Art has always been the way I make sense of what words cannot explain. After every storm, when the noise faded and the mud dried, I would sketch what remained, broken bridges, hands passing food, children laughing beside flooded fields. Those drawings were never just about loss. They were about resilience, the quiet strength that fills the silence after disaster.
Art, to me, is not separate from science or community work. It restores what data cannot measure, the human heart. Each brushstroke feels like a form of rebuilding, one that connects emotion to purpose. I hope my art continues to remind people that healing is both creative and collective, and that even after storms, beauty always finds a way to return.
As Art Director of Humans of CLC, I learned to capture stories in faces and gestures, to turn moments of ordinary life into symbols of hope. Later, when I organized the exhibition “Vọng,” I wanted to create more than a gallery. It was a space where artists and survivors could meet, where memory became a bridge instead of a wound. We used painting, photography, and installations to reflect how tradition and modernity coexist in recovery.
