Orlando artist Boy Kong and friends launch Fruits, a weekly 'art yoga' meetup

On nice days, artist Boy Kong will invite his sister, Tammy Truong, and his friend Hiep Nguyen over. They'll lay a blanket out in the yard and spend the afternoon painting the flowers and plants around them while eating fruit.

"This feels like such a good life," Kong says, reflecting on those afternoons. "I feel so rich."

He believes a good day is like someone handing you a 20-dollar bill. To spend it cooped up at home, lost in your phone, is like tearing the cash into pieces and tossing it in the trash.

"When we go somewhere, we meet new people. Life is about connecting with new people," Kong says.

For the last few years, he and Tammy and Hiep have talked about curating an informal event, in which they would find a big field, lay a blanket out and invite the public to join them for a day of painting, eating fruit and getting to know one another. The idea never progressed further than a conversation.

That is, until friends Lordfer Lalicon and Jamilyn Salonga Bailey took over the Mills 50 buildings formerly occupied by Dandelion Communitea Café and transformed it into Kaya, a Michelin-recommended Filipino restaurant.

Kaya has a beautifully manicured garden in front. The centerpiece is a mature bodhi tree, like the one the Buddha sat under for 49 days to obtain enlightenment. The bodhi's lizard-green, heart-shaped leaves umbrella the garden.

"The space is so juicy," Kong says, describing it as a little oasis tucked away in an otherwise hectic part of the city.

In October, the trio launched Fruits, a weekly meetup under Kaya's bodhi tree, in the Mills 50 District. Although the "art yoga," as Kong describes it, is free to all, he hopes it will provide people with an enlightening opportunity to spend their 20-dollar bill.

UNDER THE BODHI TREE

Boy Kong, who recently celebrated his 30th birthday, has been earning his living as an artist since he was 20. If you live in Orlando, you've likely seen his work. He's painted several murals around the city, including the tiger on the side of Kabooki Sushi on Colonial Drive, the outsized strawberry on the old lamp shop on Mills Avenue, and the ramen painting inside Domu. Currently, he's working on pieces to comprise an exhibit due to open at the Orlando Museum of Art in May.

On Sundays, he, Truong and Nguyen lean two large canvases up against the bodhi tree, alongside an assortment of watercolors and brushes.

Truong and Nguyen own Koko Kakigori, a Japanese shaved ice shop in one of Kaya's buildings. The art supplies are funded through the sale of Koko's handprinted silkscreen T-shirts, with a logo designed by Truong, who, like her brother, is an artist.

Everyone who attends Fruits is invited to pick up a brush and add to the canvases. Attendees are also encouraged to bring a sketchbook.

At a Fruits meetup in November, Kong went from person to person, offering tips. He brought his own sketchbook and demonstrated his technique.

Kong believes art can be medicine. He says people come to Fruits to hang out and draw but, secretly, he is "sneaking Tylenol onto their spoons."

On that November Sunday, he passed around a sumi ink set. Sumi ink is used in calligraphy. It comes in a block that looks like a big rectangular crayon. The ink is produced by grinding the block against a slate tray. Kong is in the daily habit of painting with sumi ink. Each morning, he'll sit with his tea or coffee and his sumi set.

"There's something about making the ink, it creates a pause before the painting, and a lot of thought before the painting, like the clouds building up before it rains," he says.

He goes to Latin grocery stores to purchase the paper some cooks use to roll tamales. It's similar to parchment, but more affordable, which is important because he can go through upward of 100 sheets a day.

He compares sumi ink to a lie detector test.

"It's reading your heart," he says.

Kong says the key to painting clean lines is to slow down and be present. The reason Truong and Nguyen named their business Koko is because it's the Japanese word for "here."

"To us, 'here' means being present in the moment," Nguyen says. "Art reminds you to be present, as you concentrate on your brushstrokes."

"That's the Tylenol part," Kong elaborates. "You're sneaking in medicine for people."

ZERO-POINT PAINTING

While the sketchbooks are for more refined work, the large canvases are reserved for what Kong calls zero-point painting. He was turned on to zero-point painting in 2016, when he was hired by the family who own Baldauf Käse, the oldest family-run cheese creamery in Germany. They flew him out to the Bavarian Alps and paid him to paint a mural in their factory.

The grandmother of the family, who was also a painter, insisted on helping Kong with the mural.

She taught a class in zero-point painting. One day, she invited Kong to attend. When he arrived, he found canvases, paints and brushes. He was told to pick a color, grab a brush and start painting.

Instinctively, he found himself painting a bowl.

"I was so used to creating a product. I was ready to impress, ready to paint something people could understand," Kong remembers.

Then he realized he wasn't supposed to be painting figures, at least not consciously. So, he painted over the bowl and spent the rest of the class making circles on the canvas. At the end of class, the instructor pulled him aside and told him it looked like he was having a hard time with the concept of zero-point painting.

Today, Kong regularly practices zero-point painting. It's one of the things he does with sumi ink on tamale paper.

"You're not putting it into a portfolio. There's less pressure. You're just having fun and expressing yourself purely," he says, comparing the practice to a child playing.

When he, Truong and Nguyen were organizing Fruits, Kong saw an opportunity to introduce people to zero-point painting. It's one of the reasons they wanted to make the event free: When people spend money on canvases and paints, they can be inclined to take the painting more seriously (too seriously), to justify their purchases.

But, perhaps, there is no such thing as zero-point painting. Or, maybe, art can be found anywhere, if you know how to see it.

After a recent Fruits meetup, Kong was breaking down the canvas when he noticed paint had bled through to the underside, creating what he thought were interesting shapes.

He went home, took out his sketchpad and began drawing those shapes over and over again. He compared them to a surfboard, a fish-oil pill, a stone.

When he had the shapes down just right, he got out his paints and a canvas and, just like that, he had a new piece of work. One which could, potentially, end up in the Orlando Museum of Art next May.