As the world awaits Donald Trump’s return to the White House, artist John Hui (b. 1993) drops this orange faced antagonist in an uncanny world that deftly captures the simmering unease of this era of western politics. Drawing from the theoretical tools of surrealism, Hui’s work is an absurdist reflection on late-stage capitalism. His practice spans painting, sculpture and, in his most recent exhibition at the Saatchi gallery, a fully functioning arcade game. We caught up with Hui to discuss his practice and reflect on his work after the re-election of his, dare we say, most fruitful postmodern muse.
After growing up between Hong Kong and the UK, John Hui graduated from Chelsea College of Art and entered the financially stable, though artistically limiting, world of graphic design. During the pandemic, he decided to give it up to pursue his art full time. His work extends from the chaos of the Internet, with saturated colours and scratched text that resemble the brain rot videos on every Gen Z’s for you page. With an intelligent wit thoroughly grounded in postmodern theory, Hui’s work is an intriguing and genuinely funny satire of contemporary western politics, culture, and the technology that fuels it.
Hi John, thanks for taking the time for this interview! Where are you writing to us from?
Hi Evie, thanks for having me! I’m writing to you from my studio in London. I recently moved in after finishing my residency at the Sarabande Foundation. It’s been quite an adjustment, going from such a close-knit art community to working independently again. But I’m super excited to make the most of the space and push my work forward!
What are you working on right now?
I’ve just started a new painting series and am also developing a game concept.
Similar to my previous text-based works, these are essentially 3D lettering pieces I create using icing pipes and either oil or acrylic paint. The texts deal with themes of childhood and the struggles of being alive in this day and age. They’re paired with airbrushed imagery reminiscent of toddler drawings as well as online images.
As for the game concept — imagine Tamagotchi, but instead of a pet, you’re managing an employee. The idea is that you have to make daily decisions to keep them alive, motivated, and productive, but not too much otherwise they might replace you. It’s still in the early stages, and I’m figuring out how to integrate it into my practice while ensuring it communicates the ideas I want to express. Right now, it’s all about planning and researching to build a strong foundation.
Similar to my previous text-based works, these are essentially 3D lettering pieces I create using icing pipes and either oil or acrylic paint. The texts deal with themes of childhood and the struggles of being alive in this day and age. They’re paired with airbrushed imagery reminiscent of toddler drawings as well as online images.
As for the game concept — imagine Tamagotchi, but instead of a pet, you’re managing an employee. The idea is that you have to make daily decisions to keep them alive, motivated, and productive, but not too much otherwise they might replace you. It’s still in the early stages, and I’m figuring out how to integrate it into my practice while ensuring it communicates the ideas I want to express. Right now, it’s all about planning and researching to build a strong foundation.
You were born in Hong Kong, but grew up in the UK and studied at art school in London. How does your experience of these two homes influence your work, if at all?
In relation to my work, it’s about how capitalism manifests differently in the East and West: the aesthetics, the pace, and the narratives of success. Growing up between Hong Kong and the UK gave me a unique perspective on how power is acquired and performed in these spaces.
In Hong Kong, it’s flashy, relentless, almost hyperreal: neon signs, luxury malls, and a constant race to consume. In the UK, it’s quieter, cloaked in tradition and class structures, but no less pervasive. My work exaggerates these contrasts to critique the systems that underpin both.
In Hong Kong, it’s flashy, relentless, almost hyperreal: neon signs, luxury malls, and a constant race to consume. In the UK, it’s quieter, cloaked in tradition and class structures, but no less pervasive. My work exaggerates these contrasts to critique the systems that underpin both.
Have you always been interested in painting as your main form of artistic medium, or has this developed over time?
Painting and drawing were my first love, I was known for it at school. But when I graduated from art school, I didn’t think it could pay the bills, so I turned to graphic design. It felt like a compromise: half-artistic, half-practical. Working on other people’s visions made me realise how much I wanted to focus on my own. I took those jobs for financial stability, but every day, I wanted to return to making art.
Despite finding professional success as a graphic designer, what made you eventually decide to switch to creating art full time on your own terms?
Something was always missing. I wasn’t saying something with my work. When Covid happened, it gave me the time to revisit art, and I started with portraits and figurative work. Something still felt off, though. I asked myself, What would I do if money weren’t an issue? The answer was simple: make art. So, I decided to follow my instincts, even if it didn’t promise immediate financial security.
I kept asking myself, What am I saying about the world and everything happening around me? That question eventually led me to where I am now.
I kept asking myself, What am I saying about the world and everything happening around me? That question eventually led me to where I am now.
Would you say you have a traditional artistic background?
I would say so. I had a formal art education and was trained to draw and paint from a very young age, since kindergarten, in fact. It wasn’t academic in the traditional sense, but I studied art like a science and practiced religiously every day.
How has your residency with the Sarabande Foundation helped facilitate and inspire your practice?
Sarabande was a game-changer. It gave me the physical and mental space to take my work seriously, not just as art, but as a business. Presenting my practice to established guests during studio visits helped me build confidence and refine my ideas.
The community was equally inspiring. Being surrounded by other boundary-pushing creatives gave me invaluable feedback and opportunities to learn from different perspectives.
The community was equally inspiring. Being surrounded by other boundary-pushing creatives gave me invaluable feedback and opportunities to learn from different perspectives.
Your last exhibition featured a completely hand-crafted and fully functioning arcade game. Is this kind of multidisciplinary and sculptural work something that you’re interested in exploring further in your practice? What drew you to it for this exhibition?
Absolutely. The arcade game felt like a natural extension of my work, especially since video game references often appear in my paintings. It allowed people to physically engage with the themes I explore, like systemic inequality and the absurdity of late capitalism. On a metaphorical level, it represents capitalism as a game.
Also, I find that most people nowadays don’t stand in front of a painting long enough to decipher it. Social media has conditioned us to digest things in under three seconds. The video game was my way of grabbing their attention and getting them to spend time with the work. And it totally works! It’s something that I will continue to develop.
Also, I find that most people nowadays don’t stand in front of a painting long enough to decipher it. Social media has conditioned us to digest things in under three seconds. The video game was my way of grabbing their attention and getting them to spend time with the work. And it totally works! It’s something that I will continue to develop.
That exhibition took place last October at Saatchi Gallery, London, as part of the Focus Art Fair. Could you tell us a bit more about the themes you sought to invoke through your pieces?
I would say the themes of power, or the lack thereof, and the illusion of choice tie the pieces together.
The exhibition featured two paintings and a video game. The largest painting depicted a mugshot of Donald Trump, both literally and as a gamified version of himself. The second was a text piece, it reads “Your kid could probably paint this, but they’re better off as an investment banker.” Alongside these, I presented a fully functioning video game (created with a team) housed in an arcade cabinet. The text painting highlights the tension of being an artist in a world that prioritises capital over creativity, while the Trump painting reflects the power structures that shape people’s success.
Both ideas came together in the video game, which served as the centrepiece. In the game, Trump is the antagonist, a symbol of power and privilege, while the player takes on the role of an everyday worker or aspiring artist. Through a series of mini-games, players must win 2 out of 3 rounds to succeed, though the outcomes are rigged to give only the illusion of choice.
This juxtaposition captures the frustration of pursuing dreams while being bound by systemic constraints. It reflects the contradiction of wanting to challenge the status quo while still needing to navigate capitalist systems to survive.
The exhibition featured two paintings and a video game. The largest painting depicted a mugshot of Donald Trump, both literally and as a gamified version of himself. The second was a text piece, it reads “Your kid could probably paint this, but they’re better off as an investment banker.” Alongside these, I presented a fully functioning video game (created with a team) housed in an arcade cabinet. The text painting highlights the tension of being an artist in a world that prioritises capital over creativity, while the Trump painting reflects the power structures that shape people’s success.
Both ideas came together in the video game, which served as the centrepiece. In the game, Trump is the antagonist, a symbol of power and privilege, while the player takes on the role of an everyday worker or aspiring artist. Through a series of mini-games, players must win 2 out of 3 rounds to succeed, though the outcomes are rigged to give only the illusion of choice.
This juxtaposition captures the frustration of pursuing dreams while being bound by systemic constraints. It reflects the contradiction of wanting to challenge the status quo while still needing to navigate capitalist systems to survive.
This exhibition took place before the results of the US election, so I’m wondering how you interpret the Donald Trump painting now knowing Trump will be inaugurated next week (20th January)?
I made that piece shortly after Trump’s mugshot was released. It was a critique of how capitalism, by design, protects those who fuel it. The absurdity of an ex-president having a mugshot also spoke to the surreal state of power dynamics today.
Now, with Trump re-elected, the meaning hasn’t changed — it’s only been reinforced. It serves as a reflection of why younger generations feel such a sense of doom about the future. My use of Gen Z’s post-irony, nihilistic brain rot language reflects this collective frustration: if nothing makes sense and has no meaning, why not lean into the absurdity?
Now, with Trump re-elected, the meaning hasn’t changed — it’s only been reinforced. It serves as a reflection of why younger generations feel such a sense of doom about the future. My use of Gen Z’s post-irony, nihilistic brain rot language reflects this collective frustration: if nothing makes sense and has no meaning, why not lean into the absurdity?
Your work is heavily inspired by Mark Fisher’s writings on hauntology, lost futures, and the Postmodern development of art and culture. You mention AI is a huge signifier of this, since it is completely built on recycling already existing data. Have you experimented with using AI in your own art?
I love this question. My practice critiques the nature of AI while fully embracing it. Without AI, I couldn’t have built the video game with such limited resources. Script, coding, imageries, sounds and voice overs etc. It made all these possible!
I have taken Mark Fisher’s ideas to suggest that, under capitalism, the driving force behind most productions: including music, movies, and products in general, is predominantly profit. Anything that challenges the status quo can be difficult to market and, therefore, less likely to be profitable. As a result, investors are often reluctant to support anything truly experimental or new. Instead, existing ideas and products that have already proven successful are remixed and rehashed to create the next big thing. Consequently, what is marketed as new is rarely ever truly original. This cycle reinforces the notion that there are no real futures under our current system.
My Frankenstein-esque creatures in my paintings reflect this, they’re collages of recognisable characters and memes, pieced together for profit. Creatures tormented in the present by the past.
I have taken Mark Fisher’s ideas to suggest that, under capitalism, the driving force behind most productions: including music, movies, and products in general, is predominantly profit. Anything that challenges the status quo can be difficult to market and, therefore, less likely to be profitable. As a result, investors are often reluctant to support anything truly experimental or new. Instead, existing ideas and products that have already proven successful are remixed and rehashed to create the next big thing. Consequently, what is marketed as new is rarely ever truly original. This cycle reinforces the notion that there are no real futures under our current system.
My Frankenstein-esque creatures in my paintings reflect this, they’re collages of recognisable characters and memes, pieced together for profit. Creatures tormented in the present by the past.
To me, your work feels particularly interesting because of its mixture of traditionally high culture (the art world itself) and low culture (the Internet, text speech, meme culture, etc.). Does this resonate with you?
That’s exactly what I aim for, presenting low culture in high culture (I use those terms very loosely, as the concepts of high and low can be arbitrary). It resembles what Pop Art represented when it first emerged, but in a form that’s more encompassing and abstract, reflecting how our perceptions of reality have evolved far beyond that era.
Rather than the cultures themselves, my work focuses on the people who consume these cultures. It’s no secret that only the 0.1% can afford to buy high art, and perhaps that exclusivity creates an entry point to disrupt their psyche. It’s an opportunity to inform those who benefit from the system about the lived experiences of those who don’t.
Rather than the cultures themselves, my work focuses on the people who consume these cultures. It’s no secret that only the 0.1% can afford to buy high art, and perhaps that exclusivity creates an entry point to disrupt their psyche. It’s an opportunity to inform those who benefit from the system about the lived experiences of those who don’t.
Finally, is there anything in the Internet cultural zeitgeist right now that you’re finding particularly inspiring, interesting, or just amusing?
The Luigi Mangione case is fascinating. People keep saying America feels like a TV show, and this is the first time I’ve really felt that. The conversations online feel like part of a huge episode. Maybe it’s the season finale? The verdict will say a lot about where culture is at right now.
