For years, Juliette Yu-Ming Lizeray struggled with feeling different, unable to understand why her mind worked the way it did. It wasn't until she was diagnosed with ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder) later on in life that everything clicked.
"Coming to terms with my diagnosis was a life-changing experience that upended how I understood myself, my past and my relationship with others and the world. For years, I had struggled with feeling 'different' and being really hard on myself because I thought I was to blame," she says.
From that point onward, instead of seeing ADHD as a limitation, Juliette embraced it and turned it into a creative superpower, letting it fuel her dynamic, ever-evolving creative process. "I have ADHD and experimenting and risk-taking is not just part of my process — it's essential to it; it's how my brain works," she says.
Rather than sticking to one medium or style, she lets each idea dictate its own form. "Every idea has its own voice, its own form. I choose the medium that speaks most clearly for the message I want to convey," says Juliette.
And one of her most ambitious projects to date, "Snakes of Singapore", is a testament to her approach as an artist. In a recent installation at The Green Collective's Funan Mall outlet, Juliette painted 30 different local snake species over 30 days as part of Funan Mall's "Creative Installations: Snakes and Ladders" exhibition to usher in the Lunar New Year of the Snake.
This was not just meant as a personal artistic challenge but a way to shift perceptions about snakes and raise funds for Acres (Animal Concerns Research & Education Society). "In the end, we succeeded in sparking curiosity about snakes — and that, for me, was a huge win," she recounts.
The project raised over $3,000, with sold-out talks and workshops proving how art can be both educational and a force for change.
On a day to day basis, Juliette, who is in her 40s, wears many hats. She gives workshops, writes freelance, and is deep in the process of working on a graphic novel. She tells us more about how her work explores identity, neurodiversity, and social issues, often drawing from her own personal experiences.
Art has been with me since childhood. I've always been drawing and painting, though I didn't always envision myself as an artist. My academic path veered toward anthropology (the study of human societies and cultures and their development), leading me into international development and eventually, academic research. But life has a way of pulling you into unexpected directions.
While living in Brazil, I went into film-making, which changed everything: the language of visual storytelling opened up new possibilities. From there, comics found me, allowing me to connect with others in ways I never had before. Writing also became a natural extension of this storytelling journey. Interestingly, my film-making background informs my comics and writing, even if unconsciously!
In light of International Women's Day (March 8), what are your thoughts about being a female artist in Singapore? Let's start with the joys.
Wow! Huge question! I feel a sense of continuity and gratitude towards earlier generations of women artists who helped pave the way for current and future generations to pursue art, while facing even greater barriers in terms of visibility and ability to do art.
I feel a sense of responsibility and a passion to help people whose voices are more marginalised to be heard, especially those who may not even feel empowered enough to make art or tell their stories. I want them to know that their stories matter, that they matter, that anyone can express themselves through art.
I also feel a sense of solidarity and kinship with many women artists and writers whose journeys I admire and with whom I've become friends. I cherish how we take time to meet up, listen and support each other. This fills me with joy and gratitude.
I will answer based on my own experience as well as what I've learnt while researching and writing about the contemporary art scene in Singapore for a book I co-authored called "Reimagining Singapore: Self and Society in Contemporary Art" (shown above).
The art world, like many fields, is traditionally male-dominated, and that creates barriers that ripple across entire systems.
The art ecosystem is a relationship system, and artists who want to make a living off their art traditionally have needed to network with curators and gallerists, and some might rely on collectors or patrons. In Singapore, artists can also apply for Government grants so there's the additional intersecting field of arts management.
When one says that a field is male-dominated, that's not just among professional artists, it often cuts through the intersecting domains and networks too. Therefore, if there is a similar imbalance across different networks and across a whole system, the effect is multiplied.
An imbalance can affect a minority gender in many ways. For example, you may not see yourself represented, and therefore feel this field is not for you (problem of self-selection), or you may have fewer opportunities if you don't present yourself in a way that corresponds to ideas people may have of what an artist should be or what art should be (selection problem).
The smaller and more vertical or hierarchical a system, the more power gatekeepers have to determine who gets opportunities and on what terms. Sadly but not surprisingly, when I did research into the arts scene here, a number of artists related disconcerting incidents of misogyny and sexism.
The more diverse, open and inclusive a scene is, the healthier it becomes. Not just in terms of gender, but across all forms of identity. Art thrives when there is openness to the unfamiliar, when barriers break down and communities are built across differences. I am hopeful that we're heading in that direction.
I don't subscribe to the idea of a singular, neatly packaged "style." My creative process is fluid and I don't work in just one medium or discipline. Within comics, I oscillate between humour and more serious, introspective work. The same holds for my writing. Every idea has its own voice, its own form. I choose the medium that speaks most clearly for the message I want to convey.
I thrive on novelty, constantly challenging myself to venture into uncharted territory, even if I'm unsure where it will lead. I have ADHD and experimenting and risk-taking is not just part of my process — it's essential to it; it's how my brain works.
I'd argue that not having a defined style (the kind artists are expected to develop almost as a "brand") might actually be a style in itself. A rebellion! A neurodivergent revolution!
Inspiration often comes from many places — my family, the complexities of lived experience, and the chaos of life itself. I am moved by contradictions, seeing both the harshness and softness that coexist in this world. I try to learn from nature, from animals, the resilience of life that springs forth in even the harshest environments, like that little shoot that grows unexpectedly from a tree stump.
I'm also learning to listen to and value my intuition and emotions. Society tends to undervalue sensitivity, but I see it as an immense creative tool. Trusting my gut and my emotional responses has led to some of the most authentic and meaningful work I've created.
The "Snakes of Singapore" project raised over $3,000 for Acres, and beyond the monetary success, it was an opportunity to shift perceptions.
I spent 30 days painting 30 snakes, organising talks, and managing an auction — there was a lot of behind-the-scenes work, but the experience was incredibly rewarding. The talks and my workshop were booked out, and I was thrilled to see so many people engage with the artworks exhibited at The Green Collective. In the end, we succeeded in sparking curiosity about snakes - and that, for me, was a huge win.
Yes! Through the "Snakes of Singapore" project, I've learnt a lot about snakes and I find them absolutely fascinating. They might not be considered "cute" as often as furry mammals are, but they are to me. Snakes are evolutionary wonders and I admire their poise, quirks and beauty.
I've always loved animals! As a child, I wanted to be a veterinarian and later an animal behaviourist. Then my journey took a turn towards anthropology, and I ended up studying humans… But we are animals too, though we too easily forget that and tend to separate ourselves from the natural world!
I always have multiple projects in various stages of completion orbiting in my mind or occupying every available surface at home! But when it comes to execution, I'll zero in and hyper-focus on one at a time.
For the "Snakes of Singapore" project, my process had four distinct stages:
During the 30 days, I also shared educational content on IG and videos to engage the public and create a greater understanding of these amazing animals.
Coming to terms with my diagnosis was a life-changing experience that upended how I understood myself, my past and my relationship with others and the world. For years, I had struggled with feeling "different" and being really hard on myself because I thought I was to blame. But with the diagnosis came clarity, and with that clarity, a new purpose. It was during this time of emotional upheaval that I created "COMMUNION", a comic that dialogues with my younger self, the undiagnosed version of me who felt lost and isolated.
I thought of younger Juliette and my heart would break, and I thought of all the other kids out there today, who are going through the same struggles, internalising shame and self-blame and my heart still breaks.
I made the comic to process my own feelings, and put it out into the world without expecting anything. But the response was overwhelming. People diagnosed in adulthood and later in life, parents of neurodivergent children — the stories they shared in response moved me deeply and made me realise I am not alone.
This journey reinforced the importance of sharing one's story, with honesty and vulnerability. That's what I strive to do in my work.
Art has always been my outlet, my sanctuary. As a child, when I was overwhelmed by the noise of the world, I turned to crayons and paper to express my emotions. It's no exaggeration to say that drawing was the only way I could speak when words failed me.
Today, art is still that — my voice, my means of processing and expression. But it's also become a means to connect with others. That's the gift of art: it can be both a personal catharsis and a way to build bridges to others, to show us that we are not alone.
Right now, I'm transforming "Snakes of Singapore" into a book. It's going to be an experimental field guide to snakes and creativity — a way of seeing these mysterious creatures and the world that's not quite what you may expect.
And then there's my graphic novel. It's an exploration of identity, diaspora, and the quest for connection in an increasingly globalised and fragmented world. It's multi-layered, it's personal, and it's everything I've been itching to express. I'm all about digging into what makes us who we are, and pushing boundaries with the stories we tell.
This article was first published in Wonderwall.sg.
