Sofia Chen has emerged as one of the most distinctive voices in contemporary urban landscape painting. Her vibrant canvases transform ordinary city scenes into extraordinary visual experiences, capturing both the physical architecture and the emotional resonance of urban environments. With exhibitions in galleries across Asia, Europe, and North America, Chen's work has garnered international acclaim for its unique blend of realism and abstraction.

I had the opportunity to visit Chen's light-filled Singapore studio to discuss her artistic journey, creative process, and the relationship between cities and artistic inspiration. What follows is our conversation, edited for clarity and length.

On Beginnings and Artistic Journey

Sophia Rodriguez: Thank you for welcoming me into your studio today, Sofia. Let's start at the beginning. How did your artistic journey begin, and what drew you specifically to urban landscapes?

Sofia Chen: Thank you for coming! My relationship with art started quite early—my mother was an architect, and I grew up surrounded by her technical drawings and models. There was always something magical about seeing a three-dimensional space represented in two dimensions. But I actually began my formal training focusing on traditional Chinese landscape painting.

The shift to urban landscapes happened organically during my university years. I was living in Hong Kong, surrounded by this incredible vertical cityscape, and I found myself more drawn to the drama of the built environment than to the natural scenes I had been studying. There was something about the interplay of light on glass buildings, the geometric patterns, the human interventions—it felt alive and constantly changing in a way that spoke to me.

I remember one evening particularly clearly. I was crossing a pedestrian bridge at dusk, and the way the setting sun hit the buildings, creating this tapestry of orange and purple reflections while the city lights were just coming on—it was breathtaking. I realized then that I wanted to capture not just the physical appearance of cities, but that emotional experience of being within them.

On Finding Beauty in Urban Environments

SR: Many people associate beauty in art with natural landscapes—mountains, forests, oceans. What do you find beautiful about urban environments that others might overlook?

SC: That's a really interesting question. I think there's an immediate, obvious beauty to natural landscapes that most people can recognize. Urban beauty often requires more careful attention; it's found in unexpected juxtapositions and ephemeral moments.

I'm drawn to the layers of history visible in cities—the way different architectural periods sit alongside each other, sometimes harmoniously, sometimes in fascinating tension. There's beauty in seeing a centuries-old temple nestled between glass skyscrapers, or Victorian ornamental details contrasting with brutalist concrete.

Then there's the quality of light in urban environments. Cities create these incredible light effects—reflections between buildings, artificial light mixing with natural light, shadows cast in geometric patterns. Light in cities behaves differently than in natural settings, bouncing between surfaces in complex ways.

And of course, there's human presence. Cities are living entities shaped by millions of individual decisions and actions. I find beauty in the evidence of human life—laundry hanging from windows, impromptu street gardens, graffiti, the way people personalize and adapt spaces that weren't designed specifically for them. These small interventions reveal so much about our collective and individual experiences.

On Creative Process and Technique

SR: Your work has a very distinctive style that balances representational elements with more abstract qualities. Could you walk us through your creative process? How does an urban scene transform from inspiration to finished canvas?

SC: My process usually begins with direct observation and documentation. I spend a lot of time walking through cities—sometimes with a destination in mind, sometimes just wandering. I take photographs, but I also do quick sketches and color studies on site. There's something about physically drawing a scene that makes you notice details you might otherwise miss.

Back in the studio, I begin by creating a loose compositional sketch based on my reference materials. But this is just a starting point—I'm not interested in creating photorealistic renderings of urban scenes. What I'm after is the feeling of the place, the emotional experience of being there.

From there, my approach is quite intuitive. I build up the painting in layers, starting with broad washes of color to establish mood and atmosphere. I work primarily in acrylics because they allow me to build these transparent layers quite quickly, though I sometimes incorporate other media—oil pastels, collage elements, even architectural materials like concrete or metal leaf.

As the painting develops, I'm constantly balancing the representational elements with more abstract qualities. Some areas might be quite detailed and recognizable, while others dissolve into pure color and texture. I'm interested in that threshold where the concrete world starts to become more fluid and subjective.

The final stages often involve both addition and subtraction—adding details that anchor the composition, but also removing elements that feel too literal or explanatory. I want to leave space for the viewer to bring their own experiences and associations to the work.

On Cities as Sources of Inspiration

SR: You've painted urban scenes from cities all over the world. Do different cities inspire different approaches in your work?

SC: Absolutely. Each city has its own visual language and emotional tenor. Singapore, where I'm based now, has this fascinating juxtaposition of ultra-modern architecture with lush tropical vegetation growing alongside and sometimes literally on the buildings. That integration of nature and technology creates a unique palette and rhythm in the work.

Tokyo inspired a series focused on density and layering—the way information and visual stimuli stack upon each other in that city is unlike anywhere else. My Tokyo paintings tend to be more complex, with competing focal points and a sense of organized chaos.

When I was working in Lisbon, I became obsessed with their azulejo tiles and the quality of light there—that series ended up being much more pattern-based, with a stronger emphasis on blues and yellows reflecting the Atlantic light.

New York City, with its strong vertical orientation and grid system, pushed my work in a more geometric direction. There's a underlying structure to that city that seems to demand acknowledgment.

I find it fascinating how cities imprint themselves on my work, often in ways I don't fully recognize until I've completed several pieces. It's as though each place suggests its own formal language.

On Color and Emotional Resonance

SR: Color is such a striking element in your paintings. Your urban scenes often feature colors that might not exist in the actual locations but somehow feel emotionally true to the place. How do you approach color in your work?

SC: I have a somewhat synesthetic relationship with places—I experience them as color sensations as much as visual or physical realities. When I spend time in a city, I'm absorbing its color identity, which isn't just about the literal colors of the buildings or environment, but about the emotional temperature of the place.

Hong Kong, for example, always registers for me in electric blues and neon pinks against deep shadows—those colors capture its night energy and tension between tradition and hypermodernity. Paris, despite its predominantly cream-colored architecture, feels amber and deep blue to me—colors that reflect its intellectual history and romantic associations.

I use color to communicate these subjective experiences rather than to document objective reality. Sometimes I'll intensify colors that are actually present in a scene; other times I'll introduce colors that weren't there at all but that express something essential about how the place felt.

I'm also very interested in color transitions and unexpected color relationships. Cities are full of these jarring juxtapositions—the warm glow of a restaurant spilling onto a cool blue sidewalk, or industrial rust tones against the green of an urban garden. These color contrasts create visual excitement but also speak to the complex layering of experiences in urban environments.

Ultimately, I want my color choices to bypass the viewer's analytical mind and connect directly with their emotional response. When someone says, "I've never seen Singapore look like that, but that's exactly how it feels," I know I've succeeded.

On Challenges and Evolution

SR: What have been some of the biggest challenges in developing your artistic voice, and how has your work evolved over time?

SC: One significant challenge was reconciling my traditional training with my contemporary interests. I studied classical Chinese painting techniques, which emphasize restraint, subtlety, and mastery of specific brush strokes. Moving toward a more expressive, colorful approach initially felt like rejecting that training.

It took time to understand that I wasn't abandoning those principles but translating them into a different visual language. The economy of line in traditional Chinese painting still influences how I simplify complex urban scenes. The emphasis on negative space shapes how I compose my paintings. I've come to see my work as a conversation between Eastern and Western artistic traditions, rather than a rejection of either.

Another challenge has been finding ways to express the temporal nature of urban experience—cities are never static; they're constantly in flux. Early in my career, I was creating more straightforward representational paintings that felt too fixed and permanent. Over time, I've developed techniques that introduce more ambiguity and movement—overlapping transparent layers, deliberately blurred areas, visible brushwork that records the motion of my hand.

My work has also become increasingly concerned with human presence. My earlier paintings often depicted architecture without people—I was interested in structure and form. But cities exist for and because of people, and I've become more interested in how human activity shapes and is shaped by urban environments. You'll see more suggestions of human presence in my recent work—not necessarily figurative elements, but traces and evidence of life.

On Current Projects and Future Directions

SR: What are you working on currently, and do you see new directions emerging in your practice?

SC: I'm currently developing a series focused on transitional urban spaces—areas that exist between defined functions or that are in the process of transformation. Construction sites, temporary shelters, spaces that are being reclaimed by nature, forgotten infrastructures. These liminal zones reveal so much about cities' past and future.

I'm also experimenting with scale in two directions simultaneously. I've begun work on several much larger canvases that create a more immersive viewing experience, and alongside those, I'm creating very small, intimate paintings that require close, personal engagement—almost like urban portraits rather than landscapes.

Technically, I'm incorporating more mixed media elements. I've been collecting materials from the cities I visit—concrete fragments, architectural salvage, printed ephemera—and incorporating these physical elements into the work. There's something powerful about including actual pieces of the places I'm representing.

Looking ahead, I'm increasingly interested in the environmental dimensions of urban life—how cities are adapting (or failing to adapt) to climate change, the integration of natural systems into urban planning, the tension between development and sustainability. These concerns are starting to influence both my subject matter and my material choices.

On Advice for Emerging Artists

SR: What advice would you give to emerging artists who are trying to find their unique voice?

SC: First, I'd say that finding your voice is not a single moment of discovery but an ongoing process. Your voice evolves as you do. The key is to keep making work consistently—your unique sensibility will emerge through practice and repetition.

Pay attention to what genuinely excites you, even if it seems trivial or doesn't align with current trends. Some of my most successful work has come from following obsessions that initially seemed unimportant—like my fascination with the patterns made by scaffolding or the particular quality of light in parking garages.

Study the artists you admire, but don't try to imitate them directly. Instead, analyze what specifically moves you about their work, and then find your own way to explore those qualities. I spent years studying Edward Hopper's use of light and Richard Diebenkorn's compositional strategies, not to paint like them, but to understand how they achieved certain effects.

Embrace constraints. Limiting your palette, your subject matter, or your techniques temporarily can often lead to greater creativity than absolute freedom. When I was developing my approach to urban landscapes, I spent six months working only in blues and oranges—that constraint forced me to focus on tonal relationships and really understand those colors.

Finally, connect your art practice to the rest of your life. Your unique perspective comes from the totality of your experiences. My architectural background, my multicultural upbringing, my interest in urban planning—all these elements outside of "art proper" have shaped my work profoundly. Your distinctive voice lives in those intersections between art and everything else that matters to you.

On the Role of Urban Art in Society

SR: To conclude our conversation, what do you see as the role or importance of urban landscape art in contemporary society?

SC: I believe urban landscape art serves several important functions in our increasingly urbanized world. First, it helps us see our everyday environments with fresh eyes. We become habituated to our surroundings—the same commute, the same buildings—until they become nearly invisible. Art can reawaken our perception, helping us notice the beauty, complexity, and humanity in spaces we take for granted.

Urban art also documents cities during particular moments in time. Cities change rapidly—buildings are demolished, neighborhoods transform, skylines evolve. Paintings preserve not just the physical appearance of these places but also their atmosphere and emotional resonance. They become a kind of emotional archive of urban experience.

Additionally, I think urban landscape art can foster critical engagement with issues of development, public space, and who gets to shape our cities. By highlighting certain aspects of urban environments—their beauty or ugliness, their inclusivity or exclusivity, their successes or failures—art can prompt conversations about the kinds of cities we want to create and inhabit.

Ultimately, most of humanity now lives in urban areas, and that percentage is only increasing. Our collective future is largely an urban one. Art that helps us understand, critique, and imagine cities is more relevant than ever—it's not just about depicting what exists but participating in the ongoing conversation about what could and should exist.

Sofia Chen's solo exhibition, "Intersections: Urban Light and Structure," opens next month at the Gardner Contemporary Gallery. For more information and to view her complete portfolio, visit her website at sofiachen.com.