the myth behind the work
​Somewhere between a back alley in Shoreditch and the edge of Orchard Road, a designer quietly builds a legacy that refuses to follow the rules.
​
The artist behind Billionaire Kampong doesn’t give interviews. They don’t do press. They don’t take commissions—unless the story feels right.
​
Raised between London’s underground art world and the elite interiors of European fashion houses, the artist left the industry at its peak. Not out of failure—out of disgust. Excess. Waste. Homogeny. The system was broken, and it bored him.
​
Now based in Singapore, the work is whispered about in collectors’ circles, passed hand-to-hand, seen in homes that don’t advertise their value. Every piece is one-of-a-kind: a rebellion disguised in gold leaf, punk text, and ghosted brushstrokes. Old-world luxury, reimagined through a post-capitalist lens.
​
The mission is quiet revolution.
Upcycled furniture as fine art. Handbags as cultural graffiti. Portraits as coded messages. No hype. No mass production. Just ruthless beauty—built by hand.
​
Only a handful of pieces exist. Fewer still are available.
​
Most won’t even know who made them.
That’s exactly the point.
​
​