SHOWCASE

/ ARTIST / 2025

BKKIF Artist  
ARTIST: TheGroxury沙塵百貨
COUNTRY: China
EMAIL: thegroxury@gmail.com
CONTACT: https://hk.pinkoi.com/store/thegroxury
instagram.com/thegroxury
RedNote（小紅書）APP：沙塵百貨
The name “沙塵百貨” is a homophonic play on the Cantonese slang “沙塵白霍” (saa4 can4 baak6 fok3), which refers to individuals who are arrogant and self-important. Today, Cantonese culture and its preservation face significant challenges, teetering on the edge of becoming a subculture. Younger generations often feel detached from their native tongue, sometimes even reluctant to use it in daily life. Through illustration and product design, we aim to expand the presence of Cantonese in contemporary contexts, having a vision of future generations who take pride in their mother tongue.

The Groxury 沙塵百貨 is a creative team dedicated to preserving and reimagining Cantonese language and culture. Drawing endless inspiration from Cantonese vocabulary, allusions of traditional industries, and everyday life in Cantonese-speaking regions, we use illustration and design to celebrate our heritage and keep the essence of our native language alive.

TheGroxury-Illustration Series of Cantonese Slang with“Tooth”Characters-01

This old-school Cantonese slang that was likely popular in everyday speech during the early 1920s. It may have originated from promotional slogans used by soy sauce and condiment manufacturers, or perhaps from the lyrical street cries of hawkers selling preserved lemons.
The act of alternating between chewing preserved lemons or tasting soy sauce evokes the idea of a full, multi-layered flavor experience that engages the entire mouth.
In fact, the first time I heard a phrase like this was in Episode 1 of the 4th season of the RTHK documentary “The History of Chinese Immigration”
In the episode, an elderly man surnamed Poon from Canton, China—who left for Cuba in the 1940s to make money and eventually settled there—shared this phrase.

TheGroxury-Illustration Series of Cantonese Slang with“Tooth”Characters-02

In Cantonese, when someone’s words carry influence, we say they have "牙力" (ngaa4 lik6, tooth power). Having influence is seen as a form of strength.
I'm exploring Cantonese expressions through illustration, and this time, I'm using "tooth lifting weights" to depict what it means to have "牙力".

TheGroxury-Illustration Series of Cantonese Slang with“Tooth”Characters-03

"A punch so fierce it sparks fire in the eyes, and the opponent sees smoke from the teeth"
is a clever Cantonese couplet from Ho Dam Yu, a literati figure of the late Qing dynasty.
In this phrase, "fire in the eyes" represents rage, while "smoke from the teeth" suggests a sense of danger or imminent threat.
This couplet contains several layers of wordplay and linguistic relationships that even native Cantonese speakers may not immediately grasp without explanation:
• 「一」 ("one") vs. 「對」 ("pair") – a contrast between singular and paired forms.
• 「拳」 ("fist", a part of the body) vs. 「面」 ("face", also a part of the body)
• 「打出」 ("to throw/punch") vs. 「睇見」 ("to see") – both verbs, contrasting action and reaction
• 「眼火」 ("eye fire", metaphor for intense anger) vs. 「牙煙」 ("tooth smoke", metaphor for trembling with fear or being in grave danger, to the point that one imagines seeing smoke rising from the teeth)
When broken down this way, the meaning of the couplet becomes clearer:
Someone gets punched so hard that they’re consumed by rage ("eye fire"), and the opponent — or onlookers — realize just how dangerous the situation has become when they see the fury on the person’s face ("tooth smoke").
This series adds a literary twist to everyday Cantonese wordplay, highlighting the rich poetic nature of the language.

TheGroxury-The History of Cantonese Immigration：Laundry of People from Canton

The Cantonese people have a tradition of migration that spans over a thousand years.
In the mid-19th century, the Qing dynasty was beset by internal unrest and foreign threats, and the general population faced deep hardship. Around that time, news broke that gold had been discovered across the ocean in California, USA. The coastal people of Guangdong quickly spread the word, sparking yet another large wave of Chinese migration.
"As new immigrants, we sever ties with the first half of our lives and start anew in a new homeland."
"As new immigrants, we overcome hardships and open up new hope on barren land."
No one willingly abandons their life, as described in Wyman Wong’s lyrics to “In This Life, I Won’t Go Home” (今生不回家).
Over a hundred years ago, Chinese people living in America endured intense racial discrimination from white society. Despite being forced into harsh physical labor, they bore it with resilience and even smiles—all for the sake of providing for their families.
To their loved ones back home, they would say they had opened a "clothing shop" in America, and the money they managed to save was described as wealth earned from "Gold Mountain" (a nickname for America).
One Chinese laundry worker of that era, who washed clothes entirely by hand, composed a song titled “A Life of Eight Pounds,” singing:
"An iron weighs eight pounds; for twelve hours, my hands never rest."
In the end, it all came down to sheer willpower.
Like the iron itself—carrying intense heat without ever bending—these workers held themselves with unwavering dignity, matching the world with steely resolve. No matter the cost, they had to stand tall.
Even if it all seemed meaningless, they knew deep down: that strength was necessary.
The illustration was inspired by the book "The Eight-Pound Iron: Chinese Laundrymen in Segregated America" by Chin-Yu Chen. The book explores how, in the mid-19th century, many Chinese immigrants came to America to make a living and—by historical chance—took up manual laundry work. The three laundry shops shown in the illustration were real establishments, with historically recorded English names that confirm their founders were of Cantonese origin.

TheGroxury-A Chaotic Fight Over Standard Cantonese Characters

In my art work， I’ve never had a fixed mascot. You could say that Cantonese itself is our mascot.
All the strange (even grotesque) characters and quirky (騎呢 / kei-nei) fonts in our designs are merely extras (茄喱啡 / gaa lei fe) on the stage — the true stars are the ever-changing Cantonese words and expressions we feature.

This time, unlike past designs, we’ve taken it further — tying together even more Cantonese vocabulary, mixing in elements of Cantonese yum cha (dim sum culture), and reimagining the classic "cartoon fight" scene through a local lens.

And when we talk about yum cha, we can’t skip the phrase “一盅兩件” (yat jung leung gin: “one bowl of tea and two dim sum items”).

“盅” (jung) refers to a lidded tea bowl (焗盅) — a larger cup with a lid used for brewing tea.
Traditionally, tea drinkers would use the lid to hold back the tea leaves, pouring the tea into a smaller cup to drink.

“兩件” (leung gin) refers to a single plate with two small sweet or savory dim sum items.

In the illustration titled “打餐懵”, I’ve interpreted “兩件” using classic and beloved dim sum items:
Char siu bao (BBQ pork bun), har gow (shrimp dumpling), and gon jin siu mai (dry-steamed siu mai).

Since this piece is all about a Cantonese cartoon-style brawl, I couldn’t leave out dramatic Cantonese expressions like:

“大鑊” (daai wok) – literally “big pot,” meaning big trouble or crisis

“茶煲” (cha bo) – derived from the English “trouble,” sounding like “teapot” in Cantonese, now slang for a difficult or annoying person/situation

Both are featured as main characters in the chaos.

And of course, no fight scene would be complete without the legendary folding chair “摺櫈” (zip dang) — the No.1 weapon from Stephen Chow’s Hong Kong film God of Cookery (食神).

Now, let’s talk about the word “飲” (yam, to drink), which has appeared in poetry since the Tang and Song dynasties. But in modern Cantonese, people often use “嘆” (taan) or “歎” (taan) to describe leisurely enjoying tea.

Some scholars argue that the original character should be “儃” — and they insist on using it.
But in common usage, “嘆茶” or “歎茶” has long been the widely accepted way to describe relaxing over a pot of tea.

To avoid turning this into another “拗餐懵” (ngaau chaan mung: an endless, heated argument) — which could lead right back to a “打餐懵” —
I’ve decided to simply lay all three characters (“嘆,” “歎,” and “儃”) on the table, and let you get to know them all over again.

TheGroxury-Once The Call Goes Out, Hundreds Show Up

The original written form of “吹雞” (ceoi1 gai1, “to blow chicken”) is actually “吹犄” (ceoi1 gei1).
The character “犄” refers to the horns of animals, which were once used to make horn instruments. Over time, people began to use whistles (哨子) instead of horns to signal or summon. These whistles, due to their shape and sound, came to be colloquially referred to as “雞” (gai1, meaning "chicken").
As a result, the original “吹犄” evolved into the now-common slang “吹雞”, though the core meaning — to summon or rally people — still lives on in Cantonese today.
Another Cantonese slang term featured in the design is “夠薑” (gau3 goeng1).
The word “薑” means ginger, which is known for its spiciness. From this, the phrase came to metaphorically represent guts, boldness, and inner strength — essentially meaning “to have the guts” or “to be courageous.”
Why did we choose a light bulb as the central character in the illustration?
Because we deeply relate to that drained, burnt-out feeling of creative block — when your inspiration runs dry and your brain feels squeezed empty.
It reminded us of a Cantonese TV commercial from 1995 for Brand's Chicken Essence, which featured a light bulb character with a frustrated, bitter face — struggling to come up with ideas.
The light bulb has long symbolized inspiration and creative ideas (計仔 in Cantonese).
And when even the light bulb is scratching its head in despair (搲爆頭, literally “scratching your head till it bursts”), maybe it’s time to 吹雞 — rally the team — because sometimes, calling on your crew might just be the spark you need.

TheGroxury-Cantonese Bird Speak

The phrase “粵人鳥語” — literally “Cantonese people speak like birds” — has historically carried a derogatory tone toward native Cantonese speakers. But in truth, it’s not something we need to take too seriously.

In fact, the ability to respond to such expressions with self-deprecating humor and playful imagery reflects the resilience, vitality, and openness of Cantonese culture — traits that have been cultivated over generations.

Today, Cantonese may be seen as marginalized, even relegated to the realm of subculture. Yet, both history and trends follow cycles — as the Cantonese saying goes,
“fung seui lèuhn làuh jyun” (風水輪流轉): "Fortunes rise and fall; times always change."
Seen from another angle, perhaps this is the perfect moment for a revival.

There is no denying that many younger generations feel distant from their mother tongue, with some even feeling embarrassed to speak Cantonese in daily life.
Still, we believe this: our mother tongue is something to be proud of — always.

TheGroxury-People Who Eat Peanuts

“People who eat peanuts” in Cantonese refers to bystanders or onlookers, often with a hint of gossip or schadenfreude.
Combined with the snack “hau6 laap6 sap1” (a kind of assorted junk food), this illustration captures the cool, detached gaze of those who watch from the sidelines.

The Culture of Cantonese and Hong Kong Tea Restaurants About Being Lazy

This illustration series is inspired by the Cantonese transliterations of foreign food names that appeared on menus in Hong Kong’s bing sutt (traditional ice rooms) and cha chaan teng (Hong Kong tea restaurant) from the early to mid-20th century. It also draws from the story of Lok Heung Yuen Café, established in the 1950s, which — due to its discreet location — became a popular hideout for nearby working-class employees looking to sneak away for a quiet afternoon tea break.

The term “蛇竇” (se4 dau6, literally “snake den”) refers to a place for slacking off or sneaking a break. In Cantonese, “竇” can also mean a nest, hideout, or small dwelling.

I recently rewatched some early 1990s Hong Kong TVB dramas and was struck by the familiar use of the phrase “蛇王” (se4 wong4, slang for skipping work or slacking off). Back in the day, the go-to “蛇竇” for white-collar and blue-collar workers was often the local bing sutt or cha chaan teng.

TheGroxury-TV Dinner

This slang term may be unfamiliar even to young people in the Cantonese-speaking world today, yet for many of us, it was once as natural as breathing.
Back in the days before the internet, television was an essential part of mealtime. Especially for picky or restless children, TV was like a magical seasoning — more effective than anything else at helping us finish our food.
Looking back at the rise of radio and television, it’s clear that these forms of media didn’t just reflect the times — they shaped them.
From the late 1940s through the 1970s, as radio and TV stations began producing Cantonese-language programming, the cultural center of Cantonese gradually shifted from Canton to Hong Kong.
This work is not just about nostalgia — it’s a reflection on the idea that people are not always aware of what shapes them.
I cannot predict the next major wave of change, but sometimes I pause and ask myself:
"How did I become who I am today?"
Looking back on my upbringing, I realize that much of the Cantonese vocabulary I use today was acquired through mass media. Through TV and radio, those words entered daily life, and I absorbed them naturally — through conversations with friends, teachers, and family — until eventually, they became my own language.
"TV dinner" isn’t just a memory — it’s also a question.
If Cantonese pop culture disappears from the formative experiences of the next generation,
will there still be Cantonese speakers in the future?
Design inspiration: Monthly promotional materials from “Rediffusion Radio” and “Rediffusion Television” in 1950s Hong Kong.