Light does not merely fall upon objects: it penetrates them, seeps through them, and even erodes everything dense inside, like an invisible current constantly stretching the boundary between presence and emptiness. The longer we look, the clearer it becomes that it is not white, not pure, but full of layers, strata, and tactile voids. At the deepest point of that light, a trace of black still remains — fragile yet determined to persist: a memory of darkness still untouched.

The painter digs. Deep into the light to find the blackness, and the other way around. Each brushstroke is both a remnant and a reminder, both an act of stubbornness and of surrender. Spirit, psyche, intention — three layers intertwining, circling, expanding, becoming a seed struggling to pierce through hardened soil.

We stand and look.
Then forget that we are looking.
All that remains is the feeling that the light is looking back, piercing through, illuminating a place that no longer has a name.

In the end, is light something we see, or something that sees through us?

Chieu is the first original-print art studio in Vietnam — existing clearly and intentionally to answer a simple question: Are we truly living in a home, or merely enclosing ourselves inside a box?

Free entrance.