As more and more shopping malls play host to artworks meant for the enjoyment of passersby and overseas artists are invited to add a touch of culture to the Hong Kong skyline, Joyce Yip wonders if public art can do more than just making viewers happy.

Since its opening in September 2023, Airside, a mixed-use office and shopping complex in Kai Tak, has offered free guided tours of the various artworks scattered across its more than 200,000-square-meter area with public access. The most recent piece to be included in Airside’s permanent exhibition is Floccus by Hong Kong interdisciplinary artist Kingsley Ng.

The large kinetic installation takes its cue from a slice of local history. Airside stands on the spot where Hong Kong’s first airport was located until it ceased to operate in 1998. But Floccus alludes to a past that goes back further. Before the Kai Tak Airport opened in 1925, the nearby San Po Kong used to be a field with a dense growth of cattails. The wild growth had to be cut down to lay the runways.

Floccus comprises fan-shaped cones with multiple blades hung from the ceiling above the shopping mall atrium. These gently rise and fall, and also twirl, to the tune of a score composed by Lam Fung, bringing to mind the movement of cattail fibers floating in the air.  

Daisy Chu, a curator at Airside’s parent company, the Nan Fung Group, says that the exhibition is meant to inspire the local community to see the property as an integral part of the neighborhood. “We don’t want Airside to be detached from the rest of the community.”

Chu chose works that she thought were universally relatable, considering art is not a priority for shopping mall visitors. The strategy seems to have worked. In fact, some of the installations have turned out to be a major hit with the audience, and the surrounding areas turned into a “pseudo playground”. For example, To Wun’s 3-meter-high kinetic lion head made out of stainless steel bars is a piece that young visitors cannot get enough of. Designed after the elaborate masks worn by traditional Chinese lion dancers, the head contains pulleys that can be used to move the lion’s eyelashes and ears.

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“Art is no longer confined exclusively to galleries and museums. It’s something that everyone should be able to enjoy,” Chu says.

Activating a neighborhood

Public art as a concept caught on in Hong Kong much later than say Berlin or Boston. One of Hong Kong’s first public art exhibitions was that of works by the British sculptor Henry Moore installed in different locations across the city in 1986. The same year saw Ju Ming’s Single Whip Dip from his tai chi series installed in Exchange Square in Central. Alice Mong, president of Asia Society Hong Kong Center, says these artists were chosen for their international stature, as part of “branding initiatives” to develop Hong Kong’s image as a city of culture.

Since then, the scope of public art has expanded. Today, artworks installed in Hong Kong’s traffic intersections, parks and public thoroughfares are expected to not just please but also to inspire reflection and drive engagement on the part of passersby. They also serve as key elements in reimagining urban spaces.

Mong says that the introduction of works by Ju Ming and Moore helped “activate” certain Hong Kong neighborhoods, unlocking their potential as exhibition spaces. She adds that the city’s curators would do well to take their cues from that early initiative and start looking for newer, more unconventional, locations for installing public art, especially since the city’s conventional exhibition spaces can be prohibitively expensive.

Walls they are a-changin’

In December, American artist Kurk Persche’s RedBall Project gave Hong Kong people a taste of how this might be done. The touring street art exhibition that transforms familiar iconic architecture around the world by inserting an inflatable red ball with a diameter of 4.5 meters into those landscapes made spectacular use of 10 Hong Kong landmarks, including Central Pier 10 and the roof garden of the ASHK — which is housed in the former explosives magazine of the Old Victoria Barracks.    

Persche calls the RedBall Project a piece of performance art, adding that the ball’s movement between different Hong Kong locations “invites ownership of and celebrates the city without modifying it”.

Since 2014, HKWalls, a nonprofit arts collective, has been breathing new life into old, familiar Hong Kong neighborhoods. Beginning its journey with painting murals on walls in Sheung Wan and Central, HKWalls has since moved on to less-gentrified neighborhoods like Sham Shui Po and Wong Chuk Hang. Looking back on the nonprofit’s 10-year journey, co-founder Maria Wong says the extent of public appreciation has been amazing.  

A run-down residential building on Tai Nan Street in Sham Shui Po got a makeover when Spanish artist Okuda San Miguel made a 3D painting of a giant bear on its wall in 2016.

“We’ve seen people sneak into the residential building across the road from San Miguel’s mural to take selfies against it,” Wong says. “This kind of engagement feels really heartwarming to us.”  

Between art and entertainment

Jaffa Lam, artist and academic head of the Hong Kong Art School, however, contends that a strong local connection is what makes public art worthwhile. She doesn’t sound too impressed by some of the public art programs Hong Kong has seen recently. These include the hundreds of luminous, inflatable eggs created by the Japanese art collective teamLab, and installed across a longish stretch of the Victoria Harbour promenade; and British fashion designer Anya Hindmarch’s Chubby Hearts — a series of heart-shaped balloons popping up above the Hong Kong skyline.  

Lam calls such efforts “commercial projects devoid of meaning” and deserving of the public outcry they attracted, especially since these hugely expensive projects were publicly funded. Hindmarch’s 11-day touring exhibition in February, for instance, cost HK$7.8 million ($1 million).

“It is not public art if it doesn’t connect with the community,” Lam says. She believes that makers of a public art piece need to understand and express the sentiments of the people living in the vicinity. She is also skeptical about public art projects that do not offer much beyond Instagram opportunities. “What’s the point of having a physical public art installation in that case?” Lam asks. “Just move it all online.”  

HKWalls’ Wong, however, says that making local relevance mandatory can be restrictive. She advocates enhanced interactions between artists and community members — both before and after the murals are painted — through workshops and guided tours. “Our main goal is to produce quality work,” Wong says.

ASHK’s Mong is more tolerant toward public-art projects that have drawn flak recently. For her, a piece of public art has served its purpose as long as it is free to access, and enjoyed by many.

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“TeamLab’s eggs were entertaining, weren’t they?” she asks. “Florentijn Hofman’s giant inflatable yellow ducks installed at the Victoria Harbour captured a zeitgeist and made loads of people happy. A serious critic would say these aren’t art, but you might say the same thing about Yayoi Kusama’s pumpkins.”

Mong adds that it is perhaps unfair to expect the sophistication of London and New York in Hong Kong’s public-art projects. She reminds us that less than a decade ago, Antony Gormley’s life-sized human figures installed on Hong Kong’s rooftops were mistaken for people trying to commit suicide. Nowadays there is more awareness of public art in Hong Kong, and a Gormley sculpture on a rooftop is less likely to lead to frantic calls to the Police Force.