A conversation with @vin.coemgenus: a self-taught, former construction-industry professional turned street photographer guru
An interview by Cheryl Fuerte
I found Kevin Leung the way I find some of the people I end up wanting to talk to: by falling down an Instagram rabbit hole. His feed, @vin.coemgenus, is a quiet, blue-toned diary of Hong Kong: harbour light through construction scaffolding, commuters caught mid-stride on a footbridge, the particular loneliness of a housing estate at dusk. Every image is paired with a line of Cantopop lyrics, so that scrolling through his grid feels a little like reading someone’s mixtape and travel journal at the same time.
I haven’t worked with Kevin directly, but a quick research shows how he’s a dotSpotlight material. He’s got coverage from various Hong Kong media. Over the past three years, local outlets from independent media collective inmediahk.net to HK01, Ming Pao, Hong Kong Economic Times, men’s uno, DCFever, and Lomography‘s own magazine have profiled him, and the throughline in nearly all of it is the same: a self-taught, former construction-industry professional turned street photographer who built an entire visual language out of walking around his own city and paying closer attention than everyone else on the sidewalk.
His breakout project, 在這座城市散策的藍調 (“Blues of Strolling in This City”), used cold, deliberately melancholic blue tones to capture what he’s described as Hong Kong’s post-emigration-wave mood, the quiet grief of a city where everyone seems to know someone who’s left. It struck enough of a nerve that Hong Kong outlets covered it as much for its social commentary as its craft. He followed it, in November 2025, with 循環之詩 On a Loop, a self-funded exhibition pairing his city photography with lyricist Chow Yiu-fai’s (周耀輝) Cantopop lyrics, the same instinct that drives his Instagram, scaled up into a full gallery show at Kubrick x Broadway Cinematheque. Along the way he’s also curated an exhibition of photography by visually impaired participants, shot a Lomography feature using a swirly-bokeh Petzval lens, and talked about Nikon and iPhone street-photography techniques for local photo outlets. As of this year, he’s mid-way through a 66-day trip across Latin America, bringing his HK-to-34-countries tally along for the ride.
在這座城市散策的藍調 (“Blues of Strolling in This City”)
Despite his busy schedule, I was glad that he managed to reply to my IG message, and more glad that he accepted my invitation to be interviewed here in dotSpotlight. So here goes.
Q & A with Kevin Leung
Origins & the Pivot into Photography
You came up professionally in the construction industry before photography. How much did reading buildings and cityscapes for a living shape the eye you now shoot with?
Kevin: It goes all the way back to when I was studying. I learned how to truly appreciate architecture and understand its underlying structures. My time working in the construction industry taught me how to “read” the logic, lines, and structural integrity of a space. When you look at a building, you shouldn’t just see a flat wall; you see the rebar, the scaffolding, the geometric composition, and the way light pierces through an unfinished framework.
When I shoot, I instinctively hunt for these lines and geometries, like how a footbridge slices a frame in half, or how sunlight refracts off a glass curtain wall. My background taught me to see the bare bones of Hong Kong before looking at its surface, and it trained me to always keep an eye out for unique, beautiful angles.
“My background taught me to see the bare bones of Hong Kong before looking at its surface, and it trained me to always keep an eye out for unique, beautiful angles.”
But most importantly, I always remember this: architecture cannot exist without people, and people cannot exist without architecture. Because of that, a lot of the time when I shoot, my ultimate goal is to visually connect the two, illustrating the profound relationship between the city’s structures and the human beings who inhabit them.
You weren’t trained as a photographer; you came from construction. When did you first realize photography was going to be more than a hobby for you?
Kevin: It was definitely a gradual process. Back then, I was grinding through high-intensity construction work from 8 AM to 6 PM, six days a week. Taking walks and picking up my camera became my sole method of decompression after those exhausting shifts. When I worked in the construction industry, my job was to help build physical structures, the concrete reality of the city. But photography allows me to build social and emotional structures. It’s about creating spaces for voices that are often ignored. When I am wandering the streets of Sham Shui Po or To Kwa Wan, it’s easy to just take an aesthetically pleasing, melancholic photo of an elderly person pushing a heavy cart and call it “art.” But true responsibility means asking: How can this art give back to them?
An early spark came when I contributed to the Walking with Wheels project. That experience really opened my eyes and inspired me. It made me realize that photography isn’t just for personal expression, it can actually serve society. It gave me a newfound sense of mission.
“An early spark came when I contributed to the Walking with Wheels project. That experience really opened my eyes and inspired me. It made me realize that photography isn’t just for personal expression, it can actually serve society.”
The true turning point, however, was in 2023 when I held my first solo photography exhibition. Honestly, putting on that first solo show was just a sudden, spontaneous idea. I didn’t even know why at the time; I just had this overwhelming, inexplicable urge that I had to do it. But as the exhibition came together, I realized that the images I was capturing weren’t just pretty pictures anymore; they were genuinely touching people’s hearts and documenting the collective, lingering melancholy of Hong Kong at the time. When your personal visual diary starts resonating with the broader community and speaking for the collective, you know you can’t just call it a hobby anymore.
That calling was completely cemented in 2024 when I curated 致生命中的每一束光, the exhibition for visually impaired photographers. That project made me truly feel that photography is a medium where “life influences life.” It made me want to keep “building” in this new way, using photography as a tool to impact others’ lives, rather than just putting my personal portfolio first.
Why did you choose the handle @vin.coemgenus for your IG account?
Kevin: “Vin” is just short for Kevin, which is what most people call me. “Coemgenus” is actually the oldest Latinized and Irish etymological root form of the name Kevin, meaning “of noble birth” or “kind and gentle by nature.”
I really liked the sharp contrast of using a deeply historical, slightly obscure ancient word on a cutting-edge digital platform. For me, it represents an attitude of looking beneath the surface to find the true origin of things, especially when it comes to my work documenting Hong Kong. I want to use my lens to dig up the deepest, most authentic roots and emotions of this city.
“‘Coemgenus‘ is actually the oldest Latinized and Irish etymological root form of the name Kevin, meaning ‘of noble birth‘ or ‘kind and gentle by nature.‘”
散策: Walking as Method
A lot of your work comes out of what you call “散策”, a Japanese-derived term for purposeful strolling, walking with intention rather than just wandering aimlessly. For you, that usually means heading out after work with your camera and letting the city’s small, easy-to-miss details set the route, rather than planning a shot list in advance. You’ve distinguished this from ordinary walking. Can you walk me through what a typical session actually looks like, start to finish?
Kevin: For me, a typical session of sansaku “散策” usually begins with planning a general destination—I’ll decide roughly where to go first, focusing on somewhere special or an area/neighborhood undergoing changes. I would go there to take pictures of what the area was before. But sometimes, once I arrive there, my initial plan dissolves. I’ll just start wandering with no fixed route, completely open and expecting nothing.
“For me, a typical session of sansaku “散策” usually begins with planning a general destination—I’ll decide roughly where to go first, focusing on somewhere special, or an area/neighborhood undergoing changes.”
I keep my camera bag as light as possible, usually just packing one camera body paired with an all-in-one zoom lens (天涯鏡). That’s all I need. When your body is free from physical burden, your steps become free. Once I step out, I let the ambient sounds of the city envelope me, though I’ll occasionally listen to Cantopop while walking to gain insights. I keep shooting as I go, and by the end of the walk, I usually manage to find a great vantage point to watch the sunset. Once the blue hour fades and the city quietens down, the session draws to a close.
In Hong Kong, I also love to walk. I usually walk from Caine to Bonham Road to Sai Yin Pun then K-town, or just strolling along from Mid-levels to Sheung Wan where they have this alley of antique stuff being sold by various stalls, or sometimes just by the harbor from IFC to Wanchai. Is there a neighbourhood or route in Hong Kong you return to again and again? What keeps pulling you back?
Kevin: The places I return to over and over again are Sham Shui Po, To Kwa Wan, and Wan Chai. These three are ever-changing older neighbourhoods.
These communities are transforming so rapidly that if we don’t record them right now, certain buildings, streets, or unique slices of human warmth will disappear forever. Because I feel such a strong connection to these areas, I’ve actually guided community photo walks through them several times. Through leading these walks, I’ve become incredibly familiar with the streets, the local history, and even the neighborhood shop owners. That deep sense of community bonding and historical urgency is exactly what keeps pulling me back.
“These communities (Sham Shui Po, To Kwa Wan, and Wan Chai) are transforming so rapidly that if we don’t record them right now, certain buildings, streets, or unique slices of human warmth will disappear forever. ”
在這座城市散策的藍調 (Blues of Strolling in This City)
Your debut solo show in 2023, 在這座城市散策的藍調 (Blues of Strolling in This City), used cold, deliberately melancholic blue tones as its visual signature, and “blue” in this series carries a lot of contradictory weight: loneliness, healing, hope. When you were sequencing the exhibition, how did you decide which mood came first?
Kevin: Even though the entire exhibition is bound together by blue tones, there is a deliberate emotional arc to the sequencing.
I chose to open with the most “isolated” images—frames showing only the cold city and towering buildings with absolutely no people in sight. As you moved forward, people began to appear, but the mood remained a bit melancholic and lonely. Gradually, the frames became more populated, and the tone shifted to feel a bit warmer, happier, and less isolated.
在這座城市散策的藍調 (“Blues of Strolling in This City”) (link)
For the grand finale, I chose to close the show with a series of multiple exposure shots. My goal was to say: “If you capture or look at the exact same landscape from a different angle, you can find a completely different perspective.” It is just like the color blue—it can embody sadness, but it can also represent happiness and peace.
To tie it all together, the very first image of the exhibition also serves as the final image, creating a perfect loop. It is a specially designed double-exposure piece that, when flipped upside down, reveals a completely different mood and viewpoint. It is simultaneously the end and the beginning.
在這座城市散策的藍調 (“Blues of Strolling in This City”) (link)
“It is just like the color blue—it can embody sadness, but it can also represent happiness and peace.”
You deliberately kept faces out of the frame in this series. What did that choice let you say that a more conventional portrait approach wouldn’t have?
Kevin: When a photograph clearly captures a specific face, the focus shifts entirely to that individual’s story, and viewers naturally try to decipher their age, their exact expression, their background. But by deliberately avoiding frontal views, and choosing instead to shoot people from behind, capturing them as silhouettes, or obscuring their features with shadow and light—these figures become “universal placeholders.”
This means anyone looking at these images can easily project themselves into the frame, or picture someone they deeply miss—whether it’s a friend who left the city during the emigration wave, an ex, or a family member. It allows the viewers to fully immerse themselves and find their own reflections in the mood. The city itself becomes the true main character, populated by anonymous souls all sharing and carrying the exact same collective heartbeat.
“This means anyone looking at these images can easily project themselves into the frame, or picture someone they deeply miss—whether it’s a friend who left the city during the emigration wave, an ex, or a family member.”
(c) Kevin Leung (link)
the Technique
You’ve talked about favouring in-camera multiple exposure over Photoshop compositing. What’s the appeal of committing to an effect in the moment rather than fixing it later?
Kevin: Sitting in front of a computer using Photoshop, you can endlessly undo mistakes. To be honest, I have a bit of a perfectionist streak myself, so if I leave it to post-processing, I often end up overthinking, tweaking, and trying things over and over again. But creating a multiple exposure directly in-camera is an irreversible gamble.
When you decide on the spot to overlay the light of this exact second with the lines of that exact moment, you have to be decisive. That raw spark ignited by your breathing, your intuition, and the literal pulse of the city in that fraction of a second is something that can never be replicated by meticulously editing on a screen later. Even if it isn’t perfect, even if there are flaws, that ichigo-ichie (一期一會—once-in-a-lifetime) sense of presence and destiny is what makes street photography so captivating. For me, in-the-moment creation is the true essence of my photography. I like giving my soul over to the unknown the exact moment I press the shutter.
“That raw spark ignited by your breathing, your intuition, and the literal pulse of the city in that fraction of a second is something that can never be replicated. Even if it isn’t perfect, even if there are flaws, that ichigo-ichie (一期一會—once-in-a-lifetime) sense of presence and destiny is what makes street photography so captivating. ”
You’ve also spoken publicly about street photography with modern smartphones and mirrorless bodies. Do you think the “decisive moment” tradition survives, or mutates, when everyone’s carrying a computational camera in their pocket?
Kevin: Technology is definitely changing, but at the end of the day, photos are photos. And the decisive moment is still the decisive moment. It doesn’t really matter what gear or camera you are carrying.
Even with modern cameras and smartphones packed with burst modes and powerful computational features, every single frame within a continuous burst remains unique. That fleeting microsecond, the way the light refracts, the exact angle of a person cutting through the frame—once it’s gone, it’s gone. Gear is just a tool. What truly gives a moment its soul is the distinct perspective of the eyes standing behind the lens.
“The decisive moment is still the decisive moment. It doesn’t really matter what gear or camera you are carrying. What truly gives a moment its soul is the distinct perspective of the eyes standing behind the lens. ”
(c) Kevin Leung @vim.coemgenus | New Petzval 55mm f/1.7 MKII 鏡頭
Music as a Second Medium
Cantopop, Cantonese-language pop music, has been the soundtrack of Hong Kong life for decades, and its lyrics are often treated almost like poetry by fans who grew up with them. That relationship has been part of your Instagram captions from the start, and in November 2025 you turned it into the entire premise of a show, 循環之詩 On a Loop, a self-funded exhibition at Kubrick x Broadway Cinematheque pairing your city photography with lyrics by Chow Yiu-fai (周耀輝), one of Hong Kong’s most respected Cantopop lyricists. How does a lyric actually enter your process: do the words find the photo, or the other way around?
Kevin: The two are actually engaged in an endless, two-way dance. Sometimes, the photo is waiting for the lyric. I’ll capture a frame charged with tension during a walk, and it will sleep in my hard drive until one day, a line of Cantopop randomly plays through my headphones. It acts like a key, instantly unlocking the photo’s soul.
Other times, the lyric guides the photo—especially when collaborating with master lyricist Chow Yiu-fai for On a Loop. His lyrics are deeply philosophical and rich in imagery; once those lines settle into my mind, my eyes instinctively search for visual motifs on the streets that match that exact mood.
“Cantopop lyrics are part of Hong Kong’s collective DNA. They function as a second dimension to my photography,”
In fact, I often listen to Cantopop while wandering around to shoot because it gives me immediate insight in the moment. Cantopop lyrics are part of Hong Kong’s collective DNA. They function as a second dimension to my photography, giving the visual blues a melody you can hum.
Is there a particular song or lyric that still defines how you think about your work as a whole?
Kevin: Without a doubt, it is “Salon” (沙龍) by Eason Chan. The lyrics perfectly encapsulate my obsession with photography:
“Retain the warmth, the speed, the tenderness, and the anger… freezing the tragic greens and sorrowful reds.” – Eason Chan
That is exactly what street photography is. Whether I am photographing myself, strangers, or this city, we are using the shutter to fight against the passage of time. We are freezing these fleeting emotions and historical slices into a small frame. That song is the ultimate soundtrack to my life as a photographer.
Photography with a Purpose
You were invited to contribute to Walking with Wheels, a project spotlighting people who use pushcarts in Hong Kong, and later curated an exhibition of photography shot by visually impaired participants using phone accessibility features. What did those projects change about how you think about who photography is “for”?
Kevin: Both of these projects completely shattered my preconceived notions, and to be honest, a certain level of artistic arrogance I didn’t realize I had. As photographers, we often get used to observing the streets from a detached, elevated “aesthetic” high ground, subconsciously believing that photography is a tool meant strictly for the artist to build their own portfolio.
When I participated in Walking with Wheels, walking alongside the elderly working class as they pushed heavy cardboard carts up Hong Kong’s steep slopes, my perspective shifted entirely. It is so easy to wander through older neighborhoods, take a beautiful, melancholic photo of someone struggling on the street, and call it “art.” But that experience made me ask a much harder question: How can this art actually give back to them? It pulled me out of my viewfinder and made me realize my own social responsibility. I didn’t want to just be an observer taking moments from the streets; I wanted to be a facilitator.
“That experience made me ask a much harder question: How can this art actually give back to them? It pulled me out of my viewfinder and made me realize my own social responsibility. ”
Curating the exhibition for the visually impaired, To Every Ray of Light in Life (致生命中的每一束光 | ‘Lighten Our Darkness’), was an even more profound revelation. It completely destroyed the assumption that photography is an exclusive visual game reserved only for those who can see. When the participants pressed the shutter based on audio cues, the tactile texture of a wall, or the sudden warmth of sunlight hitting their skin, the images they produced carried an incredibly pure, unfiltered emotion.
These projects taught me that photography isn’t just “for” the observer or the gallery wall. It is a social bridge. It is for anyone, any soul, who yearns to have a dialogue with the world. It solidified my core belief that photography is a powerful medium where “life influences life.”
INCLUSIVE PHOTOGRAPHY & STORYTELLING
Tell us more about the visually-impaired photographers’ exhibition,To Every Ray of Light in Life (致生命中的每一束光 | ‘Lighten Our Darkness’). Was there a specific moment working on the exhibition that reframed how you personally see or compose an image?
Kevin: When I first shared the concept of this exhibition with people, the immediate reaction was almost always skepticism. They would ask, “How is it even possible for a visually impaired person to take photos?” But when the final works were exhibited, the results completely blew everyone away. It shattered all their preconceptions.
But the moment that truly left a lasting mark on my soul involved one specific participant who had lost their sight later in life. Before going blind, they had been a passionate photographer. As their vision slowly faded into darkness, they felt like they were also losing their purpose and the very meaning of their life.
Unbelievably, through participating in this workshop and having their work showcased in the exhibition, they were able to reclaim that lost meaning. The camera gave them their voice and their identity back.
“They would ask, ‘How is it even possible for a visually impaired person to take photos?‘ But when the final works were exhibited, the results completely blew everyone away. It shattered all their preconceptions.”
To Every Ray of Light in Life (致生命中的每一束光 | ‘Lighten Our Darkness’) Exhibition
Seeing that happen was a massive awakening for me. The most important thing I learned from them was the concept of using your “mind’s eye”. It completely reframed how I compose an image today. I realized that taking a photo shouldn’t just be a mechanical process of looking with your physical eyes. It requires deep thought, emotion, and perceiving the world from within. They taught me to stop just “looking” at a scene, and to start truly feeling and thinking about it before I ever press the shutter.
On the Road and Beyond
You’re currently 66 days into a Latin America trip, on top of having shot in 34 countries. What are the next countries in your list after this? Is this something that you plan to do and continue on in the years to come?
Kevin: This 66-day Latin America trip is more than just travel for me; I see it as a personal assignment, a piece of “homework” I gave myself before turning 30. It is a dedicated time to pause, reflect on my life, and gather my thoughts before turning the page to the next chapter. I’ve walked through over 30 countries now, but the map of the world is still so vast. After this trip concludes, the next destination on my list will likely be Africa, a continent I have never set foot on.
Every time I leave Hong Kong for a completely unfamiliar country, it is a process of hitting the reset button. Interestingly, the further I walk on foreign streets, the clearer my perspective on Hong Kong becomes. No matter how many countries I visit, my roots and my visual mother tongue will always be Hong Kong. I really want to take the fresh eyes and experiences I’ve gained from shooting abroad and apply them to capturing even more of my home city.
“This year is actually a massive turning point for me. When I return from this trip, I will officially transition into a full-time photographer.”
This year is actually a massive turning point for me. When I return from this trip, I will officially transition into a full-time photographer. Moving forward, I want to launch photography projects that, as I mentioned earlier, use this medium to bring something good to society and to those in need. Whether it’s curating exhibitions, teaching workshops, or leading photo walks, I want to pursue anything that connects photography with meaningful social impact.
Of course, alongside that, I will continue developing my personal artistry. I am currently conceptualizing ways to compile my works, with the goal of publishing a photo book and putting together future exhibitions.
Do you have any words of advice for up and coming street photographers?
Kevin: To be honest, I haven’t actually been shooting for all that long myself, so I wouldn’t dare to preach anything too profound.
But if I had to share one observation, it’s that many young photographers today easily fall into the trap of chasing the latest gear or obsessing over the number of “likes” they get on social media. It has gotten to the point where even their creative process, their choice of composition, and the very way they format their posts are all just blindly following trends or copying whatever aesthetic is currently going viral.
“The most essential technique in street photography isn’t technical at all—it is your passion for life and your empathy.”
The most essential technique in street photography isn’t technical at all—it is your passion for life and your empathy. If you aren’t genuinely interested in the city you live in, or if you lack curiosity about the ordinary people passing by you every day, then swapping to the most expensive lens in the world still won’t help you capture a moving story.
My biggest piece of advice is to step back and simply think. Put real thought into what you want to express and create something that authentically belongs to you. Resist the urge to just jump on the bandwagon or purely imitate what is popular online. Shoot what you feel, and let your own genuine perspective dictate your composition, not the algorithm.
Moving forward, I want to launch photography projects that, as I mentioned earlier, use this medium to bring something good to society and to those in need. Whether it’s curating exhibitions, teaching workshops, or leading photo walks, I want to pursue anything that connects photography with meaningful social impact.
– Kevin Leung
IN CLOSING
This interview with Kevin Leung took me back to my photography days in 2009. I fell in love with taking pictures of the city (link) and was at it for a few years until the handy, thousand-megapixel iPhone had replaced the bulky DSLR camera in my bag, and life’s busyness took over. The interview reminded me of the thrill of capturing that decisive moment when you decide to click the shutter, and the happiness afterwards of capturing it well.
For someone whose photographs are often described as quiet, Kevin speaks with remarkable clarity about what drives him. His work may begin with solitary walks through Hong Kong’s streets, but it doesn’t end there. Whether documenting neighborhoods on the brink of change, pairing images with Cantopop lyrics that have become part of the city’s collective memory, or wandering unfamiliar streets halfway across the world, his images remind us that the extraordinary is often hidden inside the ordinary, waiting for someone patient enough to notice.
As Kevin prepares for his next chapter as a full-time photographer, I am personally excited and will be rooting for him, as his ambitions extend far beyond exhibitions, publications, or growing his audience. He hopes photography can become a bridge between art and service, creating opportunities for overlooked communities, giving voice to those who are seldom heard, and encouraging others to see the world with greater empathy. More than growing an audience, he wants his work to do something meaningful, and have a purpose.
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