Bright Worlds, Simple Joys – An Interview with Leah Han

Leah Han is an illustrator originally from China whose works radiate warmth, joy, and a touch of dreaminess. Her style blends delicate lines with bright, cheerful colors, creating illustrations that feel both spontaneous and intentional. With a focus on nature, daily life, and lighthearted moments, Leah’s art invites the viewer to pause and smile.

We’re excited to feature her works at DAE – here’s a short conversation about her inspirations, artistic path, and the stories behind her posters.

- Your drawings often capture a kind of quiet observation - a subtle gesture, a
still moment. What makes you pause and want to draw something?

What makes me pause is often something delicate, a fleeting emotion on someone’s face, the way light folds into a quiet room, or a woman lost in her own world. I’m drawn to stillness, not because it’s passive, but because it reveals something true.
As a woman, I often think about how we’re conditioned to be constantly attentive to
others, to take care of family, partners, expectations. There's an unspoken pressure that
solitude should feel sad or incomplete. But I’ve come to believe the opposite: that stillness is sacred, especially for women. When I draw subtle gestures and quiet moments, I’m capturing the calm power of a woman simply being with herself. Those moments of inward
attention – uninterrupted by the outside world – are what I find most moving.

- Some of your work feels like it could live in a book, others more like
installations or fragments. Do you think about format early in your process, or
does it evolve later?

Some of my work, especially the Moments of Her Own and A Little Escape series, feels
like it could live in a book, because there’s a strong sense of storytelling behind it. I try to
give each female character an identity and a distinct emotional presence, and the scenes I
depict often suggest an inner narrative, inviting the viewer to step into that moment.
Other pieces are based more on a concept or fleeting thought – they might lean toward the surreal or abstract, and aren’t bound to a linear story. Those works are more about evoking a mood or pointing to a specific idea.
I don’t usually decide on the format at the beginning. Instead, through the process of drawing, I start to sense where the piece wants to belong. Over time, I notice patterns in how certain works form their own areas – some are born from narrative, others from pure concept. The format evolves naturally with the flow of my practice.

- Do you think your illustrations change depending on the material or space
they appear in - like paper, fabric, or furniture?

Yes, definitely. I think the material or space an illustration lives in will subtly shape its mood
and purpose. When I draw for paper – like a magazine or print – I often focus on
storytelling and intimacy, with attention to stillness, emotion, and subtle gestures. These
works invite a slower reading, a personal moment between the image and the viewer.
When I illustrate for products like fabric, packaging, or furniture, my mindset shifts slightly. I begin to think more spatially – how colors, textures, and compositions flow across a surface or exist in a real, physical environment. I want the illustration to communicate emotionally, but also feel integrated and functional, like it belongs in someone’s everyday life.
In both cases, the heart of my style stays the same – poetic, quiet, sometimes nostalgic –
but the way it speaks adapts to its context. I enjoy this fluidity. It allows my work to move
between artistic expression and practical application, which is something I value deeply as
both an artist and illustrator.

- There’s often a sense of distance or introspection in your characters - as if
they’re turned inward. Is that something you consciously explore?

Yes, absolutely – that sense of introspection is something I intentionally explore. I’m very
drawn to the inner world of my characters, especially women. There’s something deeply
powerful and beautiful about those quiet moments when a person turns inward – not for
escape, but for reflection, solitude, or even vulnerability.
For me personally, self-reflection is one of the most important values in life. In such a vivid
and distracting world, it’s easy to lose ourselves if we don’t know who we truly are or what
we genuinely need. That search, for clarity, identity, and purpose, takes time and energy,
and often brings a sense of distance from the social environment. It can be lonely and
difficult, but I believe it’s necessary, and deeply worth it.
Through my illustrations, I try to express this inward journey in a way that feels gentle,
calming, and comforting – to show that introspection isn’t something cold or isolating, but
something beautiful. I want my work to give people space to pause, breathe, and feel that
stillness within themselves.

- What role does slowness play in your creative practice?

While I often work quite quickly once an idea takes shape, the true essence of my practice
moves at a slower rhythm. Slowness, for me, is not about pace, but about presence. It’s in
the way I build a series over time, how I gather emotional threads and let them settle before transforming them into visual stories.
One important turning point was during my time in Bochum, Germany. Life there was
slower, quieter. I walked in nature every day, cooked for myself, and gave space to simply be. That was when I created a piece called Chill, and from that moment I realized how much I wanted to depict softness, stillness, and relaxation in my work, not just for others, but for myself.
Slowness allows me to connect with my real thoughts and feelings. If I rush or push too hard, the inspiration slips away. But when I take time to breathe, observe, and trust the quiet, the images arrive naturally.

- If one of your drawings could transform into an object or environment, what
would it become?

If one of my drawings could transform into an object, I imagine it would become a
mirror – one that belongs to Juronbo, a wonderland from my imagination. This isn’t an
ordinary mirror. When I call its name, Juronbo reveals a secret world within its glass - a
world I’ve drawn, full of quiet beauty, introspection, and tenderness. Through this mirror, I
could step inside my own universe, one where every gesture and color reflects a piece of
myself and my longing for stillness, self-discovery, and emotional connection. It’s a little
playful, a little surreal, but that’s exactly how I see the role of illustration: as a portal
between inner emotions and outer reality.

- What’s something that recently inspired you, not necessarily visual, but
something that made you feel something quietly strong?

Recently, I had two deeply emotional moments that stayed with me.
One was a thought about love. Some people says true love should feel easy and
effortless and I try to believe that. But part of me still wonders: can something be true love
even if it’s hard sometimes? One day, I passed by a group of boys skateboarding. They were jumping down stairs, pushing their limits, falling hard, getting up again. What struck me wasn’t just their determination, but the joy on their faces, even when they failed. It reminded me of my own journey with art. I’ve faced self-doubt, struggle, uncertainty, but I keep going, proudly, hopefully. That’s what love looks like to me. Not the absence of pain, but the decision to stay with it through storms. And maybe that’s what true love is too, in
relationships or in life: not easy, but deeply rooted in care and never giving up.
The second inspiration was about women’s sensitivity. I’ve been thinking a lot about how
deeply some women feel, how we sense more, carry more, and sometimes suffer more
because of it. Sensitivity can be a gift, beautiful but also a danger. I want to explore this
duality in my work – to show how delicate emotion can be both power and vulnerability, and how women who feel deeply can also learn to protect themselves without losing their
softness.

- When you think of “second life”, one of DAE’s core themes, what does that
mean to you personally or artistically?

To me, “second life” is a quiet yet powerful transformation - not just a restart, but an
evolution. In my personal life, I’ve often felt like I’m living through different phases, and each one contains its own ending and rebirth. When I experience pain, loss, or confusion, I don’t cling to what has passed. I try to make sense of it, gather strength from it, and then I move forward - fully. I’m not someone who steps backward. Once I understand something no longer serves me, I choose a new path with fresh purpose. But even when I start over, my heart is never cold. I love and long with the same passion - maybe even deeper - as if I’ve never been hurt before. That hope, that fire, never leaves me.
It’s a bit like the phoenix: a mythical bird that burns and is reborn from its own ashes. Except in real life, you don’t have to die to be reborn. You burn - with grief, with growth, with longing  and from that inner fire, a second life rises. Quietly. Powerfully.
Artistically, I’ve experienced this too. Years ago, I was known for painting delicate
watercolor flowers. It brought success, but eventually, I felt that kind of beauty could no
longer express what was truly inside me. I wanted to speak about emotion, solitude, self-
reflection, to give form to inner lives. So I stepped away from that version of myself and
began again - learning new techniques, exploring new ideas, and finding my real voice.
What I create now - illustrations that reflect identity, quietness, and emotional complexity
- was born through that burning and rebuilding. And I know I’m still in that journey. I know
another second life may come again.
So for me, “second life” is a soft revolution. A fire within. It happens in stillness, in healing,
and in the courage to keep evolving - both in art and in spirit.

- And lastly, how do you hope someone feels when they encounter your work
in a space like DAE - not online, but physically present with it?

When someone stands in front of my work in a physical space like DAE, I hope they feel
something soft but powerful - like meeting a mirror they didn’t know they needed. Not a
mirror of appearance, but of emotion. A quiet recognition of something they’ve felt but
maybe never put into words. I hope they feel permission to slow down. To pause and be with themselves for a moment. So much of life demands action and speed, but I want my work to offer stillness — to say, “It’s okay to just be here. To feel. To not rush.”
I especially hope women feel seen. That they recognize a part of their inner world in my
characters - the solitude, the small rebellions, the introspection, the calm strength. And even more, I hope they see themselves not as lacking, but as whole — as someone worth admiring in that very moment of being alone. A moment of self-love, not sadness.
For anyone who has ever felt out of place, or quietly questioning their identity, I want my
illustrations to feel like a friend gently saying, “You’re not alone.”
In physical space, art carries presence. It’s not just about what’s shown - it’s about what’s
shared. I want that moment to feel human, honest, and tender. A soft encounter that lingers
long after the viewer walks away.