Meet the Artists Behind Sai Kung’s Seaside Arts Festival

Sai Kung is affectionately known as the back garden of Hong Kong and its many islands are dotted by villagers whose inhabitants once earned a living by fishing and farming. Over the years, many left for the city and other parts of the world, but many villagers still have a strong sense of belonging to their ancestral homes. 

The sea is what gives Sai Kung life. Surrounded by mountainous islands, the sea here is calm and easily traversed by boat. And it’s what connects all the points of interest in the third edition of the Sai Kung Hoi Arts Festival, which spans several islands — Yim Tin Tsai, Kau Sai Chau, Sharp Island and High Island — along with Sai Kung’s busy town centre. The festival showcases 27 artworks, many of them newly commissioned, which are spread across the islands, inviting visitors to explore this tranquil part of Hong Kong. Each work mirrors the islands’ unique culture and stunning scenery, bringing the stories of Sai Kung to the rest of Hong Kong.

From now until January 12, artists like Christopher Chan, a ninth-generation villager from Yim Tin Tsai; Kelvin Ho from Kau Sai Chau; and Ken Lo, who has lived in Tseung Kwan O for over 30 years, tell their life experiences and the stories of Sai Kung, and channel the particular values and spirit of Sai Kung through their artworks. We met with them to understand more.

“A village only exists when people gather”

Christopher Chan worshipped his ancestors at Kau Sai Chau a few days before speaking to Zolima CityMag. His family has maintained this ritual in high regard for over two decades, since the discovery of the cemeteries. “We have close ties with the nearby islands,” he explains, “My ancestor’s grave is right in the middle of a golf course!”

Chan’s family hails from Yim Tin Tsai, a Hakka settlement deeply rooted in Catholicism. The entire village practices this faith. Although Chan’s ancestral grave is a traditional Chinese tomb, the family conducts the worshipping rituals following Catholic practices. Another significant event in the village is Saint Joseph’s Day, celebrated on the first Sunday of May with a large mass and parade. “Everyone returns to the village on these two occasions,” he says.

Chan’s ancestral home is a large house near Yim Tin Tsai’s public pier. “My great-grandfather passed it down to us,” he says. After renovations, it has now been rented as an office for the Salt & Light Preservation Centre, which works to preserve and promote the village’s cultures and ecological conservation. Chan’s grandfather and father moved to the UK early in the 1970s, seeking a better life. “They knew the only way would be farming if they stayed here. It was hard to sustain life, so they ventured out of the village,” he says. He remembers following his father as a child to dine at Chinese restaurants such as Lucky Dragon, and New Jumbo Chinese restaurant on Vicar Lane in Leeds, or tea houses and restaurants in Manchester, where many customers and members of staff spoke the Hakka language. 

Chan was born in Leeds and spent his childhood in the Lake District before moving to Huddersfield, a town known for its textile industry. He was educated in the UK and briefly returned to Hong Kong for secondary school. He completed his A-Levels and went to university in the UK, graduating from Imperial College London. Later, he obtained a PhD in Physics from Oxford University and worked locally before relocating to Hong Kong in 2017. He first worked at the Hong Kong University of Science and Technology and is now working at a biotech startup.

Only a handful of souls still reside in Yim Tin Tsai, as most villagers have relocated elsewhere. In spite of that, they still identify themselves as Yim Tin Tsai people. The villagers’ attachment to the land differs from that of city people. “When I was a kid, I kicked about the hills. We farmed that piece of land, so we naturally have a sense of ownership,” says Chan. He first set foot in Yim Tin Tsai at around three or four years old, but when he returned after graduating from university, he began to form a clearer impression of the place. “In general, many Hong Kong citizens might have a broader and deeper understanding of Sai Kung than I do.”

His impressions of the village are woven from the stories told by his parents and grandparents. “My dad used to ‘watch the cattle’ [a Cantonese term for grazing] and run around the hills. He was a mischievous kid, and there are so many anecdotes.” He feels both unfamiliar and familiar with the village, he explains. “I don’t romanticise the impression of the village too much nor have that sense of nostalgia.”

Chan is a member of X-ARt, a collective of artists, designers, computer scientists and engineers developing augmented reality eco-art to reconnect humanity with nature through technology. The collective is presenting the work “Through the Years to Touch You” in the festival. Located on Yim Tin Tsai’s old pier, the installation features a bamboo “bird’s nest” designed by artist Dominie Chan and created by a bamboo scaffolding craftsman. “The pier is where we depart and arrive, like a gate,” says Christopher Chan. “Since the 1960s, villagers have left one by one. When will we see each other again?” The installation is shaped like a bird’s nest because, he says, “this is our home.” The audience can gaze at the sea and Sai Kung over its railings. “Everyone will be connected,” he says. Villagers are like birds, taking flight and choosing where to perch. Who knows when they will return?

The piece includes a ritualistic augmented reality painting performance that uses technology developed by Tristan Braud, an assistant professor in the Division of Integrated Systems and Design at the Hong Kong University of Science and Technology. In the performance, artist bLYHn dances in the bird’s nest, creating cursive calligraphy mid-air. The choreography is displayed on a screen in real time, blurring the line between the virtual and the real. The performance also features recordings of several villagers telling tales about the village.

Chan hopes that culture and the arts can help assure Yim Tin Tsai’s future. The inaugural Yim Tin Tsai Arts Festival was held in 2019, before transforming into the Sai Kung Hoi Arts Festival starting in 2022. “Yim Tin Tsai is home to churches and salt fields steeped in culture and history,” says Chan. “The festival transformed the village into an open-air art museum where visitors can learn about its history and cultures through art.” As the festival gains more attention, he hopes to attract similar minds, such as museum directors and artists, to create more possibilities. “Art surely has the power to beautify the village,” he says. 

He makes sure to note that his concern is not key performance indicators (KPIs) or any other marketing concepts; it’s about finding a place for a 19th village in the 21st century. “Can the Salt and Light Preservation Centre be sustained until next summer? Is there any fundraising or donation? What about the salt field’s yield? These are all real issues,” says Chan. He notes that large ships travel to High Island during the festival, and this year, a new pier was built on Kau Sai Chau. “If culture and arts can bring more resources to the village, that is one of the methods of measuring its worth.” Improved transportation and public facilities can breathe new life into the village. “A village only exists when people gather,” says Chan.

The creativity of fishing villages

Kelvin Ho and his family have been living in Sai Kung’s town centre since he was born, but part of his childhood was spent in Kau Sai Chau, where his parents were boat dwellers. He understood he was different to city folk when he was growing up. Taking a boat to sea felt entirely natural. “We have our own ‘water talk,’” he says. “For example, ‘car boat’ (ce1 syun4 車船) means ‘drive a boat,’ and ‘laa1 haa4’ (啦霞) refers to someone whose name we’ve forgotten but whom we recognise.”

Today, Ho works as a communication designer with his creative partner, product and installation designer Jenny Tse. When he first took her to Kau Sai Chau, where villagers tend to switch between water talk and Cantonese, she struggled to understand what people were saying. “I had to translate conversations for her,” says Ho. 

Those visits formed the basis of a collaborative work, “The Root of Squids,” that was selected by the festival in an open call for works about Kau Sai Chau. Ho’s grandfather used to be a boatman who would take people out squid fishing on a traditional Chinese yacht, which is often referred to in English as a junk, although it bears little resemblance to the traditional sailing vessel. Squid are attracted to light, so when his grandfather spotted them, he would shout, “There’s ‘fire’ over there! There’s ‘fire’ over there!” He was simply encouraging his passengers to fish in a certain direction, but the tourists usually misinterpreted his words, thinking there was an actual fire, and they would run to another side of the boat in fear.

As a child, Ho often went to sea on his grandfather’s yacht. He could easily recognise different types of squid: he referred to the smallest as “toilet bucket” (si2 tung2 屎桶) and the slightly bigger one as “rocket squid” (fo2 gin3 jau4 火箭魷). As for the largest ones, he called them “big-tailed squid” (daai6 mei5 jau4 大尾魷). The biggest of all were not squid but cuttlefish. “Cuttlefish have shells,” he notes.

Ho has been following the festival since its inaugural year. He visited the exhibition on the first day and recalls thinking that it was impressive to see such an artistic event in Sai Kung. His father, a lifeguard on Sharp Island, was similarly impressed: he told his son about the artworks he saw at work. By the second edition, Ho and his family had taken many photos in front of the artworks in Kau Sai Chau. “The artists create something the villagers could understand through their language. I found it fascinating,” he says.

That pushed Ho and Tse to participate in the open-call recruitment. They decided their work needed to feel significant to the villagers – hence the focus on squid fishing. “The people of Kau Sai Chau placed dried screw pine in the sea to attract big-tailed squids to breed on the bark,” notes Ho. “During the breeding season, villagers returned to the pine each year and collectively caught the big-tailed squids. This is the wisdom of fishermen.” 

After discussing with the villagers, Ho and Tse decided to create an installation that evoked a particular part of that fishing practice: drying squid. In this case, they hung strings of plastic squid made collaboratively with the villagers outside a small shed. The squid now shimmer in the sunlight, each piece symbolically bearing the villagers’ blessings for Kau Sai Chau.

In addition to the outdoor display, Ho and Tse transformed the small shed into an interactive space that provides an immersive experience, with mirrors that enhance and reflect animated video projections. Ho sees all of this as a reflection of the village’s significance, not the other way around. “It is the fishing village that gives creative value, not the creation that imparts meaning to the fishing village,” he says.

Ho says his commercial work sometimes makes him feel lost, but working on “The Root of Squids” helped him rekindle a relationship with his ancestral village. Like many villagers, he now lives in the city, and rarely “go to sea” (ceot1 hoi2 出海), the term they use for returning to Kai Sai Chau.

Ho found himself creating bonds in the community as he was assembling his installation on site. “There is one family surnamed Ma, another surnamed Chan – both living here for a long time,” he notes. When the villagers learned Ho was also from Kau Sai Chau, they naturally became friendlier, often buying him snacks. Through creating art in the village, he made the villagers feel proud. With the festival bringing more boats to the area, his uncle returned to the village to visit. “I feel I’ve done something meaningful that connects everyone,” he says. 

Since participating in the festival, Ho wants to return to the village more often. “I haven’t got anything special planned. I may only go swimming,” he says. But influenced by his grandfather, he dreams of driving yachts and speedboats, and he now feels more motivated to acquire his licence. He also hopes his family can gather more often in the village. “Should we go out to Kau Sai Chau more?” He smiles. “I’d say so!”

A spiritual retreat

Having settled in London for over a year, Ken Lo returned to Hong Kong for three weeks because of the festival. His artwork “Hi! Sai Kung” is located at the Sai Kung pier. The eye-catching, rounded sculpture features simple lines, combining text, imagery, and design. Its blue hues highlight the view of the sea from behind. It’s the first artwork in the festival to greet visitors before they venture off to the islands.

Lo’s professional journey began at Jumpin Gym, an amusement park chain, where he worked in his youth. But he found himself at a crossroads, unsure of his future. He ended up following a lifelong passion for design. In 2002, he studied a design course at the HKU Space, where he graduated with outstanding results. His career led him to work with prestigious design studios such as CoDESIGN and Alan Chan. In 2010, he founded his own company, BLOW, which offers branding and graphic design services.

Lo has close ties to Sai Kung. After moving to the Po Lam neighbourhood in Tseung Kwan O during primary school, he has lived there for over three decades. “Many people think Tseung Kwan O belongs to Kowloon, but it’s actually part of Sai Kung,” he says. As a child, his father often took him to Sai Kung’s town to enjoy the sea breeze. Instead of taking a bus, his elder brother and he would walk to Sai Kung along a mountain path from Hang Hau. “It’s not as far as people think,” he notes.

When Lo met his wife through work, their early dates took place in Sai Kung. “We would buy two bottles of beer, sit on the shore by the pier and chat all night.” After they married, his wife moved to Po Lam with him, and they started visiting Sai Kung even more often. He considers the area a spiritual retreat. Whenever he wants to unwind, he goes to Sai Kung. 

The location of “Hi! Sai Kung” is a place that Lo frequents. “This pier has witnessed my growth,” he says. In 2015, he initiated the “More Hugs by Ken Lo” project, and this time, he intended to create a piece titled “Riding the Waves,” complete with clever wordplay and a photo check-in spot. After leaving Hong Kong, however, he found himself free of distractions. Immersed in London’s culture and values, he realised that creation doesn’t need to be so goal-oriented or well-calculated; it should be pure and free of distractions. This led him to present “Hi! Sai Kung.”

“This location is a spot where everyone visiting Sai Kung will pass through and gather,” says Lo. “Since I’ve been away from Sai Kung for so long, this piece greets the visitors while also reconnecting me with those fond memories. It asks everyone how they are doing.” It’s simple and straightforward without needing complex reasoning. “I want the audience to feel a sense of warmth and familiarity.”

Lo and his wife moved to London with their three daughters just over a year ago. “I’m just living there,” he says. “Our die-hard determination is that my work is firmly based in Hong Kong. I want to do something for the city.” In his new environment, he reflects on his dreams and future. “I’m absorbing inspirations there, using design and artistic creation to integrate positive energy into Hong Kong,” he says. He feels that he has changed a lot: “My thoughts have become clearer and less complicated.” He has come to the realisation that “this world needs pure, authentic things, whether in food, environment, or life. It shouldn’t be so artificial.”

Although he has moved away from Hong Kong, having lived in Sai Kung for so long, he feels the area is in his blood. He currently lives in Kidbrooke, a recently developed region in Greenwich. For him, Greenwich feels like Sai Kung, and Kidbrooke resembles Po Lam. He finds his neighbours are like his old neighbours in Tseung Kwan O. The distance from his home to the seaside is similar to walking from Po Lam to Sai Kung. This sense of déjà vu amazes him, but it’s the familiar energy and atmosphere that always draws him in. “I’m always reassured by this kind of energy and atmosphere.”

He shared a little secret: the Chinese character “hi” (haai1 嗨) in “Hi! Sai Kung” (haai1 sai1 gung3 嗨！西貢) contains the character for “sea” (hoi2 海). This dual meaning reflects both the sea of Sai Kung and the notion of being at home (sei3 hoi2 wai4 gaa1 四海為家, a Chinese phrase meaning “home within the four seas,” referring to the idea of feeling at home anywhere in the world). Lo emphasises that this connection is not something he intentionally calculated; rather, it emerged naturally as a response to his realisation that creation should be pure and free of distractions – an insight he has gradually come to understand in recent years.

The Sai Kung Hoi Arts Festival runs until January 12, 2025. Some art installations remain longer.

This article is a translated version of an original piece written in Chinese
by Jan Wong. The Chinese version will be available soon.