By Jessica Ye (Jessica Yap)
Hafiiz Karim is staging a quiet coup. The Singaporean creative force, better known to the digital masses as The Next Most Famous Artist, is pivoting away from the clever, social-media-savvy remixes that defined his early career. If his previous work was a loud, witty dialogue with the streets of Singapore, his new era is a profound, atmospheric dive into the subconscious.
I sat down with Hafiiz to deconstruct this haunting new blue-period surrealism and discover why the man who mastered the art of the viral mash-up is now finding solace in the vast, unmoored horizons of the soul.
On the Move from Urban Grit to Ethereal Voids
You have moved away from the urban grit of HDB blocks into vast, unmoored horizons. What prompted this move into these ethereal voids, and how does this new “empty” space serve your current mental state?
“That earlier series came from my interest in placing art historical muses into everyday Singapore spaces,” Hafiiz explains. “It created a bridge between cultural references and familiar environments, and it naturally suited how images move quickly through social media. Over time, I realised the work was speaking outward more than it was helping me listen inward. The shift toward vast, surreal spaces felt instinctive because I needed a visual language that could hold emotions I was still learning to understand. They allow me to step away from recognisable structures and sit with more vulnerable and uncertain parts of myself. The emptiness is not absence, it is space where complicated emotions can exist without needing to be immediately explained or solved.”
On Technical Precision and the Grieving Process
You have been open about your healing journey. Does the technical precision required for your digital work—the specific manipulation of shadow and Atmospheric Isolation—provide a form of ordered relief during the grieving process?
“The technical precision does not always bring relief, sometimes it steadies me, and sometimes it deepens my awareness of what I am carrying. Trauma has a way of resurfacing in subtle shifts rather than dramatic returns, shaping how I interpret memory, relationships, and self worth over time. Working digitally, through deliberate control of space, light, and shadow, allows me to translate those internal movements into something visible. The shadow creatures and shifting atmospheres in Intimate Shadows reflect how these parts of me are not separate or distant, they exist alongside me, influencing how I move through life.”
On the Language of Surrealism vs. Literalism
Why does a surrealist, dream-like lens feel more appropriate for discussing mental health than your earlier, more literal remixes?
“Emotions rarely appear clearly or logically, they shift, overlap, and sometimes contradict themselves. The shadow creatures in my work take on different forms to reflect those changing emotional states, and I often relate them to nature, where decay, rot, and growth exist together and influence each other, much like how I experience my own feelings. This approach allows me to express emotions through atmosphere and symbolism rather than explaining them directly. The earlier art historical collages relied on recognisable cultural references, which created strong visual conversations, but they limited how deeply I could explore my own emotional language. Building surreal environments allows me to create imagery that feels more instinctive and personal, giving me space to express emotional complexity in a way that feels honest to my experiences.”
On the Tension of the Brand
How do you balance the brand of The Next Most Famous Artist with the raw, unpolished reality of processing loss? Does the aesthetic ever feel at odds with the emotion?
“The name has always been a quiet jab at the culture of fame, especially the word “next,” which reflects a feeling of always being almost there but never quite arriving, like chasing something just out of reach. That tension actually sits quite honestly beside my work about loss, longing, and vulnerability. The aesthetic can appear polished, but it usually grows out of very raw emotional places, and I see them as two parts of the same coping language, one that presents outwardly with humour and self awareness, and another that helps me process things that are harder to articulate.”
On the “Next” Evolution
If the “Next” in your moniker represents a state of perpetual evolution, how does that sit with this current series? Since you’re having a dialogue with yourself, is this “Next” person someone you are actively building toward, or is the work a tool to leave an older version of yourself behind in those landscapes?
“For me, “Next” reflects a kind of restlessness rather than progression,” Hafiiz muses. “I have always been aware of how easily identity can feel temporary, shaped by experiences, relationships, and emotional shifts that never fully settle. The little blue figure carries that feeling, he moves through unfamiliar terrains not to reach a better version of himself, but to learn how to exist inside change without losing his sense of presence. The work becomes a way of mapping those internal movements, where different versions of myself are not discarded or preserved, but allowed to coexist, sometimes in tension, sometimes in quiet understanding.”
