For Tong Yin, portraiture began as a spontaneous response to isolation—an experiment in oil pastels that soon became a deeply personal practice. From sketching friends in a student dorm to exhibiting her work in Beijing, her journey has been shaped by instinct, connection, and an openness to evolution. In this conversation, she reflects on the power of practice, the role of intuition, and how each portrait becomes a meeting point between artist and subject.

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Can you take us through the evolution of an artwork, from that first spark of inspiration to the finished piece? 

The starting point of my portrait drawing goes back to 2019 when I broke my ankle and was literally stuck in my en-suite student accommodation as I can do nothing and go nowhere outside this room. I started with A4 size cartridge paper and a pack of 50 colours oil pastels, which were the only accessible media to me at that moment, tried to draw the faces of models I saw on Instagram to kill time. And then my friends keep coming in to bring some daily essentials and take care of me a bit. I could offer them nothing but a piece of oil pestle portrait and the time we spent together, along with the conversations we had during the drawing process. This activity continued for months until my ankle healed, and by a stroke of luck, I even held my first solo exhibition in Beijing using the drawings I had made during that period. I named the exhibition ‘HARDCOPY’ and described it as: “not only an exhibition of my badly portrait drawings, but also my confession about hardcopy-a physical media that depicts and documents what I see, feel and go through, turning my time and life into a tangible existence that others can share”. I think that the solo exhibition was a turning point in my spontaneous drawing behaviour. I never expected people to resonate with the portraits of my friends that I had drawn in the exhibition and order portraits, or even take part in the drawing experience itself. I think the response to my first exhibition encouraged me to consciously pursue portrait painting afterwards.  Since I had never trained as a painter or an artist, nor did I come from an artistic background—either in my family or at school—this all happened during my foundation year in Fashion and Textiles at Central Saint Martins. I never thought too deeply about what art is when I first started; I simply saw it as a way to pass the time. The response to that exhibition, however, was definitely a validation of my preference for documenting personal life in a physical form. As I drew more and more portraits of others, I began to realise that, in a way, they were also self-portraits. I enjoyed the process, and portrait drawing became a part of my daily practice after that, sometimes for fun, sometimes for commissions. Years later another turning point like an epiphany, my friend Xuan recommended me to try oil on canvas, ‘it has more possibilities with oil’, he told me, offered me the equipment and space and encouraged me to paint my portraits with oil. So my first large-scale oil portrait painting was of him. The first trial was wild, I taped the canvas to the wall and painted freely. I began to be addicted to oil paints also the larger scale. This happened during my placement year, so I had plenty of time to experiment. I just kept doing it for extreme fun and concentration. Just like before, I didn’t approach it too academically—I enjoyed making a commitment of at least half a month with each subject, from taking their reference photos to painting alone, arranging a meet-up with them once I finished, taking pictures together, posting the work on Instagram, and seeing our mutual friends like and comment on it. It was a fun process. And that is more or less the whole story of how I got into portrait drawing.

Do you feel a personal connection to your subject matter is essential? How has this connection shaped your work?

When doing portrait drawing, I feel it works better when I have a personal connection with my subject. As I already have an image of their looks, I just need to stare at them and capture them more precisely when I start drawing. Emotionally I feel more relaxed. For commission, it is always like that person sending me some pictures or sitting in front of me, having a coffee and a chat first. Yes, I think I need more perspectives of the person I am about to draw. As for my other works, I think the connection between me and my subject matter comes more naturally and unconsciously rather than being something I deliberately consider essential. I don’t think I can control what I am interested in and what I want to do in my next project or work. They are just there. It is more like I could sense which theme or content I want to put into my next work. I am still more like going with flow that kind of artiste for now. It is a privilege for me.  My works always stem from my daily life. I feel it’s more like my living context shapes my behaviour and mindset, which in turn inspires me to create works that reflect my thoughts and feelings. At the same time, my living context is also a result of my own choices, so I see it as two interacting forces that influence and affect each other.

Do you believe the ‘mad artist’ stereotype still holds weight or is creativity more grounded than we think?

Before I actually stepped into ‘art school’ or received education from an art institution, I always thought that creativity came from divinely bestowed talent, extreme freedom, unlimited chaos, and anti-tradition. I thought these were the sources of inspiration for creativity. I think these stereotypes come from how the media packages and embellishes artists, often highlighting only their unconventional and eye-catching sides. However, the foundation course at Central Saint Martins completely changed my stereotype and misunderstood about the so-called ‘mad artist’. Everyone on campus looked mad—they dressed mad, wore mad makeup, socialized madly, and partied madly. But beyond all that, they worked insanely hard. The main class session during the foundation year was the daily morning peer critique. We were asked to lay all our sketchbooks out on the table, look through each other’s work, leave comments, learn from others, and get inspired. After being educated in this way for over a year, I realized that all those striking presentations were built on loads of exploration, testing and sketch works. That year made me deeply understand that talent doesn’t come from nowhere—it is the result of continuous practice, constant development, and relentless experimentation. People put as much effort into their work as they do into their ‘mad’ appearances, even a lot more. This idea was further confirmed by one of my admired seniors from CSM. I once had the opportunity to ask him about life after graduation, and one of my questions was: “Does talent exist when you actually work in the industry?” He answered me with this:

 

"Talent exists but what is important is what you do with the talent. Talent without work is nothing. Work without talent can be something. One is not better than the other. But work is more necessary. Artists don’t need to find their voice. Artists need to do something with their voice, and for that they need a platform.”

 

To me, he was the definition of a ‘mad artist.’ Having worked with him several times, I saw firsthand just how intensely he worked. Another valuable piece of advice he gave me was:

 

“Approach CSM not as a school but as a job. Set your own deadlines and be professional all ready. When i was at CSM I did not let deadlines and assignments stop me from doing my own projects. Make the work early and make more work than is asked for! Also make a little bit every day rather than everything over a short period.”

 

I benefited from his words a lot. I think his answer resolved my doubts and validated the perspective I have regained from art school.

 

When it comes to my own practice—whether it’s my portrait drawings or my school projects—it all comes down to practice. Sometimes I genuinely don’t know where I could go during the process, and the only way to figure it out is to keep trying. Overthinking and going mad won’t get me anywhere but practice will. Even though I hesitate a lot during the process, doing more is the only thing I can do, and in the end, it always leads me somewhere.

Can art be truly therapeutic? Have you experienced its healing power personally, or seen it impact others?

I think this question can be viewed in two parts: doing art and viewing art. 

 

Rather than being purely therapeutic, I see art more as a way to spend and enjoy solitude, reconnect with myself, and have internal conversations. For example, drawing helped ease many of my emotions during the time I had a fracture. Also, when I engage in hands-on craftwork, I can easily focus on the physical act of creating, and all my real-world worries, negative emotions, burdens, and pressures are temporarily forgotten. In that moment, it’s just me and the materials I am working with. That, to me, is quite therapeutic. On the other hand, viewing art is also about spending time, finding inspiration, and discovering connections between creative minds across history and different cultures.

Do academic institutions still play a vital role in shaping artists today, or has self-taught creativity disrupted this tradition?

I believe that rapidly advancing technology and the rise of social media have indeed provided many opportunities for self-taught creatives—both in terms of exposure and learning from others. I think this has definitely broken the hierarchy of accessibility in art and art education.A greater variety of low-key exhibition platforms offers people like me more opportunities to be seen as artists. My first exhibition took place in an independent vintage shop in Beijing. Rather than being about the professionalism and academic nature of art, I believe this event is more about providing a space for subcultural communities and non-mainstream artists to have their voices heard. At the same time, I still think academic institutions play a crucial role in shaping artists. Taking my school as an example, while providing us with guidelines and briefs, it also allows us the greatest freedom in creation. For instance, during our drawing sessions, we are introduced to various drawing techniques such as blind drawing, negative space drawing, and continuous line drawing. Each method offers students guidance and at the same time enough freedom for expression, leading us toward different directions that fully align with our own individuality. Without the guidance of tutors, I might never have thought of these methods on my own, or it would have taken me much longer to figure them out. I believe that art institutions help students grasp fundamental concepts more efficiently and with greater focus—at least, that has been my experience. Because of this foundation, when I create my own work, I feel more confident and capable as an artist. I still think academic institutions have offered me a way of thinking and provided me with a strong base for continuous innovation.

Is art created for the artist, the audience, or somewhere in between?

It is for both I guess. I cannot see artist and audience as completely separate things in today’s creative behaviour. Based on my personal experience, the initial intention and motivation behind my work have always been for myself. However, as the volume of work increases and the chances of being seen grow, there will inevitably come a point where the artist begins to consider the audience. Maybe not for audience, it is more like the audience will be taken into consideration.

What are five things you do to overcome creative blocks or feelings of discouragement?

Exhibition, first thing first. 

Good works from others are always a refreshing escape from struggling. It’s not just a way to step away from my current situation, but also a source of endless inspiration. The topics they care about, the mediums they use—you never know how you’re going to be inspired. Sometimes, it’s just a piece of paper from a drawing that sparks something. Besides that, the more important feeling from exhibition for me is calm, artworks make me allow myself to calm down. Immersing myself in an exhibition and feel the preciousness of an amazing artwork that only time can grant. It’s in these moments that I find the courage to tell myself: Take your time. There’s no need to rush into anything. For me, creative blocks or feelings of discouragement come from fear, uncertainty, and hesitation in taking risks. Seeing others’ incredible works makes me realize that so many people are experiencing the same struggles. I’m not alone. They are taking risks, they are brave, and they succeed. The variety of artworks out there shows me more possibilities in art and strengthens my confidence in experimentation.

 

Second, keep practicing. 

I think this is the hardest one among all the ways but also the most effective way. Nothing is going to happen or break through if you stop. At the same time, I am well aware of how difficult it is to keep creating when feeling lost, as it requires mentally overcoming the regret of failure and the risk of wasting time. But trust me keep experiencing is the only way will never let you down or betray you. I think most of the breakthroughs during I was doing my final year project were came from my endless testing and experimenting, sometimes new thoughts just came out. It gonna lead me to somewhere I deeply believed in this. 

 

Third, reading. 

When I feel stuck while painting, when I just don’t feel it or am too tired to continue, I turn to books. I once read Alice Neel’s catalogue, and her portrait paintings always inspire me in some way. Her brushstrokes seem limitless—effortless yet full of intention. For me, reading and exhibitions serve a similar purpose—exhibitions are more visual, while books are text-based. Finding points of resonance in others’ words and turning them into my own strength.

 

Fourth, hanging out with friends and talking to them. 

One example is my final-year project. I was super lost at the very beginning as too many uncertainties, possibilities, themes, researches, flooded my mind all at once, waiting for me to organise them. My brain is about to explode at that time. I couldn’t stop thinking about them because they were so chaotic in my mind. At that time, whenever I met a friend, I would talk to them about my project. They listened, asked questions, or answered mine. The more I spoke, the clearer my thoughts became. Every time I explained my ideas, my thinking process started to untangle itself bit by bit.

 

I am not sure about the fifth. 

Maybe there’s no fifth, or maybe there are just too many things that could be the fifth.

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For Tong, art is a way to slow down, observe, and translate experience into something tangible. Whether working with oil pastels or large-scale canvases, Tong approaches the subjects with curiosity and emotional depth, seeing portraiture as both a personal record and a shared experience.