Mina Lee’s words unfold as a quiet cartography of becoming. Movement, loss, motherhood, and isolation shape a life searching for meaning beyond geography. Art emerges not as decoration or ambition, but as necessity—a return to breath, presence, and inner clarity. Across landscapes of Australia and inner terrains of grief and renewal, creation becomes a language for survival, memory, and truth. The following conversation traces an artist shaped by lived experience, where hyperrealism serves not precision alone, but emotional witnessing and profound human connection.

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Can you pinpoint a single moment in your life when you realised art was not just a passion but your purpose?

From my earliest years, I lived a life of wandering. I travelled constantly, seeking something I could never fully define or grasp. There was a quiet emptiness feeling with me, a sense that a vital part of life was missing. It was painful that I couldn’t figure out what it is, I believed that movement, exploration, and new experiences would eventually lead me to answers, though I could never pinpoint what those answers were. It was a restless search, one that took me across countries and continents, exposing me to new cultures, landscapes, and perspectives, yet always leaving me with the same subtle longing. My life shifted dramatically when I travelled to Darwin, Australia. There, I met someone I loved deeply, became a mother, and found myself far from the comfort of family, culture, and familiarity. This period was simultaneously joyful and deeply challenging. The isolation, the cultural distance, and the demands of motherhood brought me face-to-face with postnatal depression. I felt disconnected from my own sense of self and from the world around me. In those moments of quiet despair, I realized that the external world could not provide the answers I sought.

One afternoon, after putting my two children down for a nap, I picked up a pencil and began to draw my child as if I possessed. I had no formal training, no plan, and no expectation of what might come from the act. The urge was instinctive, overwhelming, and undeniably necessary. Immediately I was into drawing sketching painting deeply, and I felt myself return to the life. I discovered what I had been searching for across my travels: it was not out there, it was already inside me. it was art. From that moment on, art became far more than a hobby or passion. It became my lifeline, my way of breathing, existing, and processing both joy and suffering. Art became my anchor, a tool through which I could explore, understand, and express my life. It gave form to my internal world, transforming confusion into clarity and despair into a sense of presence. That discovery has remained central to who I am, and it continues to shape every aspect of my life and creative practice.

Do you believe an artist’s passion is destined or a conscious choice?

I believe that passion is both a seed that is destined and a choice that must be consciously nurtured. From childhood, I dreamed of being an artist, yet I rarely received affirmation that I possessed talent. For years, I convinced myself that I was bad at drawing, that my ideas and attempts were insufficient. It was only through the trials of life, motherhood, relocation, and personal struggle, that this dormant desire to create resurfaced with full intensity.

At that turning point, I made a deliberate choice to embrace art, not because I suddenly discovered a natural gift, but because I could no longer ignore the need to express myself. The decision to pick up a brush each day was an act of courage and commitment, a daily reaffirmation that I valued my own voice and the stories I needed to tell. Through disciplined practice, I developed my skill in hyperrealism in oils, not because talent was inherent, but because of the consistent and conscious effort to overcome doubt and fear.

 

Passion, I have realized, is more than innate ability. It is a commitment to return to what we love even when it seems impossible. Destiny may plant the seed, but only conscious action allows it to grow. The artist’s life, for me, has always been a balance between what feels inevitable and what requires deliberate choice. My journey illustrates that a passion becomes destiny only when it is recognized, honoured, and pursued through conscious effort.

Describe a piece you’ve created that has held the most emotional weight for you. What makes it significant?

One of my most emotionally significant works was inspired when I walked through Cradle Mountain in Tasmania. Amid the towering trees and quiet forest, I was struck by an overwhelming sense of beauty, a moment that literally took my breath away. In that stillness, I felt the presence of my father, who had passed away a few years earlier. It was as if the landscape itself carried his memory, and I realized that death is not an ending, but a transformation, a continuity of life. I even thought to myself that death is another name for birth. To convey the intensity of this experience, I used a palette knife instead of brushes. This choice allowed the paint itself to carry emotion, giving the work a tactile, raw quality that mirrors the depth of my feelings. The piece is not merely a landscape; it is a record of grief, acceptance, and the continuity of life. Each stroke is imbued with my personal experience, blending memory and observation into a work that speaks to both loss and renewal.

This painting remains the most emotionally charged piece I have ever created. It serves as a reminder that art can hold the weight of human experience, offering both solace and reflection. The process of creating it was as vital as the finished work, allowing me to confront grief while celebrating the enduring connection between life and death. This is why the work resonates so deeply with me. It is a testament to the transformative power of creation and the capacity of art to capture profound human emotion.

Has there ever been a time when the creative process felt more like a burden than a joy?

Yes. The challenges of creating art are rarely physical; they are mental and emotional. As a self-taught artist, the weight of doubt and uncertainty is always present. While working, I constantly question whether I am expressing my intention clearly, whether a colour choice is strong enough, or whether a different approach might convey the idea better. Without a teacher or mentor to provide guidance, much of this struggle is internal. It is a continuous dialogue with myself, a negotiation between instinct, emotion, and intention.

This process can be lonely and exhausting. There are moments when the doubt feels heavy, almost paralyzing. Yet, it is within this tension that growth occurs. Each challenge compels me to listen more deeply to my own intuition, to develop patience, and to refine my craft. When the work is finally completed, and I experience that quiet satisfaction independent of external approval, the joy is profound. It validates the struggle, making every moment of doubt worthwhile. The pain and effort are inseparable from the reward. They are the very reason I return to the canvas again and again.

How important is it for viewers to understand the intended message of your work?

I do not believe it is essential for viewers to understand my work in a strictly literal sense. While I am deeply gratified if someone senses the purpose behind my creations, the resonance that occurs when a viewer connects emotionally or intuitively with a piece is far more meaningful than a fixed interpretation. My hyper-realistic technique allows me to depict the world with precision, yet its purpose goes beyond replication. I aim to reveal the layers of emotion, memory, and human experience beneath the surface of what is visible.

Ambiguity is not a flaw in my work; it is an invitation. It provides a space for viewers to project their own memories, stories, and emotions onto the canvas. In this way, art becomes a shared experience rather than a one-way lecture. Each observer completes the work through their interpretation, bringing their unique life experience to the piece. I view this interaction as an essential aspect of art itself. When my brushstrokes unexpectedly intersect with a viewer’s life, the artwork truly comes alive. My hope is not that viewers find one correct meaning, but that they discover their own stories, reflections, and emotional truths within the painting.

Art, to me, is ultimately a conversation. Its life extends beyond my studio, beyond my personal intentions, into a dynamic, evolving space where each encounter carries the possibility of new understanding. The ability for a work to resonate with someone in a deeply personal way is what gives it enduring power and relevance.

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

Art begins with the artist. For me, picking up a brush was a deeply personal necessity, a way to respond honestly to the changing landscapes of my life. Creation originates in a place of introspection, where emotion, meaning, and deliberate choice are fully present. If an artist focuses too heavily on trends, expectations, or public approval, the work risks losing its authenticity. True art must remain rooted in sincerity and personal truth.

However, art does not remain private. When a piece reaches an audience, it enters a new dimension. A viewer brings their own experiences, perspectives, and emotional frequency to the work. If that alignment occurs, the meaning of the artwork expands, creating a powerful connection that neither the artist nor the observer could achieve alone. This space, between the artist’s intention and the viewer’s perception, is where art truly lives.

Art, therefore, is a bridge. It starts as a personal exploration of identity, purpose, and emotion, and it evolves into a shared miracle of connection. The artist lays the foundation through creation, and the viewer completes the journey through interpretation and engagement. This dynamic interplay, where personal truth meets receptive perception, is what gives art its lasting vitality and emotional resonance.

Do you think art created for commercial success loses its integrity?

Commercial success does not inherently compromise the integrity of art. Throughout history, many of the world’s most iconic artists produced their masterpieces within systems of patronage or commercial frameworks. What matters most is intention. Integrity is not dictated by the presence of commerce, but by the artist’s fidelity to their vision and purpose. In my own practice, I have expanded into live wedding painting, a commercial endeavor that involves satisfying client expectations and structured timelines. Despite its commercial nature, the artistic discipline, passion, and rigor that define my hyperrealistic work remain unchanged. Every brushstroke, every compositional choice is guided by the same commitment to truth, emotion, and craft as my private studio work.

Compromise, not commerce, threatens integrity. If an artist allows external pressures to override personal vision, the work loses its authenticity. However, when an artist maintains their values and creative intent, commercial success can even provide the stability and resources necessary to explore deeper, more ambitious ideas. In this way, art can retain its soul and integrity while reaching broader audiences or operating in commercial contexts. Success, rather than diminishing art, can expand its possibilities if the artist remains true to their core vision.

Do artists have a responsibility to address environmental concerns?

I believe that artists act as witnesses to the era in which they live. As someone who paints the natural landscapes of Australia, I am acutely aware of how environmental changes are reshaping both our physical surroundings and emotional realities. My role as an artist is not necessarily to instruct or provide solutions but to cultivate awareness and reflection. Through radical honesty and careful observation, I aim to document the world as it is. My hyper-realistic technique allows me to capture the intricate beauty of nature with fidelity, honouring the subjects I paint. In doing so, my work becomes a form of preservation, a record that invites viewers to engage with the environment more consciously. Art has the power to slow observation, to encourage mindfulness, and to foster a sense of responsibility in those who encounter it.

By painting the world in this way, I hope to inspire others to consider their relationship with nature. Artists have the unique ability to translate observation into emotional experience and through this cultivate understanding and care. While environmental change is a complex challenge, the simple act of witnessing and sharing the world with sincerity can contribute meaningfully to awareness, reflection, and ultimately respect for the environment.

Can you imagine ever choosing to stop creating art?

No, I cannot imagine a life without creation. Art is not a job or task I perform at certain hours. It is the fundamental way I breathe, feel, and remain connected to the world. My personal experience has shown me that creation is transformative. It has the power to heal, guide, and sustain life through periods of difficulty and change. From the first pencil sketches of my children to hyper-realistic oil paintings and future explorations bridging realism with surrealism, my creative journey is continuous. It is a process of learning, observing, and translating experience into visual language. As long as I am able to see, feel, and reflect, I will continue to create.

Even if the tools or medium evolve over time, the act of creation is inseparable from my sense of self. It is not merely what I do; it is who I am. The creative spark is the driving force behind my existence. Art allows me to process emotion, explore meaning, and connect with others across space and time. To stop creating would not be a decision, but an impossibility, as essential as breathing or seeing. My life, identity, and resilience are all intertwined with the act of making art, and I cannot imagine living without it.

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Mina Lee’s reflections reveal art as an enduring act of recognition—of inner life, of nature, and of shared human experience. Creation stands as both anchor and bridge: rooted in personal truth while opening space for collective resonance. Integrity, discipline, and emotional honesty define a practice where beauty holds grief, joy, doubt, and renewal without hierarchy. Through paint and presence, art remains a living conversation, carrying memory forward and affirming creation as an essential force of life.