Joannah Hon—known to her family, and now her followers, as Jobey Hon—quit her career, rode horses into a Himalayan storm and came home to paint Hong Kong. One year in, the world is paying attention
Joannah Hon has gone by Jobey for as long as she can remember; it was the nickname her eldest sister gave her as a child. Born in Hong Kong and raised in Australia from the age of one, Hon returned to the city every summer of her childhood to stockpile the memories that now fill her canvases, and moved back permanently in 2015.
Before art, there were seven years running a digital marketing agency, a stint as COO at her husband Daniel’s logistics company, and an e-commerce business she had started aged 17, importing clothes from China and Vietnam to sell to friends in Australia. She was good at all of it, but none of it was enough. The awakening arrived last year on horseback in the Himalayas. Hon had booked a ten-day riding trip in Nepal on a whim—she had never been on a horse, had done minimal research, and had brought none of the right gear. By day three, they were climbing into altitude sickness territory; and then came the storm—four hours caught in thunder and hail.
“There was a point where I thought I might freeze to death,” she recalls. Stripped that far back from ordinary life, surrounded by people who had never left the village nor been in a car, a question surfaced that she couldn’t quite shake: if she could do just one thing for the next 50 years, what would it be?
See also: Ivana Wong on composing for ink art: A dialogue between dance, music and Wu Guanzhong

Above Joannah Hon (Photo: Zed Leets/Tatler Hong Kong)

Above Joannah Hon and her dog Billy (Photo: Zed Leets/Tatler Hong Kong)
“Painting. But I thought, ‘I’m not very good at it’,” she says, laughing. “But it’s about trying, right? Shedding this weight of expectation and just going for it.” She went full-time as an artist in 2025 with her first drop, which sold out in 72 hours. Drop two followed in April this year, followed by her first auction of an oil on canvas work titled Chinese Lucky Cat, which closed at US$16,000. A Casetify collaboration with ten designs launched the same month.
Her work has so far been sold in more than 25 countries. This month comes the Nepal Collection, marking one year since that horse-riding trip, and the anniversary of the decision that changed everything. Her paintings are large-scale, oil, and unmistakably Hong Kong: a tai chi grandmother caught in her morning routine, a mahjong table frozen mid-game, a taxi driver screaming a very specific Cantonese expletive. Hon has made a habit of carrying each finished canvas to the street or corner that inspired it, setting it up and filming whatever happens next. Locals tend to stop, offer a nod of recognition, and walk on entirely unbothered. “It’s just so Hong Kong,” she says.
See also: A world of pure imagination: Why ‘Charlie and the Chocolate Factory’ is Hong Kong’s Golden Ticket
“The biggest thing this year has taught me is not to care so much about what other people think. You really only have this one life”

Above Joannah Hon (Photo: Zed Leets/Tatler Hong Kong)

Above Joannah Hon (Photo: Zed Leets/Tatler Hong Kong)
Growing up in Australia, Hon went through some genuinely dark periods before years of therapy and daily meditation eventually brought her through. “I’ve never really spoken about it much,” she says, “but I think that’s why my art now is so colourful.” The brightness in her work is not a stylistic flourish—it is a hard-won position. That same darkness, she says, is also what kept her from the art world for so long. “I used to walk through galleries and think: ‘There’s no way that I could ever be in the same room as any of the artists.’” The confidence built slowly, and then came in a torrent, all at once. “The biggest thing this year has taught me is not to care so much about what other people think. You really only have this one life.”
Her inspirations are telling: Jean-Michel Basquiat and Werner Bronkhorst, artists who built their own rules and ignored everyone else’s. Gallery owners came calling once her work started gaining traction, and with some persistence. She took the meetings, heard the pitches and respectfully declined all of them, preferring the freedom of renting her own space and controlling every detail of her shows. She handles everything herself—the drops, the website, the emails—her marketing past earning its keep in a context that ignites her soul. “I’m definitely very shocked at how far I’ve come already. Everything else is just a bonus.” Once the Nepal Collection is released, she has plans for figurines, collectibles, and maybe a show in New York—but she’s not in any rush. “I just love the idea of making whatever random thing comes to my mind into reality,” she says.
Credits
Photography Assistant: Jove Tsin Li





