That’s the thing about feedback. It’s inherently challenging, not because it’s wrong, but because it holds a mirror up to your work, and by extension, to yourself. To take it in requires a certain headspace, a preparedness. You can’t simply dive in blindly. There’s a ritual to it, you find your way of transitioning into a mindset fortified with enough self-assurance and grace to withstand all those exposing vulnerabilities.

In 2024, the interplay of nostalgia, creativity, and growth shaped a year of profound personal and sensory experiences. These moments, rooted in tradition yet forward-looking, offered a glimpse into a year where the past and future converged to enrich the present.

This year’s listening journey was as complexity as life. What strikes me most is the way this year’s records balanced precision and vulnerability. I also noticed an interplay of opposites: melancholy paired with euphoria, the quiet of intimacy set against the grandeur of orchestration, the root of tradition interwoven with the innovation.

It strikes me how little has happened today or on all those Christmas Eves I’ve recounted. There was nothing monumental. And yet, each one stayed with me, even if it reads like a mosaic or a broken puzzle. I can remember them, write about them, and somehow, in the act of remembering, I find some way to piece them together, putting words and giving it permission for a second life.

At its essence, A New Home extends the spirit of the exhibition series, offering a meditation on the quiet transformations between movement, settling in, isolation and connection. What does it mean to call a place home within Singapore’s heartlands? How do these spaces shape the rhythms of our lives, and the shapes of our identities? By inviting viewers to dwell in these in-between moments, the series opens a reflective dialogue on identity, routine, and the fragile yet enduring bonds we form with the spaces we inhabit.

Here in Singapore, creativity too often feels cloaked in class, tucked away in corners accessible only to those who can afford the luxury of leisure. It’s a sobering truth, one that deepens my appreciation for the vivid, unapologetic culture I’ve just experienced in Taiwan.

I’ve been taking photos with the Nikon Z F camera for a week now, and it feels like having a new companion in an old, familiar story. It feels intimate in the way I’ve been able quickly bring it into my life, easing into the flow of my creative practice. I’ve always been a reflective person, and it’s even more telling in the way I take my pictures.

Her partner was sitting next to her, usually quiet and reserved, and shifted noticeably. The partner let out a long sigh, almost as if the name itself conjured something she needed to physically exhale. Finally, she muttered, “I plead the fifth.” It was a soft, almost reflexive response, but it held a strange weight.