The delicate beauty and temporal nature of neon lighting has fascinated audiences worldwide since French engineer Georges Claude first demonstrated it commercially at the 1910 Paris Motor Show. This revolutionary lighting technology quickly spread across the globe, reaching peak popularity in the United States from the 1920s through the 1950s, illuminating everything from Las Vegas casinos to Route 66 motor lodges and the iconic displays of Times Square.
However, by the latter half of the 20th century, many neon signs were dismantled or abandoned to decay as municipalities began restricting their use, citing visual pollution concerns and perceived energy consumption issues, despite neon's relatively modest power requirements compared to other lighting technologies. Interest in neon lighting in the United States didn't meaningfully return until the early 2000s, marking a renewed appreciation for this artisanal craft.
In stark contrast to American trends, Hong Kong embraced neon lighting with extraordinary enthusiasm during the period when it was losing favor elsewhere. Although installation rates have declined in recent decades due to updated building ordinances requiring the removal of overhanging signs that fail to meet modern safety standards, the city's deep affection for neon has never completely disappeared.
The enduring appeal of neon lies in its unique chromatic versatility and material poetry. When ionized gas glows within glass tubing, it produces a depth and transparency that few other light sources can replicate. Viewed up close, the illuminated tube appears as a luminous line suspended in space, with color seemingly conjured from nothing. Beyond their graphic impact, neon signs historically functioned as architectural extensions, helping city dwellers navigate urban spaces by reading buildings through their distinctive light signatures while providing businesses with memorable urban presence.
To better understand this intricate craft and its continuing relevance, Open House Hong Kong 2025 partnered with Design Trust to open Wu Chi Kai's Neon Studio to the public. This rare opportunity allowed visitors to observe the meticulous process of glass bending, tube filling and sealing, and the composition of illuminated characters, revealing why neon maintains its distinctive combination of artisanal authenticity and luminous elegance.
The creation of neon signage traces back to the Geissler tube and initially relied solely on neon gas before expanding to include mixtures of neon or argon with small amounts of mercury to achieve different colors. This craft remains intensely technique-driven and resists automation. Unlike mass-produced LED systems, neon bending and assembly require skilled hands and precise timing judgment based on experience. This labor-intensive nature partly explains neon's commercial decline while simultaneously accounting for its current revival as an art form, where the appeal lies in its irreproducibility – no two hand-bent signs are ever exactly identical.
The neon-making process begins with selecting appropriate glass tubes, with lengths, diameters, and wall thicknesses varying according to workshop capabilities and project requirements. Starting with straight stock material, artisans heat specific segments over focused flames, softening the glass within seconds before introducing bends along multiple axes. The challenge involves avoiding fractures at leverage points while preserving the tube's internal diameter as the glass wall softens. To maintain cross-sectional integrity through curves, craftspeople periodically blow into the partially closed tube, using internal air pressure to keep the profile round while forming bends.
Experience becomes evident in the uniformity of curvature and the fidelity of glass lines to intended lettering or graphics. After completing the geometry with its sequences of turns, offsets, and occasional back-bends to navigate tight letterforms, tube ends are sealed, evacuated, and filled with specified gas mixtures before being hermetically closed. When designs exceed typical stock lengths of approximately 1.2 to 1.5 meters per tube, sections are fire-welded end-to-end, producing continuous runs that appear as single luminous strokes.
Stepping into Wu Chi Kai's neon studio means entering a weathered industrial building in what was once a bustling manufacturing district, serving as an echo of the era when neon dominated Hong Kong's streetscapes. Inside, the workshop presents organized chaos with glass tubes, draft sketches, shards, and exposed wiring creating a scene that feels cinematic – exactly the type of craftsman's workspace familiar from films and anime, reflecting the genuinely improvised, material-focused, and intensely hands-on nature of neon work.
Neon artist Wu Chi Kai, working alongside his apprentice Sze Wing Ki, recounts various collaborations with architects and designers, including technically ambitious commissions such as a fully three-dimensional Christmas tree formed entirely from neon tubing and installations integrated into Rimowa suitcases for exhibition display. These projects highlight a fundamental truth: neon was never well-suited to mass production. Its inherent fragility and labor intensity align it more closely with atelier work than commercial manufacturing.
Breakage can occur at any stage of production, most painfully during final electrode attachment or simply from positioning a piece incorrectly on the workbench. Transportation presents even greater risks, and paradoxically, the more carefully a piece is packaged and the more valuable the commission, the greater the anxiety that something will arrive damaged. This inherent delicacy positions neon as custom, time-bound artistry rather than plug-and-play, low-maintenance products.
In an era when LED technology offers near-total control and predictability, neon's appeal lies partly in opposite qualities: unpredictability, vulnerability, and occasional flickering or uneven illumination. These imperfections develop character and become integral to the medium's identity, similar to wabi-sabi philosophy or the repaired grace of kintsugi, reminding observers that illumination can carry traces of human hands, breath, and momentary chance.
In Hong Kong, this traditional craft has become increasingly rare. Few people are willing to learn the demanding techniques, and even fewer endure hours of torch work in sweltering, humid summers while continuously heating and shaping glass. As practitioners note, the work is inherently repetitive, with mastery achieved only through countless repetitions. This scarcity explains why museums worldwide are urgently working to archive exemplary neon pieces, concerned they may soon vanish due to both declining demand and the economic challenges of sustaining the practice.
Museum collecting efforts began early in the United States with institutions like the Museum of Neon Art in Los Angeles (1982), the Neon Museum in Las Vegas (1996), followed by significant collections at the American Sign Museum in Ohio, Casa Grande Neon Sign Park in Arizona, and the Neon Museum of Philadelphia. Hong Kong's preservation efforts started later, reflecting neon's later popularity peak there, but accelerated after authorities ordered removal of many signs due to structural safety concerns. Since 2013, M+ museum has acquired notable examples, preserving a visual language that once defined entire urban streetscapes.
This transformation from functional urban signage to museum artifacts and private collectibles represents neon's evolution from architectural practice and commercial branding to cultural heritage. Neon's trajectory demonstrates the inseparable relationship between object and maker, as each luminous line records technique, repetition, and endurance. Looking forward, more cultural institutions may similarly document and preserve other endangered building trades, treating them not as obsolete utilities but as living repositories of material knowledge and craftsmanship traditions.
