Preface

“Subcreation is not just a desire, but a need and a right; it renews our vision and gives us new perspective and insight into ontological questions that might otherwise escape our notice within the default assumptions we make about reality. Subcreated worlds also direct our attention beyond themselves, moving us beyond the quotidian and the material, increasing our awareness of how we conceptualize, understand, and imagine the Primary World. And the more aware we are of it, the better we can appreciate the Divine design of Creation itself and our place in it.”

— Mark J.P. Wolf, Building Imaginary Worlds (2012) 

The notion of constructing imaginary worlds is often associated with subcreation1 – building fictional topographies with their own rules, histories, culture and coherent logic. While integral to fiction and fantasy, the idea has (long) been at work in contemporary visual art, in the way artists conjure, map, and inhabit their own ecosystems of imagery. Worlds are not just setting, they offer the very condition through which we read, feel, and begin to comprehend happenings. In this light, the act of attending to worlds – how they emerge, what/who they hold within, the logic they follow (however illogical) – becomes essential in making sense of an artist's body of work, especially one rooted in world-building2. To get to know Out of Orbit by Trung is to enter such a space: one of the artist’s own making, shaped by intuition rather than logic, where colours and lines evoke a childlike sense of wonder and beauty is found in the mundane.

Trung – or Hoang Anh Trung (b.1997, Hanoi) was initially trained in architecture before leaving it in search for a more human, instinctive way of making. And doodling soon became that way. In this tool, he found a form that allows for a kind of honest imperfection, where each line was drawn to express more than to impress. He refers to it as foundational (almost primal), a gesture rooted in instinct, something deeply and universally human – “Everyone can doodle. It’s easy. You don’t have to be good at it. You just draw.” For him, doodling is letting the inner child out come out to play: freely, and without needing anyone’s permission. Perhaps that’s why there is a playful, candid tone to his work: rarely calculated yet never without care. Under the artist’ hands, world(s) builds slowly, certain shapes return over and over again, not to tell a story, but to hold things together. The repetition of certain visuals gives Trung’s work its own rhythm – a sense that his world is growing, not plotted, but lived into.

Among the earliest of these is Sao Bốn Cánh3 – one of his first recurring motifs, and now a central character in this exhibition. What began as a simple four-pointed shape has evolved into something more than a form. It is a presence: a character (that lives), a witness (that observes), a medium (through which the artist says what words couldn’t quite reach). Drawing on the symbolism of the number 4 in numerology (associated with discipline, stability, and growth), Sao Bốn Cánh carries a quiet persistence. It does not demand attention, yet always there, in a corner, in a crowd, drifting through sky or jungle or desert. Visually, the Star seems simple, but its journey says otherwise. Since around 2020, Trung has produced a body of work around this figure, with variations appearing spanning landscapes: from the cosmos to the ocean, from tropical forests to deserts, and even Mars. Across the pieces, the Star continues to grow, not through clear-cut phases, but through a steady unfolding. Like a thread running through an ever-growing fabric, it ties together what might otherwise seem scattered.

As the world of Sao Bốn Cánh quietly builds itself, a distinct visual language begins to take shape. At first glance, the work featured in this showcase may suggest the visual language of Jean Michel Basquiat, or the dense layering of 2D images might prompt comparison to Takashi Murakami, known for his Superflat aesthetic and use of pop-cultural iconography. While it is true that Trung’s work reflects moments of resonance, such connections are best understood as passing currents, not anchors that define his style. What shapes the visual world here is something far closer to home: a fascination with the mundane4 bits of life – those ordinary, often overlooked scenes and objects that populate our everyday. This fascination grows not from formal training, but out of the artist’s quiet, tactile routines: tending to plants, making ceramics, collecting toys, and fixing (old) objects with silicone glue. These are not made for display, nor are they done with an audience in mind; rather, they are intuitive gestures to stay close to creativity without the pressure to produce. In moments when drawing becomes too intense, this rhythm of instinctive making offers a gentle reset, allowing the artist to remain engaged, yet at ease.

Rooted in this way of living, Trung’s work often draws directly from everyday experience – cartoon imagery, toys, plants, folk stories, comic debris, architectural patterns (and even childhood snacks!) all become ingredients for his creative process. And Out of Orbit is where these fragments are given space to surface, drifting in without calculation, like scraps of thought. In Trung’s compositions, the mundane transcends function. Objects that once served a practical role, and scenes that might otherwise pass unnoticed are brought into the frame and held with attention. Within this new context, they are no longer merely functional but vessels for sentiment and memory. The mundane, once unremarkable, now carries the weight of nostalgia. It becomes expressive, and at times, even mystical. This aesthetic, and the use of doodle as the primary tool, came from a place of instinctive making: art as a way to make sense, however loosely, of the rhythms and fragments of everyday life. The result is a visual language shaped not by strategy, but by quiet accumulation, and the ordinary takes on the shimmer of the quietly magical, like the kind of wonder seen through a child’s eyes.

Such feeling of wonder carries through the work on view. Spring Moment near Galaxy River (2024–2025), part of the Four Seasons series, marks a shift in Trung’s practice, moving toward a visual style more rooted in cultural and personal references. Each work in the series corresponds to a season, and together they trace a turning point in both tone and technique. This painting pays homage to Vietnamese culture, not through direct depiction, but through a deconstructed visual stream of familiar symbols: folk motifs, market scenes, festival rhythms, and mythic creatures. Forms move like thought, loose, instinctive, and continuous. There is no fixed composition; images gather through the logic of doodling, accumulative and personal, echoing the spirit of automatism without naming it. Meanwhile, Stardust (Bụi sao đêm nhiệt đới, 2025) offers a quieter, more reflective tone. Set beneath a radiant summer sky, it follows the final glow of a star, not as spectacle, but as a graceful farewell. What remains is not loss, but transformation: scattered fragments that hint at new beginnings. A quiet metaphor for how things fall apart, and begin again. 

This mode of making – intuitive and accretive – extends beyond the painted surface and continues in a quiet corner of the studio, reimagined as part of the showcase. Here, a handful of handmade toys and ceramic objects are shown – these are no artwork, but traces of a routine that nourish the artist’s imagination. They reflect Trung’s belief that creativity often begins in play, in presence, in the unassuming gestures of everyday life. The studio corner, alongside the artwork displayed, offers a complementary way of entering the artist’s world – one shaped not only by finished forms but by the quiet process that unfolds behind them. 

What emerges here is not a single story, but a layered landscape where collective memory and private imagination meet. The art pieces move through different moods and approaches, not as distinct phases, but as natural variations in a world still forming. And perhaps more than cohesion, what this world offers is an invitation: to stay a little longer, to look again, to begin assembling fragments into something felt. World-building, in this sense, is not an act of control (assembling a plot or constructing a coherent system) but a slow commitment to presence (staying with a thought, or a feeling, or a moment). You don’t enter Trung’s world through narrative. But if you linger, it starts to make sense.

For Trung, Out of Orbit marks the first time this world opens to others in a public space. Yet rather than a finished universe, it is a body of work in motion – alive and still evolving. What we are seeing here is simply the shape it has taken, for now: like a being between seasons, growing slowly, almost imperceptibly, but never still. In this sense, the exhibition is less a declaration than a conversation, a moment captured in time, before the next begins.

Footnote:

(1) Subcreation: A term coined by J.R.R. Tolkien to describe the act of creating imagined worlds within the Primary World – the real world, which he believed was created by the Divine Creator.

(2) World-building: The act of creating an imaginary world with its own history, rules, geography, culture, and internal logic. The concept was expanded by Mark J.P. Wolf in Building Imaginary Worlds (2012), where he treats imaginary worlds as a genre within media studies, and world-building as an existential response: a human need to create, to imagine, and to (re)position one’s presence within the universe.

(3) Sao Bốn Cánh: The central character in Trung’s exhibition, visually depicted as a four-pointed star rather than the more conventional five. As a proper name, Sao Bốn Cánh is kept in Vietnamese.

(4) Mundane: The ordinary, familiar, and overlooked aspects of daily life. Within the aesthetic of the mundane, these seemingly trivial elements become meaningful material for exploring inner emotional states, personal identity, and the subtle presence of memory.

(5) Automatism: A technique that allows images to emerge freely, without conscious control. Originating from Surrealism (notably in the works of André Masson, Joan Miró, and Salvador Dalí), automatism aims to give forms to the unconscious. Its influence later echoed in modern art, notably in Jackson Pollock’s drip painting (Abstract Expressionism), where spontaneous gestures and full-body movement became central to the act of creation, breaking away from conventional composition.

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