There is a certain mystery to Hanoi in early autumn: the air is soft, and despite the pollution it is almost translucent, while the light is heavy with honeysuckle. It was during this time of year that I visited painter Ha Manh Thang’s studio in Dam Tri, an enclave tucked away near the West Lake. Around 300 years ago the area was a silkworm village and home to a number of female Vietnamese poets, such as Ho Xuan Huong and Doan Thi Diem, who sought refuge here to bask in the mist that rises from the tranquil ponds and caresses the lotus leaves before dissipating into the idle dawn light.

Ha settled in this landscape in 2019, on, as it happens, an autumn afternoon. As an artist who reserves such fondness for traditional buildings and antiques, he adored the two temples located either side of his studio, recalling how their silhouettes became partially tenebrous at dusk and how the spring rains engulfed the area in a milky glaze like an optical illusion. “I have witnessed its shifts as time ebbs and flows. You cannot find another place like it in Hanoi, where there remains such a vivid connection to our past,” he says. Dressed in a simple T-shirt and dark navy jeans, Ha possesses a calm presence, akin to the surface of a pond on a still day. You can see it in his unhurried gait, his crisp tone, the humor in his eyes.