Daily Practice: John Clang

Written by artist John Clang, whose portrait series Reading by an Artist (2023–ongoing) adopts the ancient Chinese divinatory art of zi wei dou shu, Daily Practice invites figures from the arts to share the habits and rituals that sustain their creative lives.

To mark the launch of Daily Practice, Clang responds to his own questions, revealing the routines and strategies that shape his time as a working artist.

When you wake up and begin your day, which direction do you naturally walk towards first and why?

Each morning begins with a step West to switch on the coffee machine, the direction of Metal, symbolising harvest and gathering energy to start the day. I then move South to wash up, the realm of Fire, where renewal and vitality ignite. Finally, I return North to collect my coffee and sit at my desk, the direction of Water, representing flow, wisdom, and career.

This daily cycle mirrors my larger journey: moving West to New York at 25, then living along Manhattan’s North–South axis. What seems like a simple routine is, in fact, a rhythm of Metal, Fire, and Water; a pattern of gathering, renewing, and flowing back into purpose.

By evening, I return East to my bed, the direction of Wood, symbolising growth, restoration, and healing. East also hints at the country I came from, a place that is missing from my current equation. Returning there each night reminds me of what I have left behind and perhaps one day may return to, a quiet space of rest and reconnection that I continue to carry with me.

Does your day naturally divide into phases, such as morning, afternoon and evening? How does the rhythm and energy of these phases affect your creativity and focus?

My day naturally divides into distinct phases. Mornings, from 9 am to 12 pm, are my communicative zone, responding to emails and mapping out what needs to be resolved for the day. Much of this correspondence revolves around finding solutions or following up with past participants of Reading by an Artist, as I continue to trace their progress. I feel the most optimistic and energised to engage with the outside world during this time.

In the early afternoons, from 1 pm to 3 pm, I retreat into my quiet, creative zone. During this period, I feel the most isolated and able to immerse myself fully in my art, thinking deeply and letting ideas develop.

On alternate days, late afternoons, from 4 pm to 7 pm, are reserved for table tennis, a deliberate break from creative work that helps reset my mind and energy.

At night, between 9 pm and 10.30 pm, I absorb new information or read, letting my mind start “chewing” on ideas while I watch a film or drama with my wife. I like to fall asleep with a question in my head as it helps ideas percolate naturally.

Do you have any small routines or actions, like a personal ritual or quiet signal, that help activate your creativity each day?

I turn on my desk lamp before I begin, even in the daytime. It has become my indoor sun, quietly marking the start of my work.

Where do you work and what does that space need for you to feel focused?

I now work from home, though in truth I feel my studio is the world itself. I need my space to be a refuge where I feel safe enough to wander, explore, and even fail.

Is there an aspect of your everyday life, beyond art and culture, that significantly yet quietly shapes your artistic practice?

As mentioned, I play table tennis three to four times a week. It’s where I channel my competitive energy, so my art practice can remain grounded in patience and endurance. The game reminds me that, just like in art, setbacks are inevitable, but each return is a chance to begin again.

What tools, objects, or materials hold meaning for you, even if you don’t use them in your work?

The pencil is very important to me. I use it to scribble notes and ideas, often in an unpolished way. What I find meaningful is its vulnerability, because the marks it makes can be erased, rewritten, or smudged away. This impermanence reflects the nature of life itself: fragile, temporary, and always shifting.

Unlike ink, the pencil does not demand finality; it leaves room for revision, mistakes, and new directions. Even its physicality, the way it dulls, breaks, or needs sharpening, reminds me that creation is never fixed, but an ongoing process of becoming.

How do you handle moments of block, fatigue, or disconnection?

I usually go play table tennis or take a long walk in a direction that feels favourable to me. I believe that blockages naturally clear when we allow time for things to settle. Shifting perspective by literally moving in a new direction often helps me notice what I might have been blind to before.

What do you notice in the quiet moments?

I notice how time nudges forward, inviting me to join in, even though the party continues without me.

At the end of each day, what feelings, images, thoughts, or questions stay with you?

I often hold onto the thought that I might see things differently tomorrow. That sense of discovery turns the close of the day into anticipation, almost as if tomorrow is already reaching out to me.

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Daily Practice invites art-world creatives to share the habits and rituals that sustain their creative lives, with questions written by artist John Clang, whose practice adopts the ancient Chinese divinatory art of zi wei dou shu.