Between monsoon memory and sandstone light, Eurasia braids two continents into one voice. In textured surfaces shaped by care and Angkor’s endurance, Arun Khau Ny invites us to look beyond the visible—to what remains felt.

Part I — Two Continents, One Pulse

Long before a wall label, Arun Khau Ny’s work registers in the body: texture that slows you, light that softens the room, time’s fingerprint pressed into the surface. Eurasian by heritage—Cambodian father, French mother—she grew up among museums and studios, where making was a way of thinking. Her exhibition title, Eurasia, is less a map than a distillation: two cultures interwoven until they sound like one tone.

She invites us to enter as explorers, like Henri Mouhot at Angkor—curious, unhurried, astonished. Avoiding exoticism means facing history without ornament: reconciling a difficult past, honoring a family marked by the Khmer Rouge, and refusing to make symbol into décor. It also means a practice braided with care work in a hospital, where listening shapes the hand and where art functions as a universal carrier of emotion.

“At the beginning there is everything.Everything I have seen, done, thought, felt, imagined—and all that remains unspoken within me.”

For Arun, art quiets the inner world so the outer can be perceived—and quiets the outer so the inner can speak.

Part II — Stone, Fiber, Rain: How the Work Is Made

Time is visible in these paintings. Structured works begin with an architectural frame: Will vegetation be omnipresent—lush, like childhood? She assembles the composition like a puzzle—background, foliage, relief—then shapes blocks and bas-reliefs, interlocking small sculptural elements before tuning the surface with fine details. A piece is finished when it reaches its most pared-back expression, whether it speaks in the language of early impressions or in a contemporary idiom.

Materials carry memory: mineral pastes with sand for weight; cellulose for sculptural forms; metal and resin for strength; plant fibers for breath. Sandstone becomes a touchstone—its hardness recalling the temples’ endurance. Not every path points back in illustration, though. A natural shift toward streamlined, contemporary surfaces emerged through her hospital practice, where long, complex builds could discourage patients. Symbols and cleaner planes proved more generous. “Is creativity not making simple what is complicated?” she asks. In her hands, abstraction becomes permission—for each viewer to complete the work with their own story.

Part III — Landmarks, Living With the Work, and What Comes Next

Three wayfinders mark the terrain. Dissonance takes the iceberg as metaphor: the visible tip as symptom, the submerged mass as cause—a portrait of the human being in full complexity. Buried Memory (Souvenir enfoui) places a small architectural remnant in lush green: ruins resurfacing as a path to rebuilding; here, green reads as healing. As an entry to her universe, Arun points to The Shaman and the World of Spirits, a threshold where guidance and intuition share the same breath. Titles arrive only after the painting has spoken.

For collectors, habitat matters. The Khmer-structured works converse beautifully with living plants and soft light, which draws relief without glare. The more contemporary pieces thrive in quiet rooms where stillness can pool. Always, the essential advice is simple: make the work your own and let it breathe.

Ahead lie larger formats with bas-reliefs dense in detail—and, equally, the contemporary line integral to her identity. “One does not go without the other,” she says. Art moves beyond thought; it crosses interior walls and reaches what’s hidden. Whatever the frame, if it feels too narrow she will step past it—to flourish, to stand in wonder at what she does not yet know. Sharing her vision so that it awakens an echo in others is a goal in itself. Each chapter she “stages” brings her closer to who she is and deepens the bond between artist and public—a bond that, at its best, can heal both.