Mizuki Nishiyama is a mixed-Japanese artist based in Hong Kong whose practice bridges Eastern and Western traditions to explore identity, ancestry, and the fragile human condition through the lens of the female experience. Drawing from her Japanese, Hong Kong, and Italian heritage, she creates a hybrid visual language that transcends cultural boundaries while remaining grounded in material and philosophical depth.

Her work integrates East Asian materials and aesthetics—sumi ink, ancestral soil, burning, cutting, and sewing with contemporary Western techniques, engaging concepts such as wabi-sabi (the beauty of imperfection), ura (the hidden or shadowed), and yūgen (mysterious, profound beauty). These methods form a dialogue between body, environment, and memory, where natural elements act as both material and metaphor. Ancestral soil, excavated from her family’s land in Japan and tied to histories of purification and ritual, is a recurring presence in her paintings and tapestries.

In painting, Nishiyama incorporates this soil into pigments and cuts through viscous oils with knives, balancing violence and tranquility. In textile works, she buries and revives fabrics through fire, soil, teas, and traditional distressing techniques such as Sashiko and Boro, enacting cycles of life, death, and rebirth. Her ongoing series, Bodies in Landscape, expands on Zen ink traditions and Daoist philosophies of interdependence, situating the female body within nature as a site of trauma, resilience, and transformation. Through this synthesis of material, philosophy, and cultural memory, Nishiyama’s work invites viewers into a poetic contemplation of impermanence, hybridity, and the enduring spirit of the human body in landscape.

Currently a PhD student at the Institute for Doctoral Studies in the Visual Arts (IDSVA), Nishiyama also holds an MFA from Central Saint Martins and a BFA from Parsons School of Design. Her solo exhibitions include Shunga (Whitestone Gallery, Hong Kong, 2020), An Exploration of Human Fragility: Love & Lust (Tenri Cultural Institute, New York, 2020), and 脆い Moroi: An Exploration of Human Fragility (Greenpoint Gallery, New York, 2019).

Can you tell us about your background and how you started your artistic journey?


My name is Mizuki Nishiyama. I am half Japanese and half Chinese, and I grew up in Hong Kong. My parents spent a period of their lives in Italy, so Hong Kong, Japan, and Italy each carry a sense of home for me in different ways. Later on, I lived in New York, London, and Milan before returning to Hong Kong, where I am now based.
 I come from a family of artists, including painters, musicians, and traditional Japanese dancers. Creativity was always part of daily life, and I was encouraged from an early age to explore whatever forms of expression felt true to me. Over time, painting became the language through which I could articulate the emotions and questions I didn’t yet have words for.

How do you stay inspired and motivated to create new work?

I am currently exploring East Asian philosophies and aesthetics, weaving them into the figurative and abstract language I have developed over the years. There is still so much I do not know about Chinese and Japanese ways of thinking about life, beauty, and time, and that sense of curiosity keeps me moving. I often look into the past because I am deeply interested in memory, ancestry, and the continuity of time, but I am equally invested in imagining what these ideas could mean for the future, especially through a feminine perspective.

I stay motivated through a very instinctive and primal urge to create. Even when a painting is finished, it might not feel finished to me internally. I may keep thinking about its narrative, its structure, its technical decisions. The work continues to live in my mind long after I stop adding to it physically. That constant dialogue keeps me inspired.

Who or what are your biggest influences, both artistically and personally?


My mother and my grandmother have been my greatest influences. They are both painters but work in completely different styles. My grandmother was a traditional Nihonga painter whose delicate still lifes and natural imagery taught me the beauty of subtlety and patience. My mother, who trained in Italy, paints landscapes that merge Chinese and Italian styles. 

Being raised around such different artistic sensibilities taught me to stay fluid in my own way of working. In hindsight, I can see how aspects of both their styles at times surface in my paintings.

Are there any particular mediums you prefer working with? Why?

I am primarily an oil painter. I love the viscosity and depth of the material and the way oil paint holds light and color. It has a sensual and tactile quality that feels alive to me. Oil allows for both delicacy and intensity. I can build, scrape, soften, or rupture the surface.
I work often with palette knives, using them to slice through layers or expose what lies beneath. Technically, this creates a rawness I am drawn to. Philosophically, it echoes my interest in memory, fragmentation, and how the body carries trauma. The surface becomes a place where rupture and repair coexist.

What challenges have you faced as an artist, and how have you overcome them?


I have experienced artist’s block many times. When that happens, I usually need to remove myself from the situation, the studio, or even the idea I am trying to force. There have been projects I abandoned midway or rejected completely because they no longer felt right. I am often in conflict with myself, which can feel difficult, but it is also part of why I became an artist. The work demands a kind of personal growth that can only happen through confronting that tension.

What do you hope people take away from your art when they experience it?


My work explores the human experience, and while that is always subjective, I believe there is a shared emotional terrain we all encounter. Intensity, longing, grief, tenderness. I can in no way provide solutions or opinions. I only hope to influence a state of mind where viewers can seek their own reflections.

Earlier in my practice, my work was very direct, with visceral bodies and deep reds and blacks that confronted the viewer immediately. Recently, I have been drawn to a more subtle approach. I am integrating ink with oil paint and exploring themes of transience, impermanence, and ideas like Wu Wei, or effortless action. This creates a different kind of tension, one that allows viewers to enter the work quietly and gradually. Ultimately, I hope people leave with the feeling that the painting met them somewhere honest and intimate.

Text & photo courtesy of Mizuki Nishiyama

Website: https://www.mizukinishiyama.com/
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/miznegi/

Ashlee Ip (b. 1988) is a Hong Kong-based painter whose works explore the interplay between constraint and growth. In her ongoing artistic exploration, she draws from both personal experience and broader psychological states to create works that navigate the delicate space between emotion and form, instinct and structure. 

Her paintings combine figurative and abstract elements, forming compositions of swirling, flowing shapes that reflect interior landscapes such as feelings, tensions, and impulses that resist clear articulation. These shapes often seem in motion, caught in a moment of becoming, as though suspended in a silent dialogue between chaos and order.

Can you tell us about your background and how you started your artistic journey?

I was born and raised in Hong Kong. From a young age, I was captivated by drawing, when the influence of Japanese anime swept through the city in the 1990s. During high school, I was addicted to creating computer graphics. However, when I entered university and began to plan my future, I faced the pivotal choice between design and traditional painting, and at that time, I decided to become an artist.

In the early days, I felt quite lost in the contemporary art world (well, maybe I still do). However, when reflecting on my true beginnings, I must mention a serendipitous opportunity that felt like a karmic kick-off. Just after graduating, I received a call from a friend who had met someone at a bar looking for an artist’s assistant for oil painting. At the time, I was juggling a design job while renting a studio nearby. Without a second thought, I met the artist, who planned to be based in Hong Kong for a while, and began assisting him with his work. After he left the city, I joined the gallery he had collaborated with, starting as a project assistant and designer. During a period when the gallery was expanding in Asia, I was fortunate to be involved in many intriguing and exciting projects alongside some active contemporary artists. The experiences I gained during this time fundamentally shaped my understanding of the industry and prepared me to embrace my identity as an artist, officially re-engaging in my own creative practice.

I was fully engaged in my own production after that; it was an awakening period to confront my true self and the challenges ahead. My previous experiences were a side-track; they did not help in executing my creations. Questions such as: What is interesting and inspiring to me? What should I create to build a bridge with this world? Is there anything I want to communicate? What methods and presentations should I adopt to connect my thoughts? Since then, more and more questions have continued to loop in my mind throughout my artistic journey.

What are the main themes or concepts you explore in your work?

Recently, I have been contemplating the theme of “constraint and growth.” Upon returning to the field as an artist, I began painting casually to explore my feelings and thoughts. I am particularly drawn to works that honestly reflect the artist’s life and mental state. Naturally, this led me to develop my own topics in a similar direction. I confronted my personality, preferences, and thought processes, uncovering a contradictory aspect of myself: I have a repressive personality yet yearn for blooming. As I navigate my growth, I realize that it mirrors the experiences of many others; we often feel the need to fulfill societal or familial expectations to pursue our true desires, especially in the Asian regions. 

Sometimes, I find that “responsibility” can serve as a beneficial guideline. It creates a solid framework that provides a sense of security in life and encourages you to engage in experiences you might not have anticipated. Of course, everything has two sides. If the balance is disrupted, this suppression and restraint can hinder growth. With these thoughts in mind, I began creating paintings that reflect the balance between restriction and development, a concept that can be applied to various situations.

My works often feature shimmering gold lines that wind through the canvas like guiding threads. Drawing from gold’s historical use in religious and authoritative imagery, I use this color to represent the invisible forces that shape us. The lines symbolize the social rules and responsibilities that quietly influence our lives. They serve as both barriers and guides, suggesting that constraints can provide structure and even propel us forward. Beyond the golden lines lies a state of change that seems to never stagnate. These combinations can be adjusted into different forms and scales, and I am still exploring the possibilities of the struggles on both sides.

How has your artistic style evolved over time?

I would say it depends on my thoughts and the stages of life change. 

In my earliest works, my preferences are evident on the canvas—fluid, melting elements and a blend of layered colors. I use these to create imaginative landscapes, sometimes applying them to real-world landscapes as well. I don’t strive to establish a recognized style or color system to distinguish my work. Instead, I focus on my preferences and the pure traces of my brush to depict the scenarios I envision. Consequently, the themes of my early works may appear different and inconsistent, yet you can still find some traces that reflect the work of the same person.

The fluidity of my earlier work perhaps reflected my exploration of the unknown, whereas the introduction of the golden lines in my current practice represents a newfound contemplation of structure within that ongoing exploration.

It may be too early for me to discuss how my artistic style has evolved over time, as I feel my body of work isn’t yet substantial enough to illustrate that timeline. However, I believe my artistic style will continue to evolve naturally, becoming more diversified with time. This evolution is one of the reasons I remain committed to painting as my creative medium. I find it to be very humane, as it records the artist’s thoughts and feelings over a timeframe, reflecting the life journey of a unique individual.

I view my artistic style as a collection of different stories and chapters. Just like I’m struggling with the theme of “constraint and growth” currently, but in the future, new experiences may arise that resonate with me, leading to the beginning of another chapter.

Who or what are your biggest influences, both artistically and personally?

I believe that every encounter and relationship has an impact on me, just as interactions between people can create varying degrees of chemistry. I’m a strong-willed person with clear preferences and choices. Yet, when I find myself in a group, it’s inevitable to be influenced by the diverse individuals and work habits around me.

During my time as an artist’s assistant, adopting another artist’s creative methods and helping to complete their works undoubtedly had a significant effect on me. You have to use someone else’s approach to realize their vision, and this routine of day and night becomes your habit. Therefore, after that job ended, I paused my own creations for a while. To let go of those ingrained habits, to forget, and to return to my most original state.

Additionally, the people and experiences I encountered while working at the gallery also influenced my thoughts and personality. Being part of the gallery meant I had to adjust my way of thinking to align with the team’s or the individual artists’ needs. Those years intruded on my habitual thinking, bringing new perspectives and cultivating certain work habits. However, after leaving those groups, I similarly returned to my individuality and was able to revert to my initial mode.

I treat the influences as the residual nourishment left behind after each one ends. This nourishment, through time and transformation, gradually reshapes my identity. I wouldn’t claim that a single person or artwork can significantly influence me; while they may bring certain feelings, they don’t create a lasting impact. Instead, it’s the accumulation of experiences and social circles that truly moves me.

What challenges have you faced as an artist, and how have you overcome them?

In artistic terms, I have to keep thinking about what I am doing, catching the ideas and inspiration that pop up in time, and being patient enough to turn them into tangible materials. Ideas come quickly, but execution does not. Many of those ideas drop out in the middle of the creation process because they no longer seem suitable, and many are still in my archive waiting to be used. I guess one of the difficulties is that you still need to bring them up and finish the work, even when the ideas no longer sound appealing to you. This means you have to accept the various kinds of silly thoughts you have; sometimes, those thoughts may feel shameful, but you still need to be brave enough to show them in public. You have to accept that they are parts of you and get the artworks done.

In practical terms, it’s always about how to live, and this kind of pressure often affects your emotions. I always try to get used to this; I think it comes to every artist. Although I feel like giving up every day, I still move forward slowly. Sometimes, an artist’s path doesn’t work solely through hard work. Having a good career is a team effort, with different roles in this industry working together to help. In this case, what I can do is keep making artworks and seize every opportunity that may come. I try not to think too much, but to focus on the moment.

What do you hope people take away from your art when they experience it?

I hope they can build their own little secrets and connections with the artwork. I cannot control how people feel about my work, and I also don’t like to provide a standard interpretation of how to view it. Self-awareness is a precious and moving experience, and I hope my work has the power to inspire people to think a little more. They can try to find the messages I left in the paintings, or they can use their own understanding and experiences to feel and connect with the artworks. I always love to hear how people perceive my work. You shouldn’t rely on others to tell you how to feel, reading an artwork is a fun experience.

Text & photo courtesy of Ashlee Ip

Website: https://www.ashleeip.com/
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/ashleewtip/