The migration routes of the art world resemble those of migratory birds.People tirelessly shuttle back and forth between north and south, following the seasons, winds, and events, either gathering or dispersing. By late March each year, artists, galleries, institutions, and collectors flock to Hong Kong with fresh works and curiosity, arranging and displaying their dazzling plumage in the capricious southern winds. The routine calibrations and adjustments are neither inherently good nor bad—they are merely objective, habitual actions. Thus, the validity of observation and critique must be rooted in the fluctuating narratives between past and present, self and others. What ultimately comes into view is not the shortcomings of others, but the transformations unfolding within ourselves.
This March, Hong Kong’s weather vacillated between near-summer heat and chilly spring rain. Since the city reopened its borders in January 2023, we have witnessed three editions of Art Basel Hong Kong (ABHK). From the palpable skepticism and sell-offs plaguing Hong Kong—or rather, the Chinese art market—in 2023, to the capital tides shifting ambiguously between China, Japan, South Korea, and Thailand in 2024, and finally to this year’s recalibration of institutions, creations, galleries, and fairs across the spectrum of reality and imagination, ABHK has undeniably acted as a convective force, stimulating the local and surrounding ecosystems in its annual rhythm of renewal.
By mid-March, the discourse hubs centered on the Kowloon Peninsula and Hong Kong Island were already abuzz. From an independent curator’s immersive perspective, a fulfilling and exhilarating art marathon would unfold across four districts: Kowloon, Central, Causeway Bay, and Wong Chuk Hang. Here, one encounters exhibitions and spatial creations that grapple with familiar yet evolving themes—ecology, geopolitics, identity, and gender—swiftly enveloping the senses. Regardless of their origins, those flocking to Hong Kong at this time are driven not just by the physiological urge to congregate but, more importantly, by a renewed curiosity, projection, and validation of this region.
Like the enduring trade hubs along the Huangpu River, Hong Kong, as a port connecting East Asia, Southeast Asia, and the Commonwealth, thrives on pragmatic circulation and flexible negotiation. Yet, unlike the fertile, temperate culture of the Yangtze Delta, Hong Kong’s waters and shores have never been truly calm. Beneath its colorful urban facade lies sharp, even caustic introspection, shaping its contradictory and restless expression—precisely why we often find ourselves gazing toward this neighboring island.However, in recent years, galleries displaced by rising rents have had to adapt their strategies and curatorial choices. How does this affect their projects and reputations? What issues do Hong Kong artists reveal through their exhibitions? Does this year’s ABHK reflect shifts in the local contemporary art ecosystem? And what emotions does Hong Kong mirror for us, and we for it? These are the signals I’ve gleaned from my journey.
Last week, arriving at the West Kowloon high-speed rail station, one might hesitate whether to first visit the M+ Museum—accessible for free with an ABHK VIP pass—given its proximity and usual steep ticket prices. Compared to last year's French archival black-and-white photography exhibition or Sun Yuan and Peng Yu's provocative installation Old People's Home, this year's Picasso showcase, the museum's first major collaboration with MoMA, reflects M+'s institutional pivot toward polished, crowd-friendly content over radical contemporary experimentation. So, I headed straight for the MTR station—Picasso could wait; the exhibition wasn't going anywhere, nor was it eager to debate.
A few subway stops and a cross-harbor tunnel later, I emerged in Central. The blue Island Line connects Central, Wan Chai, and Causeway Bay, home to several galleries on my itinerary: the temporary space of Capsule Gallery on Hollywood Road, Edouard Malingue Gallery on Gough Street, and PHD Group atop an Eastern District commercial building.
The distances between them were neither too far nor too close, with leisurely walks extending to Sheung Wan and North Point—perfect for digesting thoughts. Capsule Gallery's three-week group exhibition in a compact white-cube space featured an eclectic mix of installations, sculptures, and paintings, meticulously curated by Hong Kong's Zoie Yung. From Nicki Cherry's suspended legs in Holding Pattern (2025) to Elizabeth Jaeger's scattered gray Rat (2024) and the reclining ceramic dogs by the window, the spatial rhythm felt harmonious and engaging.
A short stroll east led to H Queen's, this year's venue for the boutique fair Supper Club. In past years, galleries like Pearl Lam and Hauser & Wirth had vacated the building, but Supper Club, launched last year by local players, gathered over 20 emerging galleries to carve their own spotlight. This year, sponsored by H Queen's, it relocated to Central's heart, exuding a rebellious energy while showcasing diverse styles in limited slots.
PHD Group, founded by Willem Molesworth and Ysabelle Cheung in 2022, epitomizes the "serial entrepreneur" spirit. Their current show, Animale by Yuriko Sasaoka, featured surreal, collage-like video works blending humor and eeriness. Though the space was small, the high-octane colors and tension of the works transported viewers into another dimension. PHD's niche market instincts and branding strategy offer an alternative to traditional gallery giants.
Edouard Malingue Gallery, a long-standing Hong Kong player, responded to the city with finesse. Before heading south to Wong Chuk Hang, I spent the most time here, captivated by Ho Tzu Nyen's The Three Realms: Monsters, Opium, Time. The exhibition transformed the four-story space into realms of hell, earth, and paradise, with One Hundred Ghosts (2025)—a nightmarish video installation critiquing imperialism—standing out.
Wong Chuk Hang, Hong Kong's "East London," blends industrial grit with experimental art. Blindspot Gallery's split showcase featured Chen Wei's Silent Breath and Sin Wai Kin's The Time of Our Lives (2024), a queer, Shakespearean-esque exploration of identity and time. Sin's work, straddling American sitcoms and Hong Kong introspection, challenged binaries and linear narratives, leaving me pondering the potential for cultural hybridity to forge new social realities.
Back in Wan Chai, ABHK felt less like a trading floor and more like a mirror—reflecting market strategies, hidden social sentiments, and prompting self-reckoning. Southern artists, those addressing the South, and those migrating southward often grapple with geopolitics and introspection. But after the initial thrill, what next? Questions remain suspended.
Western galleries like Harald St (celebrating 20 years in London) presented Poppy Jones' blurry photo-paintings, priced at ¥100,000–200,000, epitomizing the "buy-if-you-like" reflex and commercial galleries' positioning in China. Meanwhile, stalwarts like David Zwirner and White Cube treated ABHK as a top-tier fair, showcasing a mix of Western "big names" (Georg Baselitz, Tracey Emin) and Chinese artists (Zhou Li, Shao Fan).
Amid global market adjustments, this year's ABHK—seen as Hong Kong's bid to reclaim its Asian throne—delivered reliably. New faces in galleries, the Discovery sector, and talks (e.g., Zhang Ruyi's book launch) affirmed its vitality. This echoes Shenzhen's concurrent art week, signaling a new regional ecosystem where competition and collaboration foster creativity.
In sum, using art market performance as a gauge, ABHK and Sotheby's evening auctions this year were steady, with mixed outcomes—no permanent winners or losers. The shifting winds compel seasonal returns to Hong Kong, to absorb or critique, ensuring one remains engaged with the changes.
Why venture south annually? Simply put, Hong Kong's multifaceted dynamism sharpens, provokes reflection, and demands vigilance. Studying art isn't about attending fairs, but a day's immersion is a start—like dipping into a pool to feel the water before learning to swim. Without motion or breath, however, one merely floats.