Ten years in Vancouver. Has it started to feel like your city?
It took a while to get used to Vancouver or think of it as my own home. But in the past 5 years it has been good. I like the diversity of the city, I like how inclusive it is.
And as a queer person, I like how safe it is compared to where I’m from. It’s not like it’s unsafe there, but it’s not celebrated. Here it’s more accepted and celebrated.
You grew up in Vietnam. What was it like?
I grew up in a small town where everyone knows everybody. I always had to be aware of what if my neighbors say something to my mom about me.
But I like a lot of things about it. A lot of things were naturally organic, the food, the way of life. There was no industrial stuff, no big chains, no McDonald’s — everything’s local. It’s small and it’s real.
Was creativity part of your childhood?
Yes and no. It was a part of my inner childhood, but nobody knew about it — not even my parents, because it’s not celebrated. My grandfather was actually a poet. He didn’t make money from it, he did it as his passion. But he was a real artist in the sense that he would neglect his family to focus on his art. So creativity was never really celebrated within my family.
How much of your grandfather lives in your work?
He had a huge influence on me. When I started to grow a little older, I revisited some of the things he said, and it clicked. I think artists and philosophy are very close. Every artist has their own way of thinking about life. I get it now. Though that was after he passed.
One of the things he was big about was the idea of nothingness. Like, nothing really matters and we all return to nothing. He wasn’t into the materialistic world — the idea that you don’t need to chase things because they really don’t mean anything. That transfers directly into my work too, how I like tattoos to flow with the body. No beginning, no end. Less like a contained sticker piece, more like something that just flows.
Seven years in animation before any of this. What was that journey really about?
I studied 3D animation when I first came to Vancouver. From my parents’ point of view, that was the more sustainable kind of art — you finish, you get a stable job.
But growing up I kind of forgot about art as an option. After high school, I went to business school for about half a year, then found an interior design company where I got to draw. And I thought: you can draw for a living. What’s the point of business school? So I dropped out, convinced my parents, and they said OK, go to Canada and do animation.
Seven years. Concept art, illustrations, storyboard, 2D, 3D. I was a generalist. But I always knew that computer work wasn’t my final destination. It was a beginning.
Tattooing came up because I always drew tattoo designs for friends, and always drew on people just for fun. I needed a second job to survive in Vancouver, and I thought, at this point I’ve been independent from my family for 7 years…I don’t need their approval anymore. So I gave it a shot.
I think artists and philosophy are very close. Every artist has their own way of thinking about life.
You didn’t have any tattoos when you started tattooing. What did that teach you?
I told my mentor early on that I wanted to get tattooed on my own timeline. He was really chill about it. He said, I’m not going to force you, but I think it’s important for you to go through the process so you understand.
And I think it’s very true. It’s not just about showing up and going through the pain. There’s so many different moments — the moment of your first tattoo, building up something bigger, even getting a tattoo and then the day after looking at it and thinking, I’m not quite into this anymore.
One time a client reached out and told me she had laser removed the tails from a nine-tail fox I gave her. She still kept the body, she just didn’t feel the tails anymore. As an artist, I felt a little bummed. But then I got two tattoos from my favorite artists and ended up covering over one of them. And I was like, oh, right, this is what it feels like. It really has nothing to do with the artist or the work. It’s just how you grow. That completely changed how I show up for clients.
Tell me about your freehand process. It’s a big part of what you do…
The biggest difference is that freehand is focused on flow and on the body. With stencil, the client can picture a lot better how the finished tattoo will look. With freehand, they’ll see the composition drawn on their body with a sharpie, but it’s a lot less detail-oriented and more flow-oriented.
Since you’re not locked into the detail, there’s a lot of room to erase the whole idea and try something completely new. There’s no need to fixate because you didn’t spend 8 hours designing it. If it doesn’t work, we start over. There’s something quite refreshing about that.
But it requires so much trust. You don’t really know what you’re going to get. That’s why for bigger pieces I offer a consultation first, where we don’t have the pressure of making a tattoo yet. We just draw. And usually that’s when the creativity comes out the best.
A lot of the time none of us know what we’re doing. We come in and start drawing and a light bulb goes off, OK, let’s try this way. I can see it come out of my head, and then after I draw the rough sketch the light bulb comes up in their head too. We ended up with something from nothing. That’s pretty sick.
A lot of the time none of us know what we’re doing. We come in and start drawing and a light bulb goes off, OK, let’s try this way.
Now tell me about your style.
Definitely Asian-inspired. I’ve learned that your roots are so important. I get inspired by what I grew up around: temples, dragons, chrysanthemum. And even though a lot of my work is Japanese-inspired, I think Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Vietnamese, Tibetan — we share a lot of the same topics. Dragons, flames, clouds, flowers. It’s all connected.
But the through-line is always flow. Flowy, floral, organic. Things that have life in them. I don’t do realism or super geometrical work — only natural shapes: florals, animals, waves. Things that move.
I think that’s also influenced by how much life drawing I did throughout my animation training. That was my favorite class. I still go to life drawing sessions now.
Walk me through your design process, from first spark to skin.
Most of my flash starts from pen and paper. The refining stage happens in Procreate — it’s easier to clean up, you can scale things to fit the client’s body, and there’s a 3D feature that helps imagine how a design wraps in space.
Some flashes come together quickly with very little modification. Others I draw and leave for months. I reopen them, revisit, and end up making a lot of modifications on the iPad. It varies a lot.
In terms of inspiration, it’s definitely not consistent. I draw when I feel inspired, usually when I’m well rested. Sometimes it’s random, like how I recently saw a photo of a crazy bird and I was like, I have to draw that bird. I also look at a lot of old paintings and reimagine how those topics work on the body. Jewelry is very inspiring too.
When designing for skin, the biggest thing I consider now is longevity. Will this look good in 3 years, in 5 years? Does it have enough negative space so it doesn’t blur as it ages? And how does it wrap? Because something can look great on paper and cut off really weirdly on the body. That’s why I do consultations. I’ll say: here’s my concept, I’m going to do a 3D version on you right now. Let’s see what’s up.
I know you work at Taospace — what’s the backstory behind it?
Taospace was formed about 2.5 years ago. I started in my basement for about eight months. After I built enough clientele I started looking at shops, but I’ve always been drawn to smaller spaces. A more private setting allows me to really connect with my client. It feels less like a business.
After working at another studio and guest-spotting around Vancouver, I decided to just figure out a space for myself. And then I met Janessa and Joy. Taospace wouldn’t be the same without them. When I first opened it, it was very blank, I’m a minimalist, it had nothing. And I really learned that to grow, you need comrades. We painted the wall together. A lot of the decorations are collaborative work.
And the name, Tao means ‘me’ in Vietnamese. So it’s supposed to be your space. When you come, you should feel like it’s your me-time. That’s what it’s for.
What does success mean to you in this work?
I think it’s easier to break it into categories. There’s the financial side and the art side.
Financially, success is making enough of a living that you allow yourself rest, and have the time and space to create what you truly want to create. Without having to scramble.
Artistically, it’s always evolving. When I first started I just wanted to tattoo as much as possible. Year 2 and 3 it was about going bigger. Now I’m in year 4 and 5 and my pieces are getting bigger still.
There was a real transition. When you start, people come with a pre-drawn image and say can you tattoo this? But when it shifts to people coming inspired by your own work and saying I want something that you do, that’s something. That’s cool. And success has always been about connection. To see your tattoo on someone on the street and know they’re happy. That’s success.
And success has always been about connection. To see your tattoo on someone on the street and know they’re happy. That’s success.
What do you think of AI art?
I don’t see so-called AI art as art. First of all, it’s stolen art. It wouldn’t exist without the hard work of real people.
I think a lot of art comes from your own living experience. A lot of people are drawn to my work because they like the mix of masculinity and femininity — guys who get flowers, girls who want bolder lines. That aspect of my work is translated directly from my life. I struggled as a kid. I rejected femininity growing up, then as I grew up and got my freedom, I started to embrace it. People can feel that in the work. AI can’t do that.
And the ethical side, the environmental impact, the fact that AI companies train on artist work without consent. Even on Instagram now, I feel odd posting a design because it’s feeding into something I didn’t agree to.
What does life look like outside of tattooing?
Pretty slow. I like coffee. I like cooking. I like climbing. I’ve been focused on the studio for the past couple of years, so I’ve been putting off traveling.
I take photos sometimes, I like photography, but I don’t share them. Sometimes you need an outlet just for yourself. And I’m really into birds. I like watching birds. Very slow life.
What advice would you give someone just starting out?
The one thing I’ve learned the most in the past 5 years: you always have to be the first fan of your art. It doesn’t matter what style you do, there is always an audience. You just need to believe it enough.
There are styles that are more trendy, that will get you more clients and more money. But if you want to go far, that shouldn’t be your goal. Trends come and go. The hardest lesson was learning to be my own number one fan. Do it for yourself. And once you do that, the audience finds you.
…you always have to be the first fan of your art. It doesn’t matter what style you do, there is always an audience. You just need to believe it enough.
What’s next for you?
In the next couple of years I want to keep leaning into my strengths. I’ve slowly found where I’m heading and I want to do more and more of that. And to feel more confident that this is my gig. Just more secure inside. And I’d love to connect with more artists. Build more of those relationships. That’s a real goal.