Ask the Artist Vol. 3: Huyu – Between Observation and Imagination
July 10, 2026
Born in Taichung and based in Paris, Huyu is an illustrator and printmaker whose work inhabits a world of animals, mythical creatures, and imagined species. Working across both traditional and digital media, she is known for intricate linework and richly detailed compositions that invite viewers to slow down and look closer.
Much of Huyu’s practice is rooted in process. Alongside illustration, she creates hand-pulled etchings using metal plates prepared and printed in the studio. Whether drawing on paper, copper, or a digital notebook, she approaches each piece with the same curiosity and attention to detail.
When we invited Huyu to create something for the Year of the Horse, the horse had other plans. What emerged was a unicorn—first sketched on a Supernote Nomad and later developed into a finished illustration. Like many of the creatures that populate her work, it seemed to follow its own path, somewhere between observation and imagination.
We sat down with Huyu to talk about drawing, printmaking, creative routines, and the role that simple tools play in a practice built on patience and craft.
Part I: The Double Life
Q. Be honest about a normal day. Clients, directing at 17mars, then your own work somewhere in the cracks, when does the artist actually get a turn? In those few free minutes, does it help having something like Supernote already in your bag that opens straight to a blank page?
There isn't really a strict separation between the different parts of my work. Whether I'm working on a client project, directing an animation, preparing an exhibition, or developing a personal piece, I'm always collecting ideas and images.
A lot of my personal work actually begins in small moments throughout the day. It might be a strange animal I notice, a shape in a museum, a conversation, or simply a sketch made while waiting for a train. Those fragments accumulate over time before becoming a larger project.
That's where a tool like Supernote fits naturally into my routine. I like that it opens directly to a workspace without distractions. It allows me to capture ideas immediately, before they disappear.
Q. Having worked both independently and within a studio environment, how do these different experiences influence the way you organize ideas, projects, and creative research? Does having a single tool like Supernote help bring everything together?
I've worked in different contexts throughout my career, from many years of independent practice to collaborating within a studio environment today. Rather than seeing them as separate lives, I see them as different ways of approaching visual storytelling.
What remains consistent is the need to collect ideas, sketches, references, and notes in one place. I like having a single workspace where professional projects, research, and personal observations can coexist and sometimes unexpectedly connect.
Q. Many of your works feature systems of classification, collections of specimens, animals, and recurring natural motifs. Looking back, do you see traces of Taiwan or your cultural background appearing in your work, even when they weren't consciously planned?
Most of the time, I only notice it afterwards.I rarely begin a project with a specific cultural reference in mind. Usually I'm drawn to a subject because I'm curious about it—an animal, a myth, a collection, a landscape, or a particular way of observing the world.
Looking back, I can see that my cultural background inevitably shapes the way I think and create. Not through obvious symbols or direct references, but through certain recurring interests: the relationship between humans and nature, systems of classification, transformation, and the coexistence of different stories and perspectives.
Those influences are usually unconscious. I don't actively plan them, but they often reveal themselves once the work is finished and I have the chance to look at it from a distance.
Q. What did France put in your hand that Taiwan couldn't?
France gave me a broader perspective. Beyond the education itself, being based in Europe has allowed me to meet artists, designers, and creators from many different countries and disciplines. Those exchanges have been incredibly valuable in shaping the way I think about art and storytelling.
France also offers an extraordinary cultural environment. Museums, galleries, exhibitions, and artistic events are constantly happening, and having access to that richness has helped expand my visual references and curiosity.
At the same time, my own cultural background remains an important part of how I see the world. Living and working abroad has actually made me more aware of the experiences, stories, and perspectives that I carry with me. Rather than replacing one influence with another, I feel that my work exists at the intersection of both.
Perhaps that's what I value most: being able to learn from different cultures while still maintaining a perspective that is uniquely my own.
Part II: The Craft
Q. Among the many printing techniques you've explored, what made you gravitate toward etching? What does the hands-on process of creating a print from start to finish bring to your work?
Printmaking slows me down in a way that digital tools can't. Every stage requires a physical decision: preparing the plate, etching, inking, wiping, printing. The process leaves traces of the hand, and those traces become part of the final image.
I enjoy digital tools, but printmaking reminds me that making something doesn't have to be immediate. The time, effort, and unpredictability are part of the value. Sometimes the imperfections are what make print feel alive.
Q: The Supernote has its own distinct feel, intentionally designed to sit somewhere between the organic and the digital. How did it feel in the beginning, and did the way you used it change the longer you drew on it?
Probably somewhere in between. At first, it felt different enough that I had to adjust my habits. It wasn't paper, but it also wasn't the smooth glass surface I was used to on other digital devices.
What I came to appreciate was that the device wasn't trying to imitate every possible tool. It has a certain simplicity, and once I stopped comparing it to other drawing surfaces, I found it very comfortable for sketching, note-taking, and developing ideas.
Q. You're a colour-and-texture artist, but the Supernote draws in pure black and white. Did losing colour drive you slightly nuts, or did it secretly strip the process back to something more pure? What did you start noticing once colour wasn't even an option?
I actually enjoyed the limitation.Because colour wasn't available, I naturally paid more attention to composition, rhythm, shapes, and line quality. It pushed me to focus on the structure of an image before thinking about atmosphere or colour.
In a way, it felt quite close to printmaking. When you're working with etching, line carries a lot of responsibility. Drawing in black and white brought me back to that mindset.
Q. You've said the dense linework is how you slow a fast world down. Is part of that calm just the quiet of the tool itself, paper, or a Supernote with nothing buzzing, no notifications to pull you out, or does the tool fall away once you're inside the line?
Ideally, yes. When I'm fully engaged in drawing, I stop thinking about the tool altogether. Whether it's paper, a copper plate, or a digital notebook, the best tools are the ones that become invisible.
That said, simplicity helps. Devices filled with notifications and distractions constantly compete for attention. I appreciate tools that create a clear space for concentration. Once that space exists, the tool itself fades into the background and the drawing takes over.
Part III: The Inner Why
Q. You wanted to be an archaeologist because of dinosaurs. So creatures were real, around-the-house things long before they were drawings. When you invent one now, are you remembering a real animal, or building one that ought to exist?
I think it's a bit of both. As a child, I was fascinated by dinosaurs, animals, natural history museums, and illustrated encyclopedias. I spent a lot of time looking at how living things were built—their skeletons, textures, proportions, and differences.
When I create a creature today, it usually starts from observation rather than pure invention. Even the most fantastical creature is often assembled from fragments of things that already exist. I enjoy that space between reality and imagination, where something feels believable even if it has never existed.
Q. You've said you don't like loading a drawing with one fixed feeling, if it already says "sad," you don't want that growing inside whoever looks at it. Where did that restraint come from?
I think it comes from trusting the viewer. When an artwork tells people exactly what they should feel, there is very little room left for them to participate. What interests me more is creating a space where different people can bring different experiences, memories, and emotions.
The same image can feel comforting to one person and melancholic to another. Neither interpretation is more correct. I like the idea that a work continues to evolve through the people who encounter it.
Q. You've often left room for viewers to bring their own interpretations to your work. Have you ever been surprised by the stories, meanings, or emotions that people found in your images?
People often notice things that I wasn't consciously thinking about when I made the work. Sometimes they see narratives, emotions, or symbols that never occurred to me. Rather than feeling misunderstood, I find that fascinating. It reminds me that creating an image and experiencing an image are two different processes.
Once a work leaves the studio, it begins a second life in the imagination of the viewer, and I think that's one of the most rewarding aspects of making art.
Q. When you've lost the reason, scrolled too long, felt small looking at other people's work, forgotten why you love this, what brings it back?
Usually, I go back to drawing. Not for a project, not for a client, not for an exhibition—just drawing for myself.
Whenever I become too focused on comparison, expectations, or outcomes, I try to return to the simple curiosity that made me start in the first place. Drawing an animal, visiting a museum, looking through old sketches, or learning something new is often enough.
The feeling doesn't always come back immediately, but curiosity is usually a more reliable guide than motivation.
Part IV: What Lasts
Q. Over the years, you've worked across illustration, printmaking, animation, and other forms of visual storytelling. What do you think makes an artist's work truly their own? Is it technique, perspective, experience, or something else entirely?
What makes a work unique isn't a particular style or technique. Those things can be learned, imitated, and eventually transformed by others.
What cannot be replicated so easily is a lifetime of experiences, interests, influences, obsessions, mistakes, and choices. Every artist develops a way of seeing the world that is shaped over many years.
For me, originality isn't about inventing something that has never existed before. It's about bringing together influences in a way that could only come from one particular person. Even on difficult days, I still believe that perspective matters.
Q. Many young illustrators feel pressure to develop a recognizable style as quickly as possible. What advice would you give someone who worries about standing out in an increasingly crowded visual landscape?
I would probably tell them not to focus on style too early. Style is often something that emerges naturally after years of drawing, experimenting, learning, and following your own interests. The more you try to force it, the more artificial it can become.
Instead of asking "What should my style be?", I think a more useful question is "What am I genuinely curious about?"
The artists I admire most are not necessarily the ones with the most recognizable style. They're the ones whose curiosity continues to evolve over time. If you keep learning, observing, and making work, your visual language will develop on its own.
