From Singapore studios to global stages, these women artists and designers—image-makers, object-shapers, world-builders—are redefining what it means to make. Through lens, line, and material, they are expanding the visual language of our time. Ahead, meet Vanessa Liem—the 23-year-old painter whose surreal works of art explore the impact of the outside gaze on the human body.
There is an amorphous quality to Vanessa Liem’s paintings, as though the artist were capturing frames from a half-forgotten dream and translating them into acrylic and canvas. The figures are humanoid, their faces preternaturally smooth like a baby’s, but too alien to be of this planet. Light and colours twist around them in soft and unusual ways. This distinctive visual language has long been a marker of Liem’s work, and despite its surreal nature, it’s grounded in something sharply realistic.
“My work has always been rooted in my experiences with mental health,” Liem shares. Stemming from a fascination with sci-fi movies like Ex Machina during her teenage years, Liem’s exploration of the dreamlike and the humanoid has shifted as she has aged. “I just loved the visuals, the setting, and how weird the humanoids looked in those films. I don’t necessarily relate to them anymore, but it was a fundamental part of my practice growing up,” Liem says. Themes of performance and vulnerability are still central to her oeuvre, and the figures she paints are often hyper-aware of the viewer’s gaze. “I use light as a physical manifestation of this gaze, and it becomes a key element in the works. Some of the figures are fearful, others embrace the attention, and some exist somewhere in between.”
The Singaporean-born artist produces her ethereal paintings from a studio in London’s Herne Hill neighbourhood. Despite being a fresh graduate of the University of the Arts, London, she has already made waves in Singapore’s art scene—her works have been displayed at the ArtScience Museum and secured the top prize in the Emerging Category for UOB’S 2019 Painting of the Year prize. Her upcoming solo exhibition at Singapore’s Cuturi Gallery is to be her first showing in the city in three years, representing both a homecoming and a coming of age for the young artist.
Aside from exploring her signature themes of scrutiny and performance, Liem’s newest works also chart a path of artistic learning and discovery. “Compared to my previous solo show in 2022, I’ve grown quite a bit in terms of technique,” Liem reflects. “My approach to painting the human body has changed. I used to be quite strict with how accurate the anatomy had to be, and I used a lot of reference images. Now, I rely a lot on drawing random, fast, thoughtless marks, and from there, I build and refine my images.” This sense of freedom translates beautifully into a set of works titled The Third Person in the Room—exploring the outside gaze in a manner that directly implicates the viewer, drawing them into the artwork alongside Liem and the figures.
“In this exhibition, the figures are hyper-aware of being watched by an outsider or even themselves, and the show explores how they respond to that scrutiny,” Liem explains. “Ultimately, the exhibition is about presenting a wide range of responses and recognising that each of them is valid.”
Ahead, Liem tells us about the realities of living a creative life in London, what draws her to the vitality of painting, and more.
GRAZIA Singapore (GS): What was it like to grow up as an artistic person in Singapore?
Vanessa Liem (VL): It was quite nice, actually. I remember my teachers being very encouraging in primary school. I would draw all the time in class, but instead of scolding me, they would tell my mom during the parent-teacher meetings that I had a strong interest in drawing and painting, and to nurture my love for it.
I started painting because when I was little, my parents and I passed by an art jam cafe at Mandarin Gallery, and I was immediately intrigued. After one session, it became a weekly activity, where I’d paint for three hours, and my parents would have coffee, chit-chat, and watch me. Eventually, I convinced my mom to buy me my own materials. Of course, there were difficulties too, as there are for everyone, but growing up as an artistic person in Singapore was pleasant. I am lucky to have a strong support system around me.
GS: What drew you to the medium of painting?
VL: The act of painting just feels so immediate. It feels like an extension of myself and my mind, and I can see my subconscious materialise slowly in front of me. A painting is made up of a million decisions—each brush stroke and each colour is literally physical evidence of your brain and heart and how it operates. That’s why it feels like such an affirming evidence of life, of me and my existence. I mean, all art is, truly—but painting makes it especially tangible for me. A painting never turns out exactly how I initially imagine it, so it becomes a kind of conversation between the image in my mind and the way my body brings it into being, which I have always loved. For now, I’m still very focused on painting. If I were to explore other mediums, I think they would still feel like extensions of painting rather than something entirely separate.
GS: How is the experience of making art in London different to Singapore?
VL: Oh, it was extremely different. London is huge. The access to painting exhibitions is limitless; there is art around you all the time. And these painting shows are proper painting shows—where you can see what paint and the human mind and body are capable of. When I look at these shows, it’s a weird feeling. I’m so awestruck, realising that I have only brushed the surface of the vast sea that is painting, and I have so much to learn and continue to learn. It’s a humbling experience, and an experience I’m so grateful to have. It gets quite overwhelming sometimes to be in a city where so much is happening, but in the periods where I am in the mood for it, I just absorb it like a sponge. There have been painting exhibitions I’ve been to in London that will forever be etched in my brain; I don’t think they will ever leave. Danica Lundy’s was one of them. This impacts my art-making, consciously and subconsciously.
The environment in London kind of forces you to do more, and try things you have never tried before. In college as well, I’m a very meticulous person; I like to plan every detail of my life. But seeing the spontaneity of my classmates making art and really just not being afraid was honestly very inspiring, and it made me feel like I could let loose, too. At the same time, I really do miss Singapore. There’s a sense of comfort there that I crave, and that feeling translates into my art in a different, but equally meaningful way. Having both experiences feels important to me and my work.
GS: How does an average day of artistic work in London unfold?
VL: Honestly, it’s pretty boring! I wake up quite late, and I wear a thousand layers because it gets super cold in my studio in London. I procrastinate for a while, and then I go insane on the canvas for, like, six hours straight. Once I rest, it’s over; I’m not getting back up. My energy levels are quite up and down. Then I go home, and I decompress by watching a show or talking to my roommate about the day we just had. If I don’t leave my painting brain in the studio, I will stay awake the whole night thinking about how to improve the work and what to do next.
GS: Have you ever been surprised by how people respond or react to your paintings?
VL: Yeah! It is always a pleasure to see how people interpret my work. When a piece of art is created, I feel like it no longer belongs to the artist anymore, but to whoever is looking at it. It becomes a mirror, almost, reflecting their own experiences and perspectives. It’s just so refreshing as the creator of the piece. I’ve seen the same image for a year, then I sort of forget about it a little bit. Suddenly, when it is introduced to the world, it enters a [new stage] and comes back to life. I remember one of my works, Stranger Danger—for me, it was about an intruder peering into a shower. But a visitor interpreted it as something entirely different: a mother and her womb. It’s this openness, fluidity, and range of interpretation that keep painting so exciting to me.
A version of this story originally appeared in the May 2026 issue of GRAZIA Singapore.
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