美，描繪人魚共舞，《漩渦》（2019年）就是其中一個例子。你是否有意反映人類與自然複雜甚至矛盾的關係？陳鈞樂：沒錯。每次進入海洋世界，我都為海洋生物的多樣性感到驚嘆，每次潛水都為我帶來無盡的驚喜與靈感。
但我亦注意到，一旦人潮過多，環境就會容易受到破壞，所以人類與自然的關係一直都充滿矛盾。
許多作品都直接反映你潛水、游泳或行山的經歷，你在創作時會現場速寫，還是寫筆記？陳鈞樂：我經常會拍照，即使潛水時亦然。不過我從來不會直接臨摹照片，只是將它們作為參考。我通常要在幾個月後才會開始就經歷進行創作，我發現如果太急，作品就容易流於片面，不夠深入。我需要時間沉澱，累積情感與層次。
創作的過程與挑戰也常成為你的主題，《誘惑》（2023年）描繪一位高大的女性在混亂的工作室裡壓壞男性的頭。這是一幅自畫像嗎？陳鈞樂：與肢體分離並被壓壞的頭顱的確是我自己。這件作品受威尼斯畫家雅克伯﹒帕爾馬與喬久內啟發，引用友第德引誘何樂弗尼後將他殺害的故事。對我來說，這是典型關於誘惑的故事。
在創作過程中，我經常會受到誘惑的干擾。獨自一人在工作室容易變得懶散，用餐時間愈來愈長，動力消退不少。我在畫裡畫了食物，暗示這些日常誘惑。
另一種誘惑來自創作惰性，不斷重複舊有題材。畫中漂浮的白紙，象徵空洞與無意義的作品。
另一方面，趕工與過勞也會傷害身體，眼睛、背部和雙手經常受苦。於是我畫了一個放滿備用眼睛和手的櫃，看起來很荒誕，其實是想提醒自己要平衡。
畫中的女性象徵奪走我創作自由的誘惑。對我來說，真正的藝術來自創作自由。一旦受到壓力和誘惑控制，我就會覺得自己失去自由，也失去作為藝術家的本質。斷頭的我正是想表達這種隱喻。
你也經常描繪自己創作。《徒然》（2024年）描繪一位藝術家不斷繪畫又丟棄素描，場景既像工作室，又似海底。陳鈞樂：用墨畫錯無法修正，每次當我不滿意時我就會將畫作撕毀重來。但我會在腦中保留著之前的草稿，一層層累積經驗。在這件作品中，我畫了三個自己來表現這種動態，並以透明效果處理不同的層次。在繪畫時，我只會保持控制到必須放手的時候，然後讓自己隨情感、筆觸與浪潮的能量而走。在這裡，我畫了魚，但同時魚也創造了我。
在《展以外》（2025年）中，我再次描繪自己創作，不過主題卻有所不同。我嘗試繪製一幅長卷，並重現自己舉辦過的展覽，包括已拆卸與未完成的作品，例如最終未能完成的這幅長卷。周圍的浪潮象徵時間與消逝。每次展覽後，作品彷彿會煙消雲散，沉入時間和遺忘之海。我總是面向未來，不回顧過去的作品。
時間在你的作品中扮演非常重要的角色。許多畫面像古代長卷或現代漫畫一樣，充滿動態與片段。陳鈞樂：沒錯，你可以像讀長卷般從右讀到左，《泉瀑》（2024年）就是由五格組成。
作品描繪了我在旅途中接到祖父離世的消息。我獨自坐在露天溫泉，寂靜無聲。遠方瀑布的轟鳴打破沉默，如同山間悲傷的呼喊。溫泉靜默地環抱著我，情感在平靜下翻湧。瀑布象徵突如其來的悲痛，洶湧難止。
你祖父的影子在你2025年香港嘉圖現代藝術的個展中經常出現，你曾說過自己未能在他2023年離世前履行與他一起在香港海域游泳的承諾。
是的。祖父每天都會游泳，我答應過要與他一起游，但沒有做到。後來我沒有再游泳，直到去年才重新開始，在泳池，參加比賽。我經常在晚上工作後去泳池，作品《荒池》（2025年）描繪夜裡一個空蕩蕩的泳池，大海在邊緣呼喚著我。畫面中間的小島象徵回憶。這作品和《海島的夢》（2024年）一樣源自童年的記憶，這些回憶在我重新游泳後突然浮現。我以不同顏色的墨水與畫法描繪泳池的瓷磚，營造深度，為它增添生命力。
廢棄的泳池與遙遠的海洋相連，繽紛的水底世界靜靜地在池中蔓延生長，承載著我與祖父於海中暢泳這未竟的承諾。
你是否想表達無常？這是否與佛學有關？陳鈞樂：我深受佛學思想影響，雖然我不是佛教徒，但我很喜歡閱讀相關書籍。
祖父的離世令我明白世間沒有永恆，萬物皆不斷變化。這種感悟也滲入我的作品之中，流動、轉化和無常就是生命的本質。
