Miniature art is a field that I have been thinking about theoretically and practically for a long time in the context of both Turkish painting tradition and traditional arts. I try to analyse different miniature traditions around the world and follow this art closely. It was in this context that I came across Leon Leong‘s works. As a Malaysian artist, his interpretation of Indian miniature from his own unique perspective was very impressive. His 2022 exhibition in Kuala Lumpur, ‘Stilt Houses – The Floating World of Kampung Baru’, was a striking work that blended miniature art with modern storytelling. This exhibition offered an inspiring perspective on both the aesthetic and narrative potential of miniature art. We had a pleasant conversation with him on miniature art and different aspects of art. This is the first interview with Leon Leong in Turkey.
Let’s start by getting to know you better. How did your journey with art begin and what were your motivations for turning to miniature art in particular?
I didn’t study art in college, though I was always that art kid in school. I only returned to art after many years of dabbling first in design and, later, writing. When I started painting, I paintedi n the Western tradition, oil on canvas. I turned to miniature when I worked on the Kampung Baru project.
You are originally from Malaysia. Is there a tradition of painting or visual art in Malaysian culture that bears similarities to miniature art? In this context, what were your reasons for gravitating towards the Indian miniature style? How do you connect your culture with Indian miniature art?
I adopted Indo-Persian miniature painting for the Kampung Baru project because I feel this particular art form is best suited to tell the (hi)story of the place. And perhaps also because of the religio-cultural background of Kampung Baru’s residents. There isn’t a tradition of miniature painting in Malaysia. And as a Chinese Malaysian, I can’t say I have any cultural connection to Indo-Persian miniature, either. I picked up the Indo-Persian miniature painting style much like I learned oil painting or a new language.
The absence of perspective and shadow in miniature art stands out as a distinctive feature of this art. Do you see this as a limitation compared to other art forms, or do you see it as an advantage that encourages creativity by offering a more original form of expression?

I particularly admire the 16th century, especially the works of artists like Behzad and Mir Sayyid ‘Ali. However, I feel that after this period, miniature art underwent a “mannerist” transformation, much like how High Renaissance painting transitioned into Mannerism. (Mannerism is an artistic style that emerged in the late years of the Italian High Renaissance, around the 1520s, spread in the 1530s, and lasted until the late 16th century in Italy, eventually being replaced by the Baroque style.)
An art form or style typically arises from the need to express something new. The energy of the Renaissance (perspective, human-centricity, etc.) peaked during the High Renaissance, after which “style” became merely a format to follow. Mannerists inherited the vast knowledge of the Renaissance but, lacking new ideas or challenges to explore, became formulaic. This is similar to how Jackson Pollock’s “groundbreaking” drip-technique style, even when perfected and developed by followers, can lose its meaning. Late Mughal and Qajar miniatures, to me, resemble Mannerist works — perhaps more “perfectly rendered” and technically refined, but lacking the spark of earlier Persian miniatures.
In the past, paper and art materials were scarce. Miniature art adopted its particular form, namely the “miniature,” to create illustrations for stories or historical narratives. This is quite similar to magazine illustrations before the invention of photography, isn’t it? If we remove miniature art from the context of fitting into small manuscripts and conveying complex historical stories within a single painting, it risks becoming a “style for the sake of style,” doesn’t it?
If a story is a realist work — for example, the film Bicycle Thieves — you aim to create a world of objective realism, akin to Renaissance painting based on perspective. The artist or filmmaker’s goal here, to tell the story in a strictly realistic manner, must rely on objective realism. If the film is shot without “perspective” (such as in a dreamlike landscape), the director cannot achieve the artistic effect they aim for, namely the emotional resonance the story and characters create for the audience.
However, if the story (or art) adopts magical realism, as in the works of Frida Kahlo or writer Gabriel García Márquez, realism (objective perspective) is not needed; in fact, it is often distorted to complement the peculiarity of the vision.
The beauty and power of works by Caravaggio or Piero della Francesca rest heavily on “perspective” — a hallmark of Western tradition. I can’t say Behzad’s works are better simply because they are not constrained by perspective. Foregoing perspective does not necessarily make an artwork more “expressive” or allow greater focus on elements like color.

Miniature art undoubtedly has its strengths. However, I remain cautious of claims from some Asian painters who assert, “our art is actually better” than Western art. Every art form has its strengths and weaknesses. It’s difficult to compare film to photography or painting to music; each serves a different purpose, correct? Similarly, it’s hard to argue that abstract painting is inherently better or weaker than figurative art. We can only evaluate the end result — whether one work is better than another. And this depends on the artist’s intention and what they aim to express.
Perspective and shading illustrate how we objectively observe the world. If an artist is a realist and intends to create a natural world for their story or depict their characters authentically, perspective and shading are critical. On the other hand, my artistic purpose in the series Stilt Houses — The Floating World of Kampung Baru was different. I aimed to document the history and socio-cultural significance of the oldest Malay village in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, which spans 120 years of history and covers 120 hectares of land. The perspective in my work does not represent a singular moment’s near-far viewpoint but rather a broader, evolving perspective over time — a “longue durée” perspective.
The unique perspective in miniature painting offers multiple viewpoints and sometimes a vision from the “all-seeing eye of God.” In my work Origin of Place, following the conventions of miniature painting and adopting a higher perspective opened up a new landscape. Kampung Baru, surrounded by two rivers, appears like a small Mesopotamia of Malaysia. This unique perspective provided by miniature art makes the narrative more open-ended. As I grow older, I find myself more drawn to this style of narrative language.
Can you tell us a bit about your project “Floating World of Kampung Baru”? It stands out as a very powerful and protest work. What were your inspirations for this project and what was the feedback you received?
Created as a Malay enclave in the city center some 120 years ago, Kampung Baru is one of the oldest neighborhoods in Kuala Lumpur. Recent mega redevelopment plans, however, have raised questions on the safekeeping of its cultural heritage and unique identity. “Stilt Houses — The Floating World of Kampung Baru” chronicles the history and socio-cultural significance of Kampung Baru and the momentous changes it faces at this critical juncture. Adopting the form of the Indo- Persian miniature — a genre that once served as “history painting” in parts of Asia, and a reference to the religio-cultural background of Kampung Baru’s early settlers — my vignettes of Kampung Baru collapse time and space, bringing together multiple narratives within the same picture plane to narrate significant events that have shaped the enclave. The installation work is a wooden structure that forms the foundation of indigenous architecture; its tanggam joinery is a tribute to the ingenuity of this traditional craft and is symbolic of the gotong-royong [lit. Joint bearing of burdens] spirit that holds together communities.
My work typically responds to man’s relationship with the built environment and explores the broader themes of people, place, and history. Kampung Baru, to me, is the most fascinating neighborhood in Kuala Lumpur. Sitting on a piece of prime real estate in the capital city’s center, the rustic enclave with its traditional stilt houses makes for a charming contrast with the shiny skyscrapers looming behind. The likelihood that it might one day be completely changed — talks about mega redevelopment in the enclave continue fervently — the urge to record for posterity of this built heritage and lived experience is even more significant. The work is also a meditation on past, present, and future changes. When we mention the word “kampung” (village), there’s a glow on everyone’s face, but underneath it, there’s also this angst — how long will this “kampung” last? Kampung Baru is the mother home of homes; how we treat Kampung Baru as it ages will say a lot about our value as individuals and as a nation.
The project was first exhibited at the Ilham Art Show 2022 in Kuala Lumpur. Coming out of the Covid lockdown, the triennial group show received an unprecedented high turnout with visitors queuing close to an hour to enter. Social media multiplied the exposure of the works in the exhibition to a wider online audience. I received many messages from visitors about how the work had informed and touched them. I have done sharing with students and given talks to the public. The prints of the paintings were also well received. The work later travelled to the XI Tashkent International Biennale of Contemporary Art and showed at the Museum of Kamoliddin. ( For more information and contact https://leon-leong.com/)