[CONVERSATION] “Waving Frantically at Life” by Sadie Kaye and Lindsey McAlister

Sadie Kaye’s introduction: Accidentally local, Lindsey McAlister’s spent over thirty years as the heartbeat of Hong Kong’s youth arts scene. A powerhouse of creativity, she has written and directed more than thirty original musicals, including Gen Last (2024) and Likes & Lies (2025). Her passion and commitment to empowering young people through the arts have earned her an MBE, an OBE, and appointment as a Justice of the Peace. She has also been recognised in “Tatler Asia’s Most Influential” (2021), as a “Woman of Power” by Prestige (2025), and as a finalist for the AmCham Women of Influence Awards (2026).

After decades of running one of the world’s largest youth arts foundations, Lindsey McCalister made the canvas her new stage. A self-proclaimed “Rebel Girl” who treats sixty-five like the new sixteen, she is also the founder of Crafty Bitch, her tongue-in-cheek digital art brand of Hong Kong love letters, very much a lifestyle as well as a label.

Her visual art practice has rapidly scaled from the Affordable Art Fair Hong Kong (2024) and a Louvre-shown contemporary showcase to her Art Central debut (2025), her first major Hong Kong solo exhibition, Paradise Untamed, with the gallery that represents her, and a return to Art Central (2026) featuring a work from her Divine Energy series. Her #Bitchcraft magic has even lit up the London Underground via Art Below and Ad Lib Gallery. She is the city’s ultimate creative fairy godmother, mentoring the next generation of Rebel Girls.

Sadie Kaye (SK): You came here as a backpacker with no intention of staying, before experiencing a vibration so momentous it caused you to promptly phone the UK to resign from your job. Do you ever lie awake at night and wonder what happened to the person who took your old job?

Lindsey McAlister (LM): Ha, love this question! Honestly, I’ve never given it much thought. I think the moment I felt that spark, that vibration that stopped me in my tracks, I knew my life was about to change course completely. That phone call back to the UK felt less like quitting and more like stepping into where I was meant to be. Hong Kong just pulled me in: the energy, the chaos, the creative pulse. It all made sense to me in a way that nothing else had. Whoever took that old job has hopefully had as wild and fulfilling a ride as I’ve had here, though maybe with a little less glitter!

Sadie: In 1993, with no track record and no sponsors, you launched your first youth arts festival. Can you remember who was in that festival?

Lindsey: I can remember the spirit of it much more clearly than the running order, but yes, Sadie, you were there with your one-woman show, holding your own onstage.

^{Teenage Sadie in the HKYAF}

Sadie: Your grit caught the eye of philanthropist Po Chung, who wrote you a cheque to cover your expenditure. How exactly did you pull that off?

Lindsey: What most people don’t realise is that my personal overdraft was literally underwriting the whole thing. I’d taken it out because no one would sponsor us; I had no track record in Hong Kong, just a big idea and a bigger stubborn streak. After the brochure went out, I sent it to everyone I’d begged for support, including Po Chung at DHL. He called me in, asked who my sponsor was, and when I confessed it was just me and my overdraft, he pulled out his chequebook and wrote a cheque to clear it, then another to fund the festival, and even the next one. That crazy leap of faith ended up being the catalyst that completely changed the trajectory of my life.

Sadie: You’ve famously claimed that you moved to directing because you realised you were a “rubbish” performer. Now your art is centre stage. Is this your way of finally landing that leading role?

Lindsey: Absolutely. I loved the spotlight, but the spotlight didn’t love me back. Directing became my way of shaping the story from the outside in.

With my art, it feels like I’ve finally stepped onto the stage myself, but in a way that actually suits me. This is my diva era. I still get to control the lighting, the mood, the energy, just with colour and texture instead of actors and cues. Showing at Art Central after only a couple of years of painting was both surreal and somehow completely on brand for me: slightly late to the party, but making a lot of noise when I arrive.

Sadie: You often tell young performers that perfection is a myth and that the real magic is in the process. Do you apply the same rule to art collectors?

Lindsey: Yes, it would be a bit rich if I suddenly expected collectors to be terrified of choosing the “wrong” piece. I don’t believe in mistakes on stage, and I don’t believe in mistakes on your walls either. I believe in resonance. If a work keeps tugging at you, if you can’t stop thinking about it, if it makes you feel something you can’t quite put into words, that’s your cue. You might outgrow it, you might see new things over time, you might even wish you’d gone bigger or bolder, but that’s all part of the relationship. Buy with your gut, live with the work, let it teach you something. The only real mistake is treating art like a test you can fail, instead of a conversation.

Sadie: You’ve described your work as “Crazy Abstract Gardens.” If we were to shrink down a rabbit hole and stumble into one of these canvases, would we need a sun hat and a piña colada, or a machete and an ambulance?

Lindsey: I’d pack all four, just to be safe!

Sadie: Yeah, you can never cram enough machetes and piña coladas into your hand baggage.

Lindsey: I call them “Crazy Abstract Gardens” because they sit right on that edge between paradise and pandemonium.

Sadie: I know that edge.

Lindsey: On one level, yes, you’d want a sun hat and a piña colada: there’s joy, colour, flirtation, that sense of being on holiday from real life. But look a bit closer and there are thorns, tangled vines, secret paths, and unexpected drops, so a machete and an ambulance wouldn’t go amiss either. For me, those gardens are emotional landscapes: the inside of my head on a busy Hong Kong day, lush, overloaded, buzzing, beautiful, and a tiny bit dangerous if you don’t watch your step. So if we did shrink down the rabbit hole together, I’d say: wear something you can dance in, bring your sense of humour, and be prepared to get a little scratched before you find the clearing.

Sadie: In theatre, an accident is usually something gone wrong. In art, it’s potentially a masterpiece. Have you ever had an accident so good that you gave it its own show?=

Lindsey: Not quite, but I’ve definitely had accidents that tried very hard to steal the show. I haven’t had a single “whoops, I spilled something and now it’s a solo exhibition” moment, but I’ve had paintings born out of complete chaos that ended up becoming anchors for a whole body of work. One piece goes a bit rogue, I wrestle with it layer after layer, and suddenly it unlocks a new colour palette or a new kind of mark-making that then runs through a whole series.

Sadie: You spent thirty-plus years telling kids to be fearless. Now you’re the one exhibiting. Are you practising what you preached?

Lindsey: Yes, but “fearless” doesn’t always look how people imagine. I’ve spent thirty-plus years telling young people to take risks, try things before they feel ready, and understand that wobbling is part of the deal, not proof that you’re failing. Standing in a gallery with my own work on the walls is me doing exactly that: heart pounding, inner critic yelling, and still saying yes. I’m not suddenly immune to fear because I’m the grown-up in the room; I’m just more practised at walking through it. When I tell kids, “Feel the fear and do it anyway,” I’m not giving them a slogan: I’m describing my own process, from the first terrifying big canvas to opening night of “Paradise Untamed,” my first solo show with The Spectacle Group in Hong Kong.

Sadie: What was the inspiration for Crafty Bitch?

Lindsey: Crafty Bitch is my scrappy, streetwise alter ego doing digital collages and affordable prints. It started during Covid, when we were all stuck at home, not mixing or mingling, and I needed a way to cope that didn’t involve anyone else. I began making these little digital “love letters to Hong Kong”: playful, poppy, very tongue-in-cheek. I picked the name Crafty Bitch purely to get noticed and to make myself laugh at a really difficult time.

Sadie: You call your work a “love letter” to Hong Kong. If this was your first date with the city, where would it be?

Lindsey: So a first date with the city would be in a slightly scruffy side street in Sai Kung or Sheung Wan: milk tea in a chipped mug, red plastic stools, a cat asleep under the table, buses roaring past, and someone chopping vegetables in the background. That’s the Hong Kong I’m romancing, not the glossy skyline, but the perfectly imperfect, lived-in bits you only notice when you slow down and really look.

Sadie: You’ve embraced the title of “rebel girl” at any age, advocating for smashing grey stereotypes and self-imposed limitations. Does having an OBE and being a JP make you a member of the Establishment by day and an Artistic Anarchist by night?

Lindsey: I think I’m more “rebellious auntie” than double agent, but yes, it’s a bit of both. On paper, an OBE and JP absolutely place me in the Establishment column, and I’m incredibly proud of that recognition, because it represents decades of fighting for young people’s access to the arts. But the rebel girl in me hasn’t gone anywhere. She’s still smashing grey stereotypes, refusing to age out of joy, and telling women at any age that they’re allowed to be loud, colourful, and take up space. For me, the sweet spot is using those Establishment titles as camouflage: if they open doors, I’m walking through them with my inner Artistic Anarchist and an army of rebel girls right behind me.

Sadie: Your advice to creatives is famously “Just Do It.” If your canvases could just do it, what would they do?

Lindsey: I think if my canvases could “just do it,” they’d sneak out of the gallery at night and go dancing in Lan Kwai Fong neon, skinny-dipping off a junk in Sai Kung, squeezing into a minibus, getting rained on in a summer storm, and then turning up slightly smudged but happier. I think they’d tap people on the shoulder and say: “Stop waiting until you feel ready. Wear the colour. Book the class. Start the project. Fall in love with something wildly impractical.” That’s what “Just Do It” means for me creatively: not being fearless, just doing it while you’re scared, messy, and imperfect.

^{“Fire Horse” by Sadie Kaye}

Sadie: As a Fire Horse, 2026 is your year of “clashing” energy. Yet, instead of hiding under teh bed, as the South China Morning Post suggested, you’re everywhere! Is the secret to eternal youth outgalloping your own horoscope?

Lindsey: I think my secret is ignoring instructions I don’t like! I’ve got zero intention of lying low. I’m quite happy to clash with the Fire Horse, the stars, and anyone else, if it means saying yes to the next wild adventure.

Sadie: For those “acting their age” and STILL feeling knackered, what’s the first step to becoming a Crafty Bitch? Buy the damn beret, or stop asking for permission to be loud?

Lindsey: Definitely stop asking for permission. The beret is optional; the attitude isn’t. Becoming a Crafty Bitch, at any age, starts with one small act of disobedience in your own favour. That might be wearing the loud earrings on the school run, signing up for a class where you know no one, or finally opening the paints you’ve been “saving for later.” The moment you decide, “I’m allowed to take up space and make a mess,” you’re in. The beret, the lipstick, the statement glasses (in my case) are just props. Fun ones, but props. The real shift is internal: stop waiting to be “good enough,” “young enough,” or “less tired,” and do the thing anyway, exactly as you are today.

So yes, by all means buy the damn beret if it makes you smile, but the real first step is to stop apologising for wanting more colour, more noise, and more of yourself in the room.

Sadie: You always tell young performers that perfection is the enemy of the good. In your digital prints, when you see a “mistake,” do you treat it like a naughty student or the star pupil?

Lindsey: In both theatre and art, I’ve learned that what we first label a “mistake” is often just something unexpected asking for attention. In my digital prints, if a line goes wonky or a colour clashes, my first instinct isn’t to scold it: it’s to zoom in and see what it’s trying to do. But the beauty of digital art is that you have the option to reverse the mistake. I like options.

Sadie: If you could whisper one piece of wisdom into the ear of every polite young person in Hong Kong today, what would it be?

Lindsey: I’d whisper: “You are allowed to take up space.” Stop trying to be “less” to make other people “more”. Take up space with your voice, your ideas, your clothes, your questions, your art. You don’t have to wait until you’re older, cleverer, thinner, braver, or officially invited. Politeness is lovely; self-erasure is not. Hold the door open, say please and thank you, and also say what you really think. Wear the colour you love, and dare to make something wildly, gloriously unnecessary, just because it lights you up.

Sadie: Your digital work is packed with Maneki-neko. Are the Lucky Cats there to bring you good fortune, or are they the only creatures who can keep up?

Lindsey: The Maneki-neko do bring good fortune in the traditional sense, of course, but they’re also my little chaos mascots: endlessly optimistic, paw in the air, saying “Come on, let’s go!” even when life feels a bit ridiculous. They feel like the only animals energetic enough to match my “waving frantically at life” approach. So yeah, they’re there for luck, but they’re also there as a reminder to keep showing up, keep waving, keep inviting in joy and opportunity, even when you’re knackered. In a way, they’re tiny furry self-portraits but with better posture.

Sadie: You use neon aesthetics as a visceral visual language. With the neon signs of Jordan and Mong Kok being slowly taken down, are you essentially rescue-painting them into your canvases?

Lindsey: In a way, yes. Those old neon signs are part of Hong Kong’s emotional skyline for me. Even as they come down in Jordan and Mong Kok, the after-image of that glow is burned into my brain, so it naturally seeps into the work as a kind of remembered light. I wouldn’t pretend I can save them, but I can honour them. When I create digital work with those neon aesthetics, it feels like I’m rescuing fragments of the city, the flicker, the clutter, the humidity, the chaos, so that even if the hardware disappears, the feeling of Hong Kong at full voltage is still there, humming away on the print.

Sadie: If you had to pick one Hong Kong symbol to be reincarnated as, what would it be and why?

Lindsey: I’m a red Hong Kong taxi, no contest. Taxis are loud, slightly chaotic, relentlessly practical, and constantly on the move, which feels about right for me. They’re not the poshest thing on the road, but they’re the ones ferrying people to rehearsals, studios, wet markets, and late-night adventures, weaving through the city’s madness with a kind of scruffy determination. I love that taxis are both ordinary and iconic: everyone has a taxi story, a late-night conversation, a wrong turn, a moment of relief when one finally stops for you. If I were going to be reincarnated as a Hong Kong symbol, I’d want to be something woven into people’s real, messy, everyday lives, not sitting in a shop window looking pretty.

Sadie: You’ve said that being sixty-plus is about “becoming,” not “arriving.” Have you ever accidentally unbecome just as you were leaving?

Lindsey: I don’t think “becoming” is a neat upward trajectory; it’s more like Hong Kong traffic: stop, start, wrong turn, U-turn, a bit of roadworks, somehow still moving forward. I’ve had plenty of moments where I thought, “Ah yes, this is it, I’ve arrived,” and then promptly tripped over my own expectations and had to unbecome whatever shiny new identity I’d just tried on. For me, being sixty-five is permission to do that out loud: to change my mind, switch lanes, start a whole new career with paint under my nails, and admit I’m still figuring it out. If I accidentally unbecome just as I’m leaving, that’s fine. It just means there’s another version of me waiting round the corner, rolling her eyes and saying, “Right, shall we try that again, but with more colour this time?”

Sadie: Is “beige” a physical allergy for you, or a moral failing?

Lindsey: Definitely a physical allergy, with moral implications. I was actually asked to wear beige for a photo shoot recently and I really struggled: it felt like being cast in the wrong role. Beige has its place, but on me it feels like someone’s pressed mute. For me, colour is oxygen. After a lifetime of telling young people to be bold and visible, it would feel dishonest to show up camouflaged. So yes, I can survive beige for an hour if I must, but the second the shoot is over, I’m back in something that looks like a highlighter pen has exploded.

Sadie: Every artist has a holy ground, a creative hideout. Where’s your spark ignited?

Lindsey: My studio in Sai Kung is where the real graft happens: music up, paint everywhere, dogs barking outside, and me dancing between canvases like a feral conductor. That’s where I can disappear for hours and come out covered in colour, buzzing.

Sadie: What’s your advice for anybody who feels like their batteries are operating at five per cent? What’s the quickest way of cultivating the courage to be unapologetically loud?

Lindsey: Start by charging yourself, not performing yourself. Don’t aim for “unapologetically loud” by tomorrow morning; aim for two per cent louder than yesterday. That might be wearing the slightly bolder shirt, saying one honest sentence in a meeting, or posting one imperfect thing you’ve made instead of over-editing it into oblivion. Tiny acts of courage stack.

Spend time with people who light you up, not drain you. Put on music that makes your shoulders move. Go for a walk somewhere that reminds you you’re alive, not just functioning. Your courage is much easier to access when your nervous system isn’t in permanent survival mode. And give yourself permission to be gloriously average at first. Courage doesn’t arrive when you’re confident; it grows because you did the thing while feeling wobbly and tired.

Sadie: If the Lindsey of 2076, a mere slip of a girl at a youthful 110 years old, met you today, would she give you a standing ovation or tell you that you haven’t used nearly enough glitter?

Lindsey: I think she’d give me a standing ovation, then whisper, “More glitter, darling!” Future me at 110 feels like someone who has seen absolutely everything and is still cheering for women to be bolder, louder, more.

^{How to cite: Kaye, Sadie and Lindsey McAlister. “Waving Frantically at Life.” Cha: An Asian Literary Journal, 9 Jul. 2026, chajournal.com/2026/07/09/Lindsey-McAlister.}

Sadie Kaye is a storyteller from Hong Kong who creates quirky podcasts, offbeat documentaries, and independent films. Her humour columns for RTHK Radio 3, rants, reviews and essays on mental health have been published by the South China Morning Post, Cha, The Hooghly Review and featured in many anthologies. Her work has received recognition from the Association for International Broadcasting, the New York Festivals Radio Awards, On Air Fest, International Women’s Podcast Awards and Comedy Women in Print Prize. She has produced two feature films for Contro Vento Films. Transference (2020) went viral on YouTube, exceeding 30 million views. To Love a Narcissist was released in North America 19 May 2026. [All contributions by Sadie Kaye.]

Lindsey McAlister, born in 1960, is a Hong Kong-based British artist and theatre professional known for her bold use of colour and dynamic, emotionally charged compositions. She returned to painting two years ago after decades devoted to youth theatre, bringing with her a strong sense of storytelling, movement, and performance into her visual work. McAlister is represented by The Spectacle Group in Hong Kong and has recently exhibited in London, with further projects developing in Manila, Paris, and New York. Alongside her painting, she continues to create original musical theatre works for young people, including her latest HKYAF musical, Falling Awake, which explores online bullying and self-discovery through a surreal dream world. At sixty-five, she embraces her position as an “older emerging artist” as a unique strength, fearlessly advocating for her work and celebrating creativity as a lifelong, ever-expanding journey.