ADVERTISEMENT
S'porean artist, 31, talks about life & work amid a terminal cancer diagnosis
"Time is ticking quite fast [for me], compared to other people. "

Pow Jun Yang sips from his iced coffee as we talk about death.
"Can I only be famous when I die?" he considers. He's thoughtful, matter-of-fact, but not wholly unaffected.
Unsurprisingly so. After all, he's not talking about a distant hypothetical — Pow is talking about himself, right now.
The Singaporean artist, 31, has been battling terminal cancer since February 2023. In mid-2024, he was told that he had about six months left to live.
Earlier, he fulfilled a lifetime dream of holding his own solo art exhibition, a well-received affair attended by President Tharman Shanmugaratnam.
Pow called that exhibition a "living funeral", as though it were the end. But the truth is, he still has lots of ideas.
"I'm still alive," he says.
"I still have a lot of ideas to try and accomplish, and I'm not sure if I can. But I'll still slowly finding the energy."
"Day to day, it's difficult lah. I find new pain in new areas. It doesn't give me a good sign that I have more time.
So time is ticking quite fast [for me], compared to other people. "

A creative slant
Sometime during his Lasalle days, Pow came across a few of the art galleries on campus.
The showcase pieces looked "pretty grand", he recalls.
It sparked in him a desire to see his own pieces on display; although what he wanted was a touch subtler.
"Nothing very public public, but just a space that people could stumble upon," he explains.

It's a fitting dream for the graphic artist, who describes his style as a juxtaposition between things that "don't usually go together".
"I try to make things interesting, very dream-like," he explains. "So let's say the subject is an apple. The last thing I will draw is an apple.
"So when people look at it, they have their own opinions, their own ideas."
Take some of the designs spotlighted at the Suntec City exhibition, from his "Blue-and-White" series.
They're done in a style vaguely reminiscent of Chinese porcelain, with ornate embellishments you'd expect to see on your grandma's dishware.
But the content is — to misappropriate the Gen Z term — unserious.

The result is a design that's fun, thought-provoking, and entirely unexpected.
It's very much like Pow himself, I learn.
When I point out that his usage of the term "living funeral" is provocative, he immediately switches to "living memorial".
"It's less grim now," he says of his revision.
Pow sips his coffee again — he's just come from the launch of an art mural, at Outram Park MRT station — and I ask, with the sympathy of a true introvert, how he feels about these events.

He's an introvert, too. "During the exhibition, some [people] are great, but some people really suck the energy out of you," he quips.
Later, at the end of our interview, I tell him that I hope he's not too drained.
"I'll be fine," he says drily.
I think a lot about that, even on the way home.
A life yet lived
I started off this article saying that we talked about death.
But the truth is, for the most part of our conversation, Pow and I talk about life.
He talks about how he first got into art, in secondary school. Recently, he's launched the JYP Creative Legacy Fund (and yes, he knows all the jokes) to support young artists.
He talks about how he also wanted to do sports back then, but didn't get into volleyball ("I was too short, but for a pretty short guy, I jump really high").
He talks about Brazil, and how he hopes Singapore's art scene will be like that someday ("I haven't been to Brazil, but when I look online...even the run-down buildings are so vibrant with artworks").
And he talks about Thailand, and how he still hopes to retire there in a condo. ("Maybe start a YouTube channel about my life in Bangkok, like eh, join me as I live my last few moments").

It's clear to me that while he might have made all his dreams come true, there remains a hunger yet unfulfilled.
An artist's hunger, in the works that he has yet to pull from his imagination.
In the life that he has yet to live.
Pow's dream is to be a famous artist. When I point out to him that by all local standards, he is — the President knows his name! People are wearing T-shirts with his designs! — he replies: "I guess it's half-fulfilled."
And yet, Pow isn't just an artist. He's sick enough to have looked death in the face.
On a daily basis, he deals with pain and sleep deprivation and a deadline that slips closer every minute.
So hunger aside, he's developed a certain uneasy acceptance with who he is.
I ask if he plans on holding more exhibitions and events in future. If he plans on working on a piece that he had told me about: an idea involving an MRT map of Singapore, and interesting spots from a tourist's lens.
"I'm open to anything. Just that I have to be fair to myself, because not gonna lie, I'm gonna need a lot of help," he replies.
He sounds a bit weary perhaps — our conversation has gone on longer than I'd expected — and resigned. But self-assured nonetheless.
"I think something I learnt from my psychologist is this," he says.
"To be fair to myself, what I can do, and what I cannot do."
Top image from ambulancewishsg/Instagram
ADVERTISEMENT
ADVERTISEMENT
MORE STORIES