INTERVIEW: dreamscape ARTISTS

[ Exclusive Interview ] ARTIST Alan Chin、Alex McAdoo、Max Berry

1. In Superbloom, the California poppy serves as the protagonist, carrying multiple layers of meaning—symbolizing resilience, reflecting Indigenous historical memory, and representing rebirth and hope. Could you delve deeper into how the California poppy functions as a visual medium for expressing history and identity, and how it engages the viewer in this narrative?

Alan: As a multigenerational Chinese American born and raised in California with some of my ancestors coming for the California gold rush in the 1850’s to the building of the Transcontinental Railroad, the California poppy has been ever-present in my life. It’s the state flower, appearing on books, city signs, municipal parks, and recreational logos.  Some of the Briones Regional Park hills that surrounded my childhood home would be covered in poppies, blades of grass and wildflowers. I was drawn to the mythology of Manifest Destiny imagery growing up in the Bay Area, frequently visiting the Oakland Museum, where the collection chronicled California’s history from Indigenous times to the Art Nouveau and Arts and Crafts movements to Dorothea Lange’s Dust Bowl photographs. These influences shaped my perspective on the poppy and its layered significance.

I learned to plant poppies in the wild and in my own garden, experiencing firsthand their beauty and fleeting nature. Despite their resilience, they are delicate—lasting only a day—yet they return every year, symbolizing cycles of survival and renewal. What struck me was the contradiction that picking these flowers was illegal, treated as a federal offense, even though they grew in abundance growing within the so called “weeds.” Since it was illegal to pick the flowers themselves— with my partner we began making a game of photographing them rain or shine in different environments, from national parks to urban gardens and around the neighborhood.

For me, the poppy is a deeply personal symbol tied to cultural heritage, survival, and transformation. Indigenous communities have long used poppies for food and medicine, even for pain relief. Over time, artists have also used poppies as a symbol in their work to tell stories of place and identity. The flower’s calming effect and its vibrant, sunset-colored bloom evoke both beauty and resilience, creating a bridge between personal memory, collective history, and the enduring power of nature. As well as the opium wars in China to the opioid epidemic around the world. Poppies for opium became a currency that could heal and destroy.

2. In the exhibition overview, it is mentioned that your great-grandfather participated in the Opium Wars and your family migrated to the United States. If you’re comfortable sharing, could you discuss how these historical experiences influenced your creation of the Superbloom series? Specifically, how did you transform these personal memories into universal metaphors or symbols that speak to the audience?

Alan: My great-grandfather was caught in the devastating aftermath of the Opium Wars in China, struggling with addiction in a time when opium was wielded as a tool of colonial subjugation. Desperate to pay off his debts, he made an unthinkable decision—he sold my grandfather to his uncle in California when he was just a child. My grandfather arrived in the United States as an indentured servant, and later, despite this country’s discrimination against Chinese immigrants, he was drafted into the U.S. Army during World War II. He fought on four front lines, played a role in the liberation of concentration and death camps, and ultimately earned a Bronze Star for saving his general and army battalion.

For me, the poppy—so often seen as a delicate and ephemeral bloom—is weighted with these ancestral histories of survival and sacrifice. In its natural state, it mesmerizes: its petals catch the wind, blanketing hillsides in golden waves. Yet, its beauty is inseparable from its darker legacy. Opium, extracted from the same flower, was weaponized against China by the British to cripple its economy mainly to extract porcelain ceramics, silver and tea, fueling a cycle of addiction and displacement that shaped my own family’s journey.
Superbloom transforms these deeply personal histories into universal metaphors of resilience and renewal. The poppy, despite its fragility, thrives in the harshest conditions. It reseeds itself, carried by the wind—just as our histories, even those marked by suffering, continue to shape us across generations. Through this work, I explore the tension between destruction and rebirth, between loss and the persistence of life. The poppy, both a symbol of remembrance and survival, reminds us that even in the aftermath of devastation, something new can take root and flourish.

3. In your work, you mention wind as a force of transformation, which is a striking image. Could you share the inspiration behind this concept and explain how it resonates with your understanding of family history or cultural roots?

Alan: Wind is movement. It carries seeds, shapes landscapes, and transforms the environment, even though we cannot see it directly. The only way we know the wind exists is through what it touches—the way it bends grass, stirs water, or lifts the delicate petals of a poppy.

In my family’s history, migration has been like the wind—an invisible yet powerful force shaping our journey. The wind brought my ancestors across the Pacific, carrying them into an uncertain future. It speaks to the unseen forces—colonialism, war, economic hardship—that shaped their movements. Even in moments of stillness, the wind is present, just as history lingers in our bones and memories.

The wind provides rain, nourishes the earth, and allows new growth to take root. In my work, it represents both the unseen struggles of the past and the continuous movement toward renewal. The same wind that scatters poppy seeds also breathes life into the next generation.

4. In your work, personal and collective memories intertwine. As a descendant of immigrants, does this exploration carry any particular significance or challenges in your artistic process?

Alan: If you look deeply into history, almost everyone—except perhaps Indigenous communities—descends from immigrants. Migration has always been a defining force, whether voluntary or forced, whether driven by survival, opportunity, or displacement. This movement shapes identity, creating a tension between past and present, between memory and reinvention.

For me, this exploration is not just historical—it is deeply personal. My work is often a negotiation between honoring ancestral histories and forging something new. There is an inherent challenge in holding space for both grief and celebration, for loss and renewal. Yet, it is within this duality that the most meaningful stories emerge.

One of the challenges I grapple with is the transformation of landscapes, which serves as a metaphor for cultural erasure and adaptation. Walking outside, I see how flora from around the world has reshaped the environment—monocultures of imported grass covering golf courses and suburban lawns, remnants of European ideals imposed on the land. In contrast, a Japanese-style garden, with its biodiversity and intentional harmony, mirrors the way nature thrives through interdependence yet there is still a deep sense of control. This contrast reminds me of migration itself—the ways in which cultures either assimilate, dominate, or coexist with their surroundings.

Whether people walked across the Bering Strait or arrived by boat, nearly everyone in the United States came from somewhere else. Yet, history has been shaped by those who claimed land as their own, asserting ownership over places that had long been inhabited. This reality complicates the narrative of migration, forcing us to examine power, displacement, and the rewriting of histories.

Despite these complexities, I find beauty in the exchange of cultures—through food, language, art, and traditions. To experience different perspectives, to engage with histories beyond our own, is to expand our understanding of the world. My work is a reflection of this journey, embracing the richness that comes from cultural intersections while questioning the forces that shape them.

5. As a multidisciplinary artist, you work across painting, ceramics, installation art, and even photography and film. Does the process of switching between these different mediums present any challenges, or does it offer certain advantages in your creative process?

Alan:

Maya Angelou said, “everything in moderation including moderation.” As an interdisciplinary artist, I embrace working across different mediums because each offers a unique way to communicate an idea—like experiencing a multi-course meal rather than just a single dish. While focusing on one medium can be powerful, I find richness in the variety, allowing each material to bring its own voice to the conversation.

Every medium has its own language, yet they are all interconnected. Painting relies on natural earth pigments, just as clay is made up of earth’s minerals. A canvas is often woven from cotton or linen, which once grew as cotton or flax under the sun, just as clay was formed over thousands of years beneath the soil. Even the metals used in sculpture and installation were extracted from the earth, refined through labor and time. Film captures real-time movement in the same way that clay records the impression of a fingerprint—both are forms of preserving memory like a hard drive in a computer.

Each discipline serves a different purpose. Large-scale installations create immersive environments, while a ceramic cup fosters an intimate, tactile experience—something you hold, something that warms your hands as part of a daily ritual. These materials are not just tools; they are carriers of history, culture, and elemental transformation.

For me, working across mediums is not so much a challenge but an expansion of possibility. It allows me to approach a concept from multiple angles, to see how a story shifts depending on the material used to tell it. No matter the medium, the core remains the same: a deep engagement with process, materiality, and the natural world. Every work is a prayer.

6. Although your ceramic works are not part of this exhibition, we are very interested in how you similarly explore themes of personal identity, collective memory, and historical trauma through ceramics. Could you share a bit about your creative process in this area?

Alan:

Clay is an extraordinary material, not just in its physical properties but in its deep historical and cultural significance. It has been shaped by human hands for thousands of years, serving as both a vessel for everyday life and a record of civilization. Porcelain was worth more than its weight in gold until the alchemists sought to recreate it—eventually producing it using bone ash from the remains of animals. This transformation, from organic matter to fine ceramic, mirrors the way history itself is shaped—through reinvention, adaptation, and survival.

Clay holds memories. It records every touch, every mark—just as history leaves imprints on our lives. I approach ceramics as both a storytelling medium and a way to explore resilience. During the pandemic and the rise of Anti-Asian Hate, I created a series inspired by cacti and succulents—plants that thrive in extreme conditions. Their ability to store water, to endure harsh landscapes, resonated with the themes of survival and adaptation that I often investigate in my work. As I studied their forms, I also researched their historical uses—how plants have been cultivated for beauty, medicine, and, in some cases, wielded as instruments of colonization.

When my solo exhibition in Pennsylvania was recently cancelled—essentially because I was Asian—I was heartbroken. That initial pain soon turned into anger, which fueled the creation of a new series of works primarily in wood and ceramics. This body of work became a way to process and confront the long history of anti-Asian hate crimes and systemic oppression in America.

My research led me through pivotal moments of violence and resistance, from the Snake River Massacre to the lynching of innocent men and boys in Los Angeles Chinatown, to the Chinese Exclusion Act and the landmark United States v. Wong Kim Ark case that secured birthright citizenship. I examined the role of Chinese laborers in building the Transcontinental Railroad, the detainment and interrogation of immigrants at San Francisco’s Angel Island Immigration Station, and more recent tragedies like the brutal murder of Vincent Chin by white auto workers in Detroit and the killing of 84-year-old Vicha Ratanapakdee in San Francisco.

The list of injustices continues, but so does the history of resilience. These events—both tragic and heroic—shape the foundation we stand on today. Through my work, I aim to illuminate these histories, not just as moments of suffering, but as testaments to the perseverance and contributions of Asian Americans, whose stories deserve to be remembered and honored.

As artist Jim Melchert once said, “When a tile breaks, there is a shock that follows the path of least resistance, suggesting something alive.” This philosophy guides my approach—embracing the unexpected, allowing fractures to become part of the narrative.

Through ceramics, I explore these tensions—the fragility of memory, the permanence of history, and the beauty found in survival.

7. As an Asian American artist, have you ever experienced challenges related to cultural identity within the international art scene? How have these challenges influenced the direction of your work?

Alan: Absolutely. As an Asian American artist, I have encountered many challenges related to cultural identity, particularly in the international art scene. In the Netherlands, where I studied, there were preconceived notions about what “American” art should look like—often associated with large-scale, bold, and colorful works. There was an expectation of a certain aesthetic, and when my work diverged from that, it was sometimes met with surprise or skepticism.

When I was invited to represent the United States at the first Ecological Sculpture Biennale in Wuhan, I experienced another layer of these assumptions. Many expected an American artist to be blond-haired and blue-eyed, and when I arrived, I was mistaken for an assistant rather than the artist. Even as I welded my own sculptures, people assumed I was a hired fabricator rather than the creator of the work. In many spaces, I became a kind of chameleon—an artist who did not fit the expected image but who communicated through the universal language of art.

More recently, a solo exhibition I had scheduled in Pennsylvania was abruptly canceled. The reasoning given by the director and board was that they had already exhibited an “Asian couple,” implying that featuring my work would not align with their diversity quotas. As beautiful and necessary as Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) initiatives are, in this case, they were being misused—turned into a tool of exclusion rather than inclusion. Instead of fostering a richer, more diverse dialogue, my identity was reduced to a quota, as if representation were a limited resource. It was a stark reminder of how DEI efforts, when applied superficially or without true understanding, can sometimes be weaponized in ways that undermine their original intent.

These experiences reinforced the importance of challenging stereotypes and expanding the narrative of who is seen and heard in the art world. My work exists in these liminal spaces—questioning identity, perception, and belonging. Rather than conforming to expectations, I use my practice to explore nuance, disrupt assumptions, and carve out space for more complex representations of what it means to be an American artist.

8. Your work often explores cultures and histories that have not been fully addressed. Also as a lecturer, how do you view the role of art in education, particularly in promoting understanding of diversity and forgotten histories?

Alan: Art is a powerful tool for understanding history. It makes abstract concepts tangible and can serve as an accessible way to address difficult topics, including mental health and historical trauma.

Art is evidence—it holds stories, emotions, and lived experiences. Teaching through art allows for deeper engagement, inviting us to question, reflect, and connect with histories that might otherwise be overlooked.

9. In dreamlike artistic expressions, or in the process of digesting personal memory and collective history, there are times when particular fragments of memory and time are captured. Has there been a moment of memory reconstruction during this creative process? How has this affected the work? Does this process also present a challenge to the inner state?

Alan: Yes, my creative process is a form of collage—layering personal, familial, and global histories into a single moment. Memories are not static; they shift over time, shaped by new perspectives, emotions, and discoveries. This fluidity challenges me, but it also creates space for reinterpretation, allowing deeper layers of meaning to emerge.

Color, in particular, acts as a language of its own—capable of evoking emotions, forging connections, and reshaping context. Sometimes, the meaning of an image or material is revealed before I begin, while other times it unfolds during or even after the process of making. It’s similar to looking at an old photograph: when I see an image from my childhood, I am instantly transported back to a specific moment—I can smell the dish my mother was cooking, feel the warmth of the space, recall the sounds of that time. But if someone else were to see the same photograph, their experience would be entirely different. It might stir a sense of nostalgia, but their memories would exist in a separate, overlapping reality—triggering emotions connected to their own past, present, or even imagined future.

This layering of memory—both personal and collective—is what drives my work. It creates a space where different histories, sensations, and interpretations coexist, allowing the viewer to find their own connections within the multifaceted stories embedded in the work.

10. When experiencing your work, do you hope the audience will reconsider their connection with history and culture? Is this one of the original intentions behind your creative process?

Alan: I don’t aim to impose a specific perspective, but I do hope my work serves as a catalyst for reflection and contemplation. Rather than prescribing a singular narrative, I introduce context—offering entry points for viewers to engage with history, culture, and memory in their own way.

If someone finds a personal connection, whether through their own experiences, ancestral histories, or a newfound awareness, then the work has fulfilled its purpose. My intention is to create space for dialogue and discovery, where meaning is not dictated but instead unfolds organically. My work can serve as a point of reference—a place where individual and collective narratives intersect, allowing each person to engage with it on their own terms.

1. You often incorporate concepts of emerging technologies into your work. Have you encountered any challenges in finding a balance between technology and traditional painting? What are your thoughts on the trend where some advocate for technology to replace traditional painting in the future?

Alex: For me, having a relationship with the medium is one of the most important things. I don’t think looking at art on a screen can ever replace an oil painting. Like photography, AI is another tool painters can use.

2. In previous interviews, it was mentioned that you often incorporate emerging technologies like drones and 360-degree cameras into your creative process. Could you share whether your workflow begins with capturing images through these technologies before translating them into paintings, or if your familiarity with these tools allows you to visualize the composition more concretely? We’d love to hear more about your creative process and the ideas behind it. 

Alex: I’ve experimented with a range of tools, but I mainly work with images taken from my iPhone on a dashboard holder in my car.  Most of the distortion and weirdness in my work comes from drawing before painting.

3. Your artwork from four or five years ago shows a noticeable evolution compared to your current style. Were there any specific books, literature, or other influences that inspired you to incorporate modern optical techniques into your work, which has also become one of the signature characteristics of your creations? 

Alex: Some books, artists, and historical figures that have influenced my recent works include Emily Carr, Chaim Soutine, Zero: The Biography of a Dangerous Idea by Charles Seife, Cosmopolitanism: Ethics in a World of Strangers by Kwame Anthony Appiah, and Ibn al-Haytham.

4. Are the landscapes in your workplaces you’ve personally travelled to, or do they also incorporate elements from dreams or surreal scenes?

Alex: All of the landscapes in this series are autobiographical moments from my own life and travels. Most are painted from photos taken while driving or hiking.

5. You’ve mentioned that your work combines your personal identity with depictions of American landscapes. Could you delve deeper into the connection between these tangible and intangible elements and how they merge and resonate within your artworks?

Alex: As a multiracial person with Indian, Irish, and Scottish ancestry I’m interested in cultures mixing throughout history. The earliest written record of the rules for the number zero were written by the Indian mathematician Brahmagupta in the 7th century. I see zero as possibly the most influential eastern invention on western art and culture, that effectively blurs the lines between the two. Zero and the Indo Arabic number system, which are the numbers we use today, did not become widely used in Europe until the 15th century. Imagine trying to do math with Roman numerals, very primitive! 

In Charles Seife’s Zero: The Biography of a Dangerous Idea he explains that “Before the fifteenth century, paintings and drawings were largely flat and lifeless… They did not know how to use the power of zero.” He continues to describe how Filippo Brunelleschi “first demonstrated the power of an infinite zero: he created a realistic painting by using a vanishing point”. 

My painted landscapes are distorted by spiraling shapes that descend into a warped vanishing point representing the nothingness of zero. The zero is a stamp of my Indian identity on places I inhabit.

6. The exhibition description mentions that your work explores the identity of being a multiracial Brown American while also aiming to shed light on overlooked Eastern histories. Could you take this opportunity to elaborate further on your creative intentions and core philosophy?

Alex: My previous answer mostly answers this. My core philosophy is that mixing cultures is how we evolve as a species. Kwame Anthony Appiah’s book Cosmopolitanism: Ethics in a World of Strangers does a really good job of explaining this.

7. How do you view the role of art in contemporary education, particularly in helping younger generations understand diversity and cross-cultural history? What role do you believe art can play in this regard? Or, do you have any personal expectations for art education?

Alex: These paintings are about my own personal journey with my identity. If people like my work enough to read about it, and they learn something, that’s an extra bonus.

8. As a multiracial Brown American artist, have you ever felt challenges regarding your cultural identity within the international art scene? How have these challenges influenced your creative direction and artistic expression? 

Alex: Not really.

9. This might be a somewhat worldly question, but when viewing your work, I can’t help but think of the O’Neill Cylinder concept or visuals often used in Christopher Nolan’s films. Do you feel there’s an unintentional resonance or inspiration between your creations and this concept? 

Alex: I haven’t researched this before but I’ve seen images of this concept. Will have to look more into this.

10. In your work, “zero” is more than a mathematical concept; it serves as a metaphor for redefining space and possibility. Could you elaborate on the philosophical significance of “zero” in your creative process and how it influences your visual expression and artistic narrative? 

Alex: Zero is different than other numbers in that it represents the conceptual ideas of nothingness and infinity. Through using the Indo-Arabic number system, with zero, in mathematics and physics humans have learned how to understand the universe. I love how the idea of nothing has lead us to understand so many things.

1. Your works evoke a sense of gazing out through a car window on a rainy day, searching for direction in the mist, or capturing fragments of a fading dream. How did this style and visual effect come about? Is there any interesting story or inspiration behind it that you could share with us? 

Max: I believe that style emerges as a natural expression of process, whereby repetition and experimentation come together. Gazing and searching are great ways to describe painting and especially if combined with an instinctual flow state. Painting is the game with no endpoint.

2. In previous interviews, you mentioned that the landscapes in your works are often inspired by places you have personally visited. Are there any pieces that were based on photographs of locations you haven’t actually been to? How does creating from such references differ in feeling or significance compared to depicting places you’ve experienced firsthand?

Max: I use photographs and sketches of real locations but often they become collages. For instance the sky, the background, mid and foreground each taken from different places. Sometimes compositions are completely imaginary, having no direct reference to place. During the painting process works will reach a point where they develop their own identity, the synthesis of line, shape, colour and composition will resonate. At this point references are discarded entirely.

3. You’ve mentioned that painting houses can evoke a sense of nostalgia for viewers. Is there a particular piece featuring a house that holds the deepest personal connection to a place in your heart? Could you share the story of that place and the role it plays in your creative process?

Max: The house is a motif I use throughout my work, it is not a specific building its more representative of a feeling, one which is felt immediately. Colours proportions and context each playing a role. The synchronicity is essential to evoke this feeling. I am a collector of these instances and houses are not vitally important, in many cases landscapes devoid of human presence are the most striking.

4. Is there a particular place you dream of traveling to, or a landscape you most wish to capture in your work? Could you share what draws you to these places and how they might manifest in your art?

Max: It really can be anywhere; entirely new or familiar. Each has the capacity to seize attention. It’s difficult to describe, what I seek cannot be measured in maps or guides, what I have found is that time is the critical input. If I am able to spend time in almost anyplace, I will come away with something I feel to be striking or emotive. Paintings function as vehicles, moving between artist and audience, my hope is that I can convey a humble and honest survey of my surroundings.

5. The color palette in your work often aligns with the real world, even when the scenes balance between reality and fiction. There’s an absence of overly loud or striking tones. Is there a specific reason behind this choice? Could you share your considerations or approach when selecting colors for your pieces?

Max: Colour is almost the most important quality in painting. I work wet on wet and mix every colour focusing on the interplay of light and shadow. Ultimately art is representative of some kind of quality that is being transmitted to the viewer.

6. In a recent interview, we noticed that you’ve moved from Sydney to a rural area. Could you share what inspired this decision to leave the city and embrace a lifestyle closer to nature? Has this shift also influenced or inspired your creative work in any way?

Max: Recently I have relocated from Sydney to a more regional area.

7. In the same interview, you mentioned that you often use the mirror behind you to observe your works in the studio, which I find quite intriguing. Could you share when you began adopting this method of observation? Are there any subtle discoveries or details in this process that you could share with us to help us better understand your creative approach?

Max: Hanging on one and a mirror opposite. So whilst working even if my back is turned; mostly whilst mixing colours, I can still view the artwork. What’s more is the inverted image shown in the mirror highlights questions about composition and scale.

8. From your website, I noticed that almost every exhibition you participate in has a corresponding publication with the same title. I’m curious, what is the relationship between these publications and the exhibitions? Are they akin to your moodboards, or do they serve a deeper purpose or concept?

Max: I really just love books! The publications I make act as companions to exhibitions. Mostly they comprise of drawings, notes and photographs, the beginnings of the makings of, the paintings on display.

9. I was intrigued by your collaboration with CLO Studios last year, which combined art, music, design, and even culinary elements. Could you share the origin and process of this collaboration? Are there any specific fields that you are particularly interested in exploring for future collaborations?

Max: This was a collaborative event with the local community, community is media, it couldn’t have happened without the artists of PAN POTTERY, huge thanks. Mostly I work in isolation and being part of a larger creative community is important. I am receptive to future collaborations but in my experience they’re rare.

10. I recall that you previously collaborated with musicians to curate an exhibition playlist, which left a lasting impression. Do you have any recommended artists or specific songs, or even playlist that could complement your work, offering the audience a more immersive multisensory experience?

Max: All of the audio accompaniments I have made in the past can be found online on my website. Personally I don’t have any specific music recommendations but I am a fan of NTS.