The first thing that drew me to Heluo Fish was not its strangeness, but its composure.
A single head, connected to ten bodies. In most contemporary visual languages, such a form would immediately signal chaos, fragmentation, or psychological overload. It would be framed as something unstable, something broken. But in the original myth, Heluo Fish is neither frantic nor monstrous. It simply exists—quietly, intact, without urgency. Even its attributed power, the ability to eliminate parasites when consumed, is described without drama. It is an effect of presence, not of violence.
When I began reimagining Heluo Fish as a visual work, I resisted the instinct to exaggerate its abnormality. I did not want to turn it into a spectacle. Instead, I approached it as a condition—an internal state many of us already inhabit. One consciousness carrying multiple roles, identities, and directions at once, yet refusing to collapse under their weight.
In this artwork, the ten bodies are not symbols of fragmentation. They do not pull away from one another. They flow in parallel, like currents sharing the same tide. The head does not dominate them, nor do the bodies compete for attention. What interested me was the idea that multiplicity does not automatically imply division. That a self can extend outward in many forms without losing its center.
The decision to structure the image around Japanese ukiyo-e aesthetics was deliberate. Ukiyo-e does not seek optical realism; it seeks balance. Space is flattened, time is suspended, and meaning is carried through rhythm rather than depth. This visual philosophy allowed Heluo Fish to feel grounded, even with its impossible anatomy. Modern digital techniques—soft lighting, subtle gradients, restrained texture—were layered carefully on top, not to modernize the myth, but to let it breathe within a contemporary North American visual language.
At its core, this piece is not about a mythical creature. It is about permission. Permission to be many things without apology. Permission to hold complexity without self-erasure. Heluo Fish does not teach us how to divide ourselves more efficiently. It reminds us that division is not always necessary in the first place.
My Creative Inspiration
My creative inspiration for Heluo Fish came from a deeply personal observation: modern life rarely allows us to be singular. We are expected to carry multiple roles, voices, and responsibilities—often simultaneously—and yet we are judged harshly when those roles appear to contradict one another. When I encountered the ancient description of Heluo Fish, a creature with one head and ten bodies, I did not see monstrosity. I saw recognition.
Most mythological beings that possess multiple bodies or heads are framed as chaos incarnate. They are enemies to be slain or warnings to be feared. Heluo Fish is different. It is described calmly, almost clinically, and is associated with purification rather than destruction. The act of consuming it “kills parasites,” which I interpret symbolically as the removal of internal noise—those invasive thoughts and external expectations that erode clarity from within.
As someone living between cultural systems, I am constantly aware of how identity fractures under pressure. In North American culture, freedom of expression is celebrated, but often only when expression is singular, coherent, and easily categorized. Heluo Fish challenges that assumption. It asks a quieter question: what if expression does not need to simplify itself to be accepted?
Visually, I wanted Heluo Fish to feel dignified rather than dramatic. The Japanese ukiyo-e influence provides compositional restraint—flat planes, controlled rhythm, and symbolic repetition. Modern digital techniques allow the image to breathe, adding depth and softness without spectacle. This fusion mirrors Heluo Fish itself: ancient structure, contemporary relevance.
At its core, my inspiration was not to explain Heluo Fish, but to sit beside it—to let it exist as a mirror for anyone who has ever felt stretched across too many selves, yet unwilling to lose their center.
Creative Thought Process
The creative process began with subtraction rather than addition. I deliberately avoided aggressive motion, sharp contrasts, or visual tension. Every element had to answer one question: does this help the viewer feel stable?
Heluo Fish’s anatomy was approached with care. The single head is calm, neutral, and observant—neither smiling nor threatening. It does not dominate the image. The ten bodies extend outward like currents rather than limbs, each subtly differentiated in scale pattern and movement, suggesting variation without hierarchy. None of the bodies compete for attention. They cooperate.
Color was restrained. Muted aquatic tones—ink blues, mineral greens, warm bone whites—anchor the composition, while faint digital light gradients introduce a modern sensibility. Ukiyo-e wave patterns serve as structural rhythm rather than background decoration, dissolving slightly at the edges to suggest that this myth is not sealed in the past.
The idea of freedom of expression is embedded structurally. There are many bodies, many directions, but one orientation of consciousness. No body is punished for diverging slightly. No path is severed. This was intentional. Freedom, in this image, is not loud. It is organized.
Suitable Display Scenarios
This artwork was designed with interior quiet in mind. It belongs in spaces where people pause rather than pass through. In North American homes, it fits naturally in living rooms where conversation happens, or bedrooms where identity is unguarded.
It is also well-suited to studios, therapy practices, libraries, and academic spaces—places where complexity is respected. The visual calm ensures it does not overwhelm, while the conceptual depth rewards long-term viewing. It is not seasonal décor. It is a companion piece.
Because the imagery avoids explicit cultural markers, Heluo Fish reads as global rather than regional. It invites interpretation without demanding explanation, making it ideal for environments that value reflection over display.
The Meaning of the Poster
Heluo Fish represents integrated multiplicity. The single head symbolizes self-awareness and agency. The ten bodies represent the many ways that self moves through the world. In myth, consuming the fish removes parasites. In this reinterpretation, the parasites are internalized constraints—fear of inconsistency, fear of contradiction, fear of being “too much.”
This poster suggests that freedom of expression does not require fragmentation. One can hold many roles without losing coherence. The absence of struggle is not avoidance—it is resolution.
Creative Story
In my imagined narrative, Heluo Fish appears only to those who feel overwhelmed by their own complexity. It does not speak. It does not judge. It simply swims past, perfectly intact. Those who witness it feel something loosen—not externally, but inside. The need to explain themselves fades. They return to their lives unchanged, except that the noise has thinned.
Blessing
May your many paths never erase your center.
May every role you carry remain connected to your voice.
May complexity bring clarity, not confusion.
Like Heluo Fish, may you move in many directions
without ever losing yourself.
