Part 4: Rebuilding the Ability to See

Switching from Efficiency to Sensitivity

1 — When was the last time you “looked very closely” at something?

The pace of life often becomes so fast that we forget how to observe. One thing I love most about painting is that it forces you to observe — it forces you to truly see.

The last time I looked closely was when I rewatched Oppenheimer after reading the biography. Although I already knew the plot well, I was deeply struck by the ripples on the water when rain hits the surface. The director uses the image of water — raindrops, splashes, debris falling — to express Oppenheimer’s inner world. This made me pay close attention to the shape of water: the shadows on the surface, the patterns of ripples, the direction of waves, highlights and reflections, the explosive moment when something drops into the water.

Painting is like that — it lets you think at both the macro level (overall impression) and the micro level (minute details).

And it’s not only about “seeing.” Recently, I’ve been practicing “listening closely.” One noon, I went alone to a small restaurant in San Francisco’s Mission District called Bon Nene. I purposely closed my eyes and listened carefully: the sizzling sound of frying in the kitchen, the whir of the receipt printer, the restaurant’s music, the Japanese conversation at the next table, the English conversations, footsteps, the crisp sound of plates touching.

I wrote everything down.

Art allows us to re-feel life — to explore the familiar with childlike curiosity.

2 — How do you switch from the fast-paced tech mindset to “feeling the world”?

I don’t think tech thinking is always fast, nor is “feeling the world” always slow.
The key is switching between a busy mind and a resting one.

When I have a clear task — like finishing a chapter — I focus on that small goal. When that task is done, I let myself fully relax and feel the environment: light, sound, atmosphere.

In daily life, there are many tiny gaps of time — waiting for the bus, riding BART. These become my “creation time.” I take notes on my phone or Xiaohongshu, recording thoughts whenever they appear.

If I had a full day just for art, it would be luxurious. But as adults, we rarely have long uninterrupted stretches of time. In school, we had six-hour studio blocks — three hours in the morning, three in the afternoon. After class, we could explore museums and wander the city.

Now, we must balance many responsibilities.

So my method is: unless I am in full focus mode, I let myself rest. Instead of insisting I must sit in the studio to “feel inspired,” I embrace life as it is — the in-between moments, the small pauses. Sensitivity can exist outside the studio.

This is the biggest shift after leaving school:
learning how to stay sensitive within fragments of time.

3 — Why does “looking at art exhibitions” also require practice?

Because “looking at exhibitions” contains multiple layers of seeing, and each layer benefits from conscious practice.

Layer 1: The overall impression when entering the space.

The arrangement, colors, lighting, and spatial layout.

Layer 2: The focused observation of one work.

Standing in front of a painting or sculpture, shifting left or right, or walking around it to feel the changing relationship between the work and your body.

Layer 3: Very close viewing.

Like Georges Seurat’s A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte — from far away, it’s a coherent scene; up close, it’s countless tiny dots. Close observation reveals the labor and process.

Layer 4: Thinking.

Curiosity about the artist’s life and the historical background that shaped the work.

For example, La Grande Jatte depicts middle-class leisure in 19th-century France: dressed-up men and women by the riverside, including people pretending to fish (actually sex workers). Knowing this changes how we view the scene.

Or consider Monet’s light studies, Mary Cassatt’s depictions of motherhood. Learning that Cassatt herself never had children but portrayed motherhood so deeply adds another layer.

So yes — “seeing” an exhibition is a learned skill.

The more art history you understand, the more connections you can make, and the richer the viewing experience becomes.

4 — How do you view “visual fatigue”?

Honestly, at many art fairs — especially big ones like Frieze — I do experience visual fatigue.

It often happens because many works seem to follow the same “success formula.” When a certain style sells well, many people mimic it. Especially loud, sensational works — exaggerated colors, shock factor — feel insincere, made just to catch attention.

When artists stop being truthful and start creating within a commercial template, the work loses its soul.
Insincere works naturally tire the viewer, instead of refreshing them.

5 — How do you re-understand “time” and “attention” through art?

It’s true: modern life shortens our attention span and fragments our time. Enjoying art or reading deeply requires intention now.

But I don’t believe we need long museum days to make art meaningful.
Time length is not the measure.

For example, even a quick 10-minute visit during lunch break to the Met can be wonderful. If a single artwork touches you, that’s enough.

Once, I saw a painting that struck me suddenly. It gave me a new idea, made me pause and think — even though the moment was brief, the impact was deep.

So what matters isn’t how long you spend —
it’s whether you experience a moment of genuine connection.

If one artwork captures your attention and sparks thought, that experience is already full and worthwhile.

6 — Is “seeing” a deeper form of thinking?

I think “seeing” contains both outward-looking and inward-looking.

When we look outward, we perceive the world.
When we look inward, we examine ourselves.

People often talk about “resonance” — the connection between viewer and artwork. As a creator, once a work is completed and shown, it no longer fully belongs to me. How viewers interpret or feel it becomes their own journey.

At my solo show in March, I had a painting inspired by Vanessa Springora’s Consent — a blurred figure in white. Many thought it was an older man. But a critic interpreted it as a woman. At first I thought, “He got it wrong.” Then I realized — does it matter?

Interpretation isn’t one-way.
It’s like paddling: I pull from my side, and whatever waves reach the other side belong to the viewer.

So yes — “seeing” is a deeper form of thinking.
It’s a process where external observation triggers internal reflection, creating a path for self-discovery.