Home is where the art is
Reconciling roots while creating in a new country: Multicultural perspectives from Cindy, Tacha Brandon, and Ali.
Words by Dan Truong | Edited by Tacha Manomaiphan and Nikita Bhopti | Artwork by Littlory Designs
WHERE DOES ONE BELONG when your roots span multiple cultures? The complexities of navigating two (sometimes opposing) cultures isn’t just a challenge; it can be a source of inspiration, or a lens through which creativity flourishes. We interviewed 4 artists: photographer Brandon Kim from South Korea, writer and editor Tacha Manomaiphan from Thailand, artists Cindy Lui (AKA Littlory Designs) from Hong Kong, Ali Mai (AKA Blububu) from Vietnam. Through their creative practices, these artists have dug deeper into their heritage whilst actively engaging in local creative communities, ultimately finding home while exploring their identities as migrants in Australia.
Littlory Designs
Hong Kong Style Cafe, 2023, digital art.
Complexities of belonging
Living away from your home country profoundly shapes your sense of identity and belonging, often creating a delicate balance between heritage and adaptation. Many members of our community who migrated later in life feel a deep-rooted connection to their cultural background, shaped by formative years in their home country’s traditions, language, and values. Cindy’s arts practice resides in Melbourne but she remains in touch with her cultural roots through annual trips back to Hong Kong. The duality of both homes often makes her feel that she ‘belongs to both places and neither fully at the same time’.
Tacha shares she is still evolving in her sense of belonging as a multicultural individual. In the past, she has leaned into her Thai, Indonesian, Chinese, Canadian identities. From it, she has learned to ‘embrace the sense of belonging even when it leaves from time to time’. She highlights that ‘being multicultural, there are days [she] resonates more with one of her cultures than the other’. The process of surrendering has allowed Tacha to, for the first time, ‘feel the closest to a version of [herself] that truly reflects who she is’.
Meanwhile, Brandon describes his sense of belonging as a ‘slow burn’ — he sees it as a process shaped by time and integration. Arriving in Melbourne from Seoul at 19, he has grown into the city’s creative rhythm, blending his Korean heritage with the distinct ‘Melbourne vibes’ that now define his sense of home. At the same time, migration can often be fuelled by ambition.
For many, it is the desire to chase new opportunities and build a future in Australia. Leaving behind the structured intensity of life in Saigon, Ali found solace and transformation in Melbourne’s supportive community, which not only helped them rediscover a sense of home but also embrace their identity as a neurodivergent and trans non-binary person. For Ali, belonging isn’t just about geography — it’s about people who see and celebrate you for who you are. In embracing this new chapter, many actively integrate into Australian culture, forming friendships and community ties to establish a sense of grounding. Staying connected to home remains just as important, whether through maintaining traditions, fostering relationships with those who share their background, or making trips back to reconnect with their roots.
While some feel caught between two worlds, time plays a key role. Shaping perspectives and deepening their connection to their new home as they build a life within it is not an uncommon experience for immigrants. From the food we eat to the clothes we decide to wear each morning, there is often a complex mix of cultures happening behind the scenes, and for many, it often takes time to strike a balance that feels just right.
Art as a reflection of identity
Littlory Designs
Hong Kong Night, 2023, digital art.
Navigating multiple cultural identities comes with its challenges, but for many creatives, it also becomes a rich source of inspiration. The blending of Eastern and Western influences is a recurring theme in artistic practice, often serving as a way to create harmony between the two cultures. Cindy explores this in her signature ‘chickie’ drawings as they adorably traverse the picturesque scenes of both Hong Kong and Melbourne. At times, this expression is intentional; it’s a conscious effort to reconcile different aspects of identity. However, just as often, it appears subconsciously woven into her creative work in unexpected ways.
Tacha navigates her multicultural identity through her written work. During her master’s publishing program, what started as a prose poetry series on generational trauma evolved into an exploration of the growing pains of being multicultural. Writing has liberated the loneliness of growing up in a spaces where belonging felt distant. She weave these complexities into her writing, collaborating with platforms like HOISZN and other publications to share her journey.
Home is nuanced, ever-changing, or fleeting in some circumstances. As we grow, we witness ourselves expand, our limbs bend and snap, sometimes we hesitate to peer back over our shoulder at the environment we might label suffocating, safe, or direly non-existent. What might we find if we were given permission to explore the walls of our development? Home becomes entrenched with our identity, whether or not its physical location is accessible to set foot in again. If our concept of home is the amalgamation of how we perceive ourselves, where do we lay to rest when home is impermanent? Whose stories do we carry with us as we mold and reform our concept of home? Is the pattern that we choose to box and unbox with every migration, reminiscent of how our elders package the remains of their day? Do our hands falter to carve a new path, decorating our shelves with nostalgic mementos? If the road ahead demands that we carry the burdens we long to leave behind, what losses have we unknowingly agreed to mourn?
Moving out of home came from an attempt to free myself from the shackles of a fractured home. I vowed that my path forward would not contain the chaos from the walls of my childhood. These same walls failed to prepare me for grieving what I was once certain to leave behind. Amongst the strive to move forward, I had yet to recognise the unconscious notions of home that had latched on to my sense of self. When grief lacks a container it is forced to exist within invisible spaces and I found it lingering between the plates stacked in my dishwasher. It seeped into the load of laundry that neatly hung in my peripheral view during lunch.
