Artist Vaevae Chan in her office (Photo: Affa Chan/Tatler Hong Kong)
Cover Artist Vaevae Chan in her office (Photo: Affa Chan/Tatler Hong Kong)
Artist Vaevae Chan in her office (Photo: Affa Chan/Tatler Hong Kong)

Artist Vaevae Chan installed a cave in her studio that represents how she copes with personal trauma—then opened it up to the public

There’s a tendency, after we see or hear something that resonates with us, to keep noticing it everywhere, all the time. This is known as the Baader-Meinhof phenomenon, or frequency illusion, and it is something local artist Vaevae Chan has been experiencing since 2018, after a friend messaged her asking what emoji best represented her. “I immediately sent him the blue spiral emoji,” Chan says, recalling her intuitive response. “He asked me why, and I didn’t have an answer: it was just something I gravitated towards.” 

From then on, she started seeing spirals everywhere—from naturally occurring patterns in nature to designed emblems. This led her to start an Instagram account dedicated to posting photos of the symbol when she came across it; and as people found the account, they would send her images of other spirals. “The energy and attraction must have become increasingly strong,” says Chan of the symbol and its growing presence in her life, attributing this increased frequency to cosmic coincidence. “I believe in everything: signs, symbols—but most of all, serendipity.”

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Artist Vaevae Chan in her office (Photo: Affa Chan)
Above Artist Vaevae Chan (Photo: Affa Chan)
Artist Vaevae Chan in her office (Photo: Affa Chan)

And signs, particularly the spiral, kept popping up in the artist’s life, so much so that on a trip to Thailand in December 2019, a friend initially noticed an unalome—a Buddhist symbol representing one’s path to enlightenment that begins with a spiral shape and morphs into a more complex winding pattern that eventually straightens out into a straight line—Chan started noticing it everywhere too, in temples and tattoos, and found a resounding sense of spiritual resonance. The curves in the symbol emphasise that no journey is a straight and direct path, which for Chan mimicked her healing process. “It goes along with my story and affirms my journey and what I want to do.”

Thus far, Chan’s journey has been challenging. The artist used to live in New York City, making ceramic sculptures, but the stress of working in the unrelenting, high-pressure New York art world led to an acute case of eczema. What’s more, the dust from her ceramic-making exacerbated her condition. “The thing I loved doing most was literally killing me,” she says. She had to abandon her life in New York and return to Hong Kong for treatment in 2017. More sadness ensued the following year when Chan’s father died. And when, after a period spent with her family in the wake of his death, Chan hoped to return to New York, social unrest and the pandemic set in, further delaying her return.

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Chan in the process of building her cave (Photo: courtesy JJG)
Above Chan in the process of building her cave (Photo: courtesy JJG)
Chan in the process of building her cave (Photo: courtesy JJG)

During this turbulent time, the artist focused on building and designing her own studio and office—a haven in which she could heal and process her trauma. This extended into an exhibition consisting of an immersive installation which involved the artist transforming a unit adjacent to her office in an industrial building in San Po Kong into a life-sized cave, and a film screened in an area behind the installation, which is normally the artist’s ceramic studio.

The exhibition is titled She Told Me to Head to the Sea (2022) after a chance encounter with a stranger in New York in 2015. Chan was walking in Hell’s Kitchen when a woman, who she describes as “extremely determined”, came up to her, grabbed her arm and said, “You need to go the sea, it will be good for you, and you will do well there.” Looking back, this further affirmed the artist’s belief in signs, as it prefaced her move back to Hong Kong, where she embarked on her healing period.

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Chan in her cave (Photo: Affa Chan)
Above Chan in her cave (Photo: Affa Chan)
Chan in her cave (Photo: Affa Chan)

When visitors arrive at the exhibition, they need to open a series of doors, which all (except one—the real entrance of the exhibition) open up to prints featuring images of waterfalls. Upon finding the correct door, visitors enter a dimly lit, cave-like interior, formed by large, moveable, sculpted pieces resembling rock formations.

There are two potential tours of the exhibition: the publicly accessible one, which still requires advance booking; and the private, family-and-friends-only version which Tatler experienced. In the latter, visitors enter the installation through the artist’s studio and first talk to her over a black mantou bun presented on a plate with a spiral of black sauce.

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Installation view of "Black Mantou on Black Sauce" (Photo: courtesy JJG)
Above Installation view of "Black Mantou on Black Sauce" (Photo: courtesy JJG)
Installation view of "Black Mantou on Black Sauce" (Photo: courtesy JJG)

Spirals are present everywhere in both versions of the exhibition, the most visible being a blue neon version on the ceiling, which marks the artist’s studio/office and cave. Chan named the space (consisting of the cave and ceramic studio space) Juen Juen Gung—a Cantonese term meaning “turning, winding”, the slang version of which translates to “Where do you go wander?”. It’s a term that perhaps best encapsulates the spiral visual and the life cycles it represents for the artist.

A sense of discovery characterises the experiences, as visitors encounter various small ceramic sculptures made by Chan placed on crevices within the cave formations alongside small found objects. Along with symbols, Chan believes that objects have souls, and during the introspective process of creating the cave considered them her “imaginary friends”.

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An installation view of the interior of Chan's cave, (Photo: courtesy JJG)
Above An installation view of the interior of Chan's cave, (Photo: courtesy JJG)
An installation view of the interior of Chan's cave, (Photo: courtesy JJG)

“I felt like they were there for me during that time, I feel a connection, and that’s why I gravitate towards finding discarded objects on the street or looking for them in vintage shops.”

Chan’s studio, designed in a manner very specific to her eclectic aesthetic, is filled with a wide assortment of found items collected by the artist from vintage stores, garage sales and off the street, and an impressive book collection. One book in particular played a vital role in influencing her creative process: it’s about the Haw Par estates and founders, whose aesthetic had always appealed to Chan.

She visited Haw Par Villa in Singapore just before the pandemic, and also took a tour of Haw Par Mansion in Hong Kong in 2022, picking up the book there. She learnt that the Hong Kong mansion had a sort of cave, with raw, white walls that resembled what she was creating in her own space.

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A still from "She told me to head to the sea" (2022), shot at the Har Paw mansions (Photo: courtesy of JJG)
Above A still from "She told me to head to the sea" (2022), shot at the Har Paw mansions (Photo: courtesy of JJG)
A still from "She told me to head to the sea" (2022), shot at the Har Paw mansions (Photo: courtesy of JJG)

Known for its eclectic blend of east-meet-west architecture, the mansion was built in 1935 by Aw Boon Haw, known as the Tiger Balm King. In fact, Chan placed a small jar of Tiger Balm in one of the cave’s crevices in her installation. Chan’s connection to the Haw Par buildings has a deeper, eerie further connection: Aw died on the artist’s birthday, in the year that Chan’s father was born. The cosmic connection between Aw, the artist and her father led to Chan imagining herself as Aw’s child—a “tiger-child”, a character she incorporates into a film which marks the end of the her cave/studio experience. 

The film includes footage shot at Haw Par Mansion before it closed down; Chan was one of the last visitors to shoot on the premises. In a plot that metaphorically mirrors real life, Chan’s tiger character lives in a cave, then leaves to head to the sea, to begin the process of healing and coping with trauma; we see her rolling out to the sea, the action replicating juen juen gung.

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A still from "She told me to head to the sea" (2022), shot at the Har Paw mansions (Photo: courtesy of JJG)
Above A still from "She told me to head to the sea" (2022), shot at the Har Paw mansions (Photo: courtesy of JJG)
A still from "She told me to head to the sea" (2022), shot at the Har Paw mansions (Photo: courtesy of JJG)

The product of nearly three years of work, She Told Me to Head to the Sea reflects Chan’s meticulousness, eye for detail and ability to prioritise quality. While her pace of life in New York was frenetic, the artist developed a penchant for 1960s and 1970s vintage furniture—something that informed her decision to focus on quality over quantity in her work. “I felt like going back to basics, to the Sixties and Seventies, and wanted to recreate that environment.” For Chan, spending two or three years on a piece of work work was acceptable. She draws a parallel to the steadfast quality of vintage furniture and designs, noting that designers from previous eras would take time; “That’s how it used to be back then, and it was accepted—it was also the right way.”

This attitude is patent in She Told Me to Head to the Sea. Deliberate, considerate, cohesive and well- thought-out, Chan’s exhibition, or experience, is unlike any other in the city. It compels viewers to slow down, think things through and define things on their terms and in their own time—much like the artist did with her own life and career trajectory. For Chan, the experience is like a metaphor. “It’s like my real life rolling out of the cave into the sea. In reality, I’m moving away from the cave, but I don’t want to be a cave girl anymore. I’m healed, and I wanted to be open and free by the sea.”

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Aaina Bhargava
Arts and Culture Editor, Tatler Asia, Tatler Hong Kong
Tatler Asia

Aaina was the Arts and Culture Editor of Tatler Asia. A passion for history and all things visual led her in the pursuit of art history. With extensive experience in the art world working for a range of art institutions, she combined her passion and expertise in the form of art and culture journalism. Prior to Tatler, Aaina worked as a culture reporter for South China Morning Post and editor at the online art platform Cobo Social. Additionally, she has contributed to a variety of prestigious art publications including Art Review, The Art Newspaper, Ocula, Art Agenda, Artsy, Design Anthology, and Artomity. Follow her on Instagram.