Ngai Ning Yu paints from memory, not memory as a fixed archive, but as a living, sensory thing: the way light warms a room just after golden hour, the smell of a place that suddenly recalls another, the image of a lit but empty apartment window that refuses to leave. Born in Hong Kong and now based in London, Ngai Ning Yu arrived at painting through displacement, turning the feeling of loss into a sustained inquiry into interior space and the traces home leaves behind. Less than a year out of the University of the Arts London, the work has already found a clear and distinctive voice, quiet, layered, and full of what it chooses not to say.

✧✧✧
It's not even been a year since you graduated from the University of the Arts London. How has the transition to independent working affected you?

When I was in university I spent most days painting alone in the studio, and I’m doing the same now. I do sometimes miss the feeling of coexisting with other artists, and the sense of calm when everybody’s focused and working on their own thing. I was surprised at how quickly things progressed after the Camberwell degree show and the way my paintings resonated. I’m grateful that I got to participate in shows and fairs across the UK immediately after graduation, and winning the 2025 Delphian Open Call was incredible - I still have to pinch myself sometimes!

I got my studio shortly after graduation, and I share it with one of my best friends who is also an artist. Life does get in the way at times, but most days now I’m in the studio even if a couple hours is all I can manage. These last few months, self-regulation has helped me the most in making intentional works, and I’m practicing more mindfulness when it comes to noticing things I want to capture - like the way the light hits a space, or the sounds of the wind. I really want my next paintings to have this sense of ‘calmness in solitude’ to them.

How has your upbringing and cultural heritage growing up in Hong Kong shaped the themes and techniques you explore in your art today?

It only became very significant the moment I left Hong Kong. I painted as a way to cope with the feeling of loss. I would miss the sensory experiences, the smells, temperatures and textures. It really tied into my exploration of the interior space as something that holds memory, and then I made my very first painting of a cropped curtain. I was looking for my traces of ‘home’ in the way the light would warm up a room
in a particular way just after golden hour, or the meditative experience of watching a sheer curtain ripple and sway in the light breeze. 

On a more technical basis, I grew up learning art from an Eastern philosophy, which values harmony and wholeness. I tried everything, from traditional Chinese calligraphy and ink painting to watercolour, sculpture and oil painting. I took drawing lessons from when I was three years old. 

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

One way or another, everything starts with a memory. It could be a photograph or an image that I can’t let go of in my mind. Like in dreams, I look for emotional connections. Even when I was living in Hong Kong, I was obsessively taking photographs of my home when the light shined in a particularly interesting way. It’s how I collected reference material from that time, when I didn’t really know why I would capture these images, and where they would end up. 

I also keep a running note in my phone of places that remind me of other places, and I write and photograph them down as these connections form in real time. It’s hard to explain what triggers this, sometimes it is through light, sound or smell, and these records could be days or months apart. Just a few weeks ago I was in a kitchen that smelled exactly like the playroom of a hotel resort I stayed at as a kid with my family. I didn’t think I would still remember how that smelled like! I like unearthing these hidden connections, and it makes me think about what I call the ‘double exposure’ effect. It’s something I’m exploring in my upcoming works. 

I’m always searching for these resonant connections when I am outside or inside. One of my recent paintings, ‘Interior Landscape’ was inspired by the apartment buildings at night that I would pass by on my way back home. One unit was always lit but empty whenever I passed it. The image stuck with me, and I wanted to let its emptiness rest in the painting. I don’t get to capture or remember everything, and I still think about the scenes that were too fleeting to photograph, the imagery that I lost, and I hope for their compositions and impressions to make their way back into my paintings. 

Imagery is where it all starts, and I develop them (as needed) into drawings, painting studies, and eventually a final outcome. The process always differs, but they all feel like relationships; some are decisive and short whereas others feel more distant and sometimes hot-and-cold. Paintings like ‘and it goes’ and ‘Arrival 01’ were pretty much painted in one breath, whereas ‘I remember’ and ‘Gone’ stayed with me for a very long time.

Do you have any rituals or habits that help you enter a creative state of flow?

Some smooth jazz in the studio keeps me grounded. It helps me feel present when I’m painting, and I’m more aware of my mark making. When I’m outside, especially during my studio commute, I try to be mindful and listen to the natural sounds. I know that it will set the tone of my day and help me feel more connected to the work. 

How do your paintings change across different scales, from the more intimate and delicate works to the larger architectural ones?

I’m looking for harmony when I’m considering size. Sometimes a painting can be consumed in one go, other times it might take longer to uncover. I love how ‘I remember’ & ‘and it goes’ compliment yet juxtapose one another, the former being made up of almost ten layers whereas the latter only needed two. Smaller paintings feel tighter, more secretive, while the large works reveal much more, they feel welcoming. The cinematic nature of a painting that envelopes you in, I can’t really hide from it. The smaller ones stay closer to the chest. My most personal narratives are concealed within them; they aren’t as generous as my larger paintings.

How important is it for viewers to understand the intended message of your work? Does ambiguity add value, or do you seek clarity in your expression?

I love going off on tangents explaining the process and influences of my work to those who ask, but it can be better to take a step back and just let the work be. Ultimately, I think my work thrives in its ambiguity, in the inbetween-ness. I love subtlety.

In a world flooded with imagery, what responsibility do artists have to stand out and say something authentic?

It’s so important to be honest, if you’re not being honest you’ll end up with meaningless paintings. I don’t paint from borrowed experiences but exclusively my own. I feel really strongly about it, how artists offer their humanity in every stroke of paint they put down on canvas. The human experience is collected this way over years and years of trials in the pursuit of expression. I wouldn’t want to make something I didn’t care about. It's largely why I would never touch AI, and there’s a lot that can be said about that.

Are there any upcoming projects or dreams that you’re particularly excited about?

I’m going to be having my first solo exhibition in London with Delphian Gallery later this year. It’s one of the projects that I’m looking forward to the most, and this will be my first solo show in London. In the meantime, I’ve got a couple of group shows and residencies coming up that I’ll announce soon on my instagram, but it's an exciting year looking ahead!

✦ ✦ ✦
There is something unhurried about the way Ngai Ning Yu approaches the work, the studio commute spent listening to natural sounds, the smooth jazz that keeps the brush honest, the notes kept on a phone of places that remind of other places. This is a practice built on attentiveness, on the belief that what is worth painting will keep returning until it is caught. The solo exhibition ahead and the years of work still forming will no doubt carry that same quality: images that hold memory gently, without forcing it into meaning. The most personal things, as Ngai Ning Yu puts it, stay closer to the chest.