VIN SERVILLON

ARTIST | NYC

LATEST WORK

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ABOUT

Vin an Asian American artist whose work explores growth, transformation, and the tension between structure and instinct. His process is deeply intuitive—colors and forms emerge organically. He works with acrylic and oil paint to create abstract forms that feel both familiar and unplaceable. These shapes are rooted in memory and instinct, drawn not from observation, but from something more internal. They hover between figure and object, presence and absence.

While his paintings might appear digitally rendered at first glance, they’re entirely made by hand. He is interested in that disconnect, how something soft and luminous can exist through a slow, physical process. Every form is layered, adjusted, and shaped over time until it lands in the right kind of tension.

His practice lives in that in-between space, between clarity and ambiguity, digital and analog, memory and forgetting. Servillon is not looking to explain or illustrate. Vin wants to build a world that feels quietly alive, where meaning stays just out of reach.

#MOODS INSTAGRAM

Been building sculptures lately.
Same strange shapes I’ve been painting recently, just pulled into real space.
Swipe through if you’re curious.
Still figuring it out but it’s starting to make sense and I’m kind of obsessed.

Something new.
Leaning into form, color, and what happens when things stop trying to be anything specific. Still built from memory, just hazier this time.

I’m curious, what do you see first, the shape or the space around it?

There’s a kind of joy in painting that’s hard to explain.

It’s not always loud or obvious. Sometimes it’s just the quiet satisfaction of mixing the right color. Or finally getting a shape to sit right after hours of being wrong.

Most of the time, I don’t even realize I’m happy until I look up and notice I’ve been at it for hours and hours without checking my phone.

Creating something with your hands, even if no one sees it, even if it never leaves your studio feels like a reward in itself.

WIP.

Still chasing the shape this one wants to take.

New studies, new direction. Just testing things out before going larger.

Let’s see where it takes me, but I like where it’s going. :)

Some parts of painting don’t make it to the feed. Like stretching canvas on the floor, shoulders sore, and music on loop. Every piece starts here…

I grew up in my own little world, always sketching and daydreaming while life did its thing around me. Art was the one place I could disappear into for hours without anyone interrupting. I’ve always been more on the quiet side, maybe just naturally shy, but I’ve gotten better at navigating social stuff over the years. I can match the energy when I need to, but honestly I still recharge best when I’m on my own. It’s in those quiet moments that I feel most like myself.

#artist #cohart #artprocess #art

‘Permission to Grow’
36 x 24 in
Acrylic x oil x canvas

I think #art holds memories and it never really fills up. Whether it’s #paint, thread, clay, or film.

Got a favorite art memory? I’m all ears.

When I am in this space, I am drawn to the unknown. The process is unpredictable, at least for me.

I might start with an idea, but by the time I am finished, it is something entirely different, like it took on a life of its own. I never know exactly where it is going, and that is what makes it exciting. It is chaotic and messy, but somehow there is clarity in that.

It still feels like being a kid, figuring things out as I go. Unfiltered and unplanned. Watching the work take shape, every mark feels alive.

Spent a good amount of time as the Artist-in-Residence at @bergdorfs. Seeing my work in the Bergdorf Goodman windows and featured inside was surreal, an unexpected but memorable chapter. Grateful for the space to create, the BG team and everyone who stopped by to experience it in NYC.

‘This was Never Just a Path’
Acrylic on canvas
24 x 36 in

I’ve wanted to be an artist for as long as I can remember, but I never really thought it would be my reality. It wasn’t something that was encouraged, just something I did in my own time, something I was supposed to outgrow. But I never did. No matter what else was happening, I kept painting. It felt natural, like something I just understood without needing to explain.

I never learned in a traditional way. I figured things out as I went, letting colors and shapes find their own rhythm. My process is more about feeling than planning. Some paintings come together easily while others take time, shifting and changing until they finally feel right. Either way, painting is what keeps me going.

It is the one thing that has always made sense to me.

When I started painting this, I had one idea in mind. What actually happened— completely different.

Painting these feels like a way to reconnect with something very familiar, like nature. It reminds me of planting flowers with my mom as a kid, a simple but meaningful ritual and one of those rare things we did together. She’d hand me a packet of seeds or a small plant, and we’d dig holes in the dirt together. “Dig deep so the roots can hold,” she’d say, and I’d follow her lead, giving those plants their best chance to grow. That memory has stuck with me, and painting brings back that same sense of calm.

Art has become the only constant in my life, the one thing that’s stayed true. It’s my world, it’s what I know. Much like those roots holding firm, painting gives me a sense of balance and stability, even when life feels unpredictable.

There were some clear moments, some highs, some lows but mostly, it was just about showing up, even when I didn’t feel ready. Sometimes growth is just letting things sit and not trying to force it.

I’ve realized the quiet moments count just as much as the big ones. The small changes add up, even if you don’t notice them right away.

Not everyone will get your pace, your choices, or your silences, and that’s fine. What matters is finding the people who do, the ones who make space for you as you are, no explanations needed.

Here’s to closing out the year with whatever peace we can find and walking into the next one a little easier on ourselves.

Many years ago, I left California and moved to New York City. I’m not someone who cries easily—but I teared up on my first day here. Visiting the city was one thing, calling it home was something else entirely. Leaving behind what I was used to, including lifelong friendships, was harder than I thought.

As someone naturally shy and introverted, the city’s intensity was a lot to take in, and being surrounded by so many people only made the adjustment harder. Navigating this loud world felt impossible at times. I missed the comfort of familiarity and the ease of being around people who truly knew me.

The only thing that stayed steady was art. It’s always been my anchor, the thing I turn to when nothing else makes sense. Even when I doubted myself, I kept creating—not because I wanted to, but because I had to. Painting was how I made sense of everything. Art is where I feel most myself, it kept me grounded and gave me a purpose.

Over time, the city softened. I found small pockets of comfort like coffee shops, art galleries, my neighborhood bar—and met people who understood me. New York challenged me in ways I never expected. It forced me to grow, adapt, and show up for myself and my work. Once you’ve lived in New York and made it your home, no other place ever feels the same.

And I’d do it all over again.

When I was a kid, planting flowers with my mom was one of those rare things we did together. She’d hand me a little packet of seeds or a small plant, and we’d dig out these tiny holes. Every time, she’d remind me to dig deep so the roots would stay put, and I’d follow her lead, almost like I was giving those plants a better shot at holding on. There was something nice about the idea that these delicate things could dig in and hold steady.

Now, as an adult, I think back to those moments, especially when I need a reminder to stay grounded. There’s something calming about it, like those flowers we planted. I guess part of me is still figuring out how to dig in deep enough to feel steady—finding that solid spot that keeps me rooted, even when life gets a bit chaotic.

Walking past @bergdorfs, I’ve always been captivated by the worlds inside their windows. Now, as their Artist-In-Residence, seeing my name and work displayed there feels like a full-circle moment. My art was showcased throughout September and will continue to be featured in their iconic windows through October —and I’m excited for what’s coming next.

Part of my months-long Artist Residency at BERGDORF GOODMAN. My work on display inside, and now I’m featured in several windows, which I’m still wrapping my head around and the work will be on display all through October. I’ll be sharing more photos soon, but if you’re in the area, maybe swing by and check them out!

It’s wild seeing my work in @bergdorfs, such an iconic place. It’s amazing and humbling to know it connects with people.

Whenever I’m in my studio, there’s always an urge to explore something unfamiliar. Almost like the materials themselves are pushing me. I really like the unpredictability, the way the materials move where they want to, as if they’re deciding for me.

Sometimes, I start with an idea in mind, but by the time I’m finished, it’s transformed into something completely unexpected, like it’s taken on a life of its own. That’s what I love the most: the surprise, even for me. The process is chaotic, messy, unpredictable—yet within that mess, there’s a kind of clarity.

There’s still that same sense of wonder I had as a kid as I discover things, the raw, unplanned expression that reveals itself as the work evolves. It feels like I’m back in those moments of early exploration, where every touch and every mark felt like a small adventure.

From a young age, I’ve been captivated by sensory experiences—scents, textures, and tastes always fascinated me. I remember my mother constantly telling me to sit on my hands whenever we were at someone else’s house, or in a space where something could easily break, because I had a habit of touching, feeling, and smelling everything I could get close to. I was clumsy and broke quite a few things along the way.

As I developed my artistic style, I began to see how those early influences shaped the way I approach my work. That fascination has carried over into my art, where I strive to create pieces that go beyond the visual. I want my work to have a tangible presence—something you can almost feel with your eyes. It’s as if the textures and layers are inviting viewers to touch them, to engage their senses. Each layer is an exploration, and through this process, I’ve discovered a therapeutic connection to the world around me, one that is deeply personal and grounding. For serious inquiries, contact via the email tab on this page.

Thank you to @bergdorfs and their amazing (visual) team for welcoming me as this month’s Artist-in-Residence! ✨

(with 12 works, including 9 that have never been exhibited in person before)

So grateful to @bergdorfs and their amazing team for welcoming me as this Fashion Month’s Artist-in-Residence! ✨

🎥: “10 Mins at BG” by #bergdorfgoodman

I get asked a lot about how I choose the colors in my work, but honestly, it’s not something I plan out. I don’t start with a specific color scheme in mind. I let the process unfold naturally, picking and layering colors as I go. Sometimes, I’ll change the colors multiple times until I land on what clicks. These changes usually reflect whatever I’m feeling at the time, and each adjustment helps me get closer to what I’m trying to convey.

It’s an intuitive process, where each color choice is driven by what feels right in the moment, almost like a conversation between me and the piece I’m working on. The colors seem to happen organically, and in this way, it stays true to my experience. While everyone has their own approach, I’ve found that this spontaneity brings out a certain authenticity that resonates deeply with me.

But then you see these scattered, vibrant windows of color—those are the moments of individuality, brightness, and resilience, the little sparks that refuse to be dimmed.

#fyp

I wanted this piece to capture how our feelings are always shifting—like emotional threads, sometimes in sync, sometimes clashing. The way these colors blend with the white drips reminds me of how our memories, even though distinct, often mix together and shape our experiences.

Just like a single drop of paint can change the whole vibe of the piece, one moment can alter how we remember things. The movements in this piece remind me of how time moves—sometimes slowly, sometimes rushing by—leaving behind traces that become part of us.

Thank you to everyone who came out to support ‘Echoes of Innocence.’ Your presence and kind words mean the world to me. Feeling incredibly grateful and inspired. ❤️

My style has been a journey of experimentation and exploration. The tactile nature of the materials I work with plays a significant role in my work. I want my art to have a tangible presence, for viewers to almost feel it with their eyes.

Creating these textured pieces is like therapy for me; it’s a way to channel my sensory curiosity into something meaningful. I want to tell a story and invite the viewer to connect with my work on a deeper, more personal, almost physical level.

72 x 60 in (182.88 cm × 152.4 cm)

I’ve been thinking a lot about how we’re all slowly shaped by the world around us. In this piece, the dark, textured background represents those overwhelming forces that seem to envelop us at times. But then you see these scattered, vibrant windows of color—those are the moments of individuality, brightness, and resilience, the little sparks that refuse to be dimmed.

The clash between the deep, dominating darkness and those stubborn bursts of color mirrors the constant struggle between external pressures and our inner selves. Each color tells a story of holding onto who we are, even when it feels like we’re being swallowed by everything around us.

It’s a reminder to recognize those moments when you stood your ground, those times when your true self shone through despite everything. I hope when you see this, you see your own battles and victories reflected in the colors and textures, reminding you of your unique story and your power to stay true to yourself.

This triptych, tells a story of gradual consumption. Each panel represents a different stage in the process, starting from a few scattered elements and evolving into a densely packed composition. The progression from left to right mirrors how something small and seemingly insignificant can slowly, yet inevitably, expand to dominate one’s life.

There’s something magical about watching people engage with my work. The way they lean in, take photos, or get lost in thought, exploring every texture and nuance – it’s like they’re on a journey of discovery. Each viewer brings their own perspective, uncovering different stories and emotions hidden within the layers of paint.

I pour my soul into each piece, hoping to spark that sense of intrigue and curiosity. It’s not just about what you see at first glance; it’s about the moments of realization that come from really delving into the work. I want to start a conversation, a silent dialogue between the canvas and the viewer, filled with endless possibilities and interpretations.

Seeing these moments of connection, where someone finds a part of themselves in my work or discovers something hidden, is incredibly fulfilling. It reminds me why I paint – to create spaces where people can reflect, wonder, and feel a little more connected to the world and to each other.

NYC! Opening night was incredible! I am grateful to everyone who came; your presence meant so much to me.

The city’s vastness felt isolating at first, and making connections was daunting, but over time, I found my footing and new friendships that slowly built a sense of community. This piece reflects that journey—the fear, loneliness, resilience, and eventual growth that come with starting over in a place that’s both intimidating and inspiring.

It might not be immediately obvious because those who know me personally know I tend to joke and love making people laugh, but I struggle with major depressive disorder and panic disorder. I’ve learned to mask it, though not always successfully. It’s sometimes difficult to explain to someone who doesn’t have it because, in many ways, it’s such an invisible condition. I’ve learned to hide it because I trained myself to do so; it’s almost like I’m embarrassed for people to know.

There are days when little things can completely change my mental state from being somewhat normal to the lowest of lows. It gets very dark and drags on for a really long time, then I will get better, whatever that looks like. But any small, unexpected changes that I perceive as negative will pull me right back into this hole, and I’ll be back at it again. It’s an exhausting loop, like a really bad song played on repeat. I know my brain controls my body, and I wish I could just flip a switch to turn it off.

Interacting with strangers, especially in unfamiliar settings, can be challenging due to my fear of being misunderstood. But once I feel comfortable, I genuinely open up and really value the connections I make. Even so, I often avoid social situations when I can. As an artist who shows my work, where you are, in some aspects, selling yourself and your work, it can be an ongoing challenge that I happily take on.

Panic attacks feel like sudden waves of terror, making it hard to breathe, leaving me drained. Depression is a constant, heavy fog, sapping energy and joy. Simple tasks feel impossible, and the numbness can be isolating.

That’s why the solitude of my studio, where I can be alone with my thoughts and work, is not just relaxing for me but also a place where I can rearrange my thoughts and recharge.

Growing up, I often felt the pressure to conform and meet expectations that didn’t quite align with my own dreams and aspirations. My parents didn’t encourage my artistic pursuits; they had their reasons, leading me to retreat into my own world. When I felt overwhelmed, I would self-isolate, finding comfort in being alone because it was in these quiet moments that I could truly be myself.

This work reflects those times. The deep red color captures the intense emotions I felt – the frustration, the passion, and the longing to break free. The black void in the center symbolizes those moments of isolation and rejection where I would sit alone in my room, surrounded by my sketches, paintings, and thoughts, finding peace in them, my center.

The textured effect of the piece mirrors the turbulence I experienced, the ups and downs of navigating a path that often felt lonely and uncertain. But it was in those solitary moments that I learned to solve my own problems, to find strength within myself, and to channel my emotions into my art.

During those times, something was changing—my sense of innocence. The solitude, while comforting, made me grow up faster, facing life’s complexities early on. The colors in this piece reflect those intense feelings: anger, loss of innocence, and a deeper understanding of myself. The central void reminds me of the moments I felt empty and alone, but it also became a space for introspection and growth.

I did 2 murals for @saks flagship store in New York City. As part of my solo artist exhibition for Saks. (AND the main windows on 5th avenue too! 🤯🥳🥳

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VIN SERVILLON

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