27 May 2012 STILL BUILDING: Contemporary Art from Singapore
17 May 2012 New Works by Chong Siew Ying @ ART HK 12
14 Apr 2012 ENTRAPMENT: A solo exhibition by Tanapol Kaewpring
10 Jan 2012 Monumental Southeast Asia
01 Jan 2012
27 Dec 2011
13 Oct 2011 DON SALUBAYBA: Syncopated Simulacra and Other Hallucinatory Flashbacks
05 Aug 2011 Singapore Survey 2011: IMAGINE MALAYSIA
04 Aug 2011 Longing by chi too


‘chi too, are you for real?’

 

By Eva McGovern

 

A friend and colleague recently asked chi too, during a long conversation ‘chi too, are you for real?’ Such a question might appear, on the surface, insulting or critical but then again, chi too is a curious figure. As a filmmaker, his work has focused on environmental and political activism within Malaysia. However rather than suffer the activist hangover and produce politically saturated work, his recent entry into the art world, has taken an entirely opposite direction. Rejecting the solemnity of his political past, chi too instead creates a carefully blended experience of amusement, comedy and absurdity. This, is often about himself. Choosing a humorous form of naval gazing, he is clearly in need of some light-hearted introspection after years spent absorbing the gravitas of deforestation and the plight of the Orang Asli. The release from such a responsibility has created a promiscuous delight in different media; from poetry, performance, alternative music and interactive public art projects, through to painting, installation, video, photography and sculpture. He collaborates with a number of individuals; whether his loose partners in crime such as the Wonderboys (a type of band with revolving members) or the Best Art Show in Univers (a sometimes artist collective with Dill Malik and Mun Kao). He also participates in numerous events such as the 2011 Buka Jalan performance festival at the Balai Seni Lukis and exhibits painstakingly perfected objects and moving image work in group shows in KL and abroad. chi too, therefore, is obviously enjoying his time as a visual artist. But is he having too much fun? More importantly, should we take him seriously?

 

Produced with obsessive regularity from 2009 to 2011 the Longing series, presented in its entirety for the first time at Black Box Map @ Publika, and supported by Valentine Willie Fine Art, is chi too’s first major solo that allows for a focused interpretation of his practice to date. This playful constellation of ridiculous and meticulously produced work may seem like humorous visual one-liners lampooning the pretention of high art and the figure of the angst ridden artist. But, this is a characteristic double fake of an individual deeply driven by his emotional insecurities, laid bare through a form of ambiguous poetry. So chi too is very serious and very funny, gravely so at times. By providing a comic entrance into his practice, viewers can choose to merely laugh at the sheer bravado of an artist extrapolating the language of conceptualism for nihilist effect or, delve head first into his various melancholies.

 

chi too’s use of humour, his peculiar materials and obsessively intense processes mimic the language and strategies of Conceptualism. His collaging of the visual and textual, with titles and images, echo the jokes of Bruce Nauman and Erwin Wurme as well as the wry and banal comedy of David Shrigley who push the boundaries of acceptability in Art through comic statements and crude processes.  chi too’s work therefore, has the appearance of the artist as prankster who reveals both the absurdity of life and art all in one. Longing # 3 aka Longing is a Motherfucker depicts a video of the artist pulling a never-ending piece of ribbon that physically spews from a white structure into a large pile onto the gallery floor. This repetition is echoed in Longing #6 a.k.a. Main Kejar-Kejar Dengan Rakyat where a highly crafted electronic motor spins incessantly but drives nothing. Upon further inspection the artist’s voice can be heard emerging from within the sculpture. He softly hums a monotonous tune that descends into a maddening chant. Both represent many human acts from the inconsequential to the profound that result in never ending unfulfillment.  Or it simply appears as a very pointless piece of art. Either interpretation is fine with chi too. Longing #5 a.k.a. Siapa Menang Dia Dapat depicts Fairuz Sulaiman, a friend and collaborator, who is videoed playing against chi too the well-known Malaysian childhood game of Lat Ta Li Lat. However, the game requires more than two players in order for a winner to be proclaimed. The two are therefore locked in a continuous state of contest. As friends, this pursuit highlights the tensions of young artists competing for recognition in their professional field.

 

But wait, this is actually not a self-reflective act that criticizes the nature of art. It just appears like one. Ah, another double fake. Unlike Conceptualism, chi too is not questioning the meaning or purpose of art itself nor, is he rebelling against the restraints of Modernist formalism as the Conceptualists were. Rather than dematerialising the validity of objects, he aims to create an amplified aura around them. Uninterested in the ubiquitous forms of the ready made, he embarks on long periods of self involved prototyping and experimentation for his chosen medium in order to create the perfect finish to express his ideology. Despite his parodies and clichés of art and life, chi too is an artist in love with the act of making, albeit in a humorous manner. However, it must be said that there is a cast of participants in his processes, from the artist himself to numerous suppliers who assist in labour intensive acts (with numerous failed attempts), whether casting a block of plaster for his crystal mappings in Longing # 7 or a block of jelly for Longing # 10. Although not claiming to be a master craftsman, he expresses another type of longing:, but in this case for the ideal form, texture and surface. 

 

His ideas are not exclusively personal or banal however, since chi too has not rejected his political edge completely. His commentaries about the state of the country or the art world are painfully clear. Veiled with humour and sarcasm, he is able to escape the burden of didactism through his light-hearted visual vernacular. Longing # 9 Aku Nak Migrate, when viewed in light of the recent rallies in Kuala Lumpur to call for free and fair elections and the continual flight from the country by talented individuals, is the direct desire to be elsewhere. The facilitator for this are multiple lottery tickets installed in a grid like formation. Signifying a potential monetary windfall, this could be the answer to the financial problems of migration and the sustainability of future possibilities. Longing # 13 presents photographic documentation of chi too’s performance at the Buka Jalan performance festival. Here, the artist systematically contemplated and ‘sold’ all the artworks in the National Art Gallery by placing orange dots on their captions- a gesture done by commercial galleries to communicate when work has been bought and is no longer available for sale. Another lighted hearted gesture it nevertheless discusses the desires and commodification of art in cultural economies, a game that implicates all the players in the art world including non-profit institutions such as museums.

 

However, despite all of chi too’s irreverence and cynicism that tease and ridicule society, at the heart of his work is real human feeling and experience. Longing, is the desire and inevitable pain experienced for a person, place or object that is absent, gone or unobtainable. A sentiment best expressed through language; longing has inspired many iconic lovers, warriors and other literary characters who have waited, ached and obsessively plotted to achieve their various needs. Sometimes ending in happiness, tragedy or a mixture of both, longing is often at the heart of epic human stories. chi too exploits the various clichés associated with this emotion to present a variety of visual and textual clues to express the unnamed ghosts of his own longing that emerge and vanish throughout the exhibition. Longing #4 a.k.a. A Photo Installation That Was Supposed To Be A Film That’s Really Just A Photo-Essay manipulates the strategies of art house films to present a vague narrative that fluctuates between film and photography. The important use of language in the title satires the perceived pretentiousness in creative practices that are both admired and criticized by the artist. However, if the title and text sequences are disregarded, the intimate black and white images of a young woman sitting on a bed during moments of presence and absence act as iconic signifiers of lost love. This sentiment continues in Longing #7 a.k.a. I Wish There Was More Green. A white plaster slab hangs on the gallery wall encrusted with red, green, orange and silver crystals. This glittering display of minimal kitsch obscures more obsessive concerns of unrequited love. Monitoring the online status of a mysterious individual, each crystal represents moments of activity, dormancy, invisibility and unavailability on Google Mail chat. Charted over a period of four months, each crystal symbolizes a moment of hope and frustration as the object of the artist’s interest appears and disappears. Longing # 10 a.k.a My Dad was a True Hipster is a textual pun on the objects brought together to make up this work. Suspended in a large volume of edible jelly molded into the shape of an opaque yellow square is a human hip replacement. chi too’s father passed away recently. This is one of the few physical traces of him that remains. The term hipster, a positive and negative term for contrived quirky ‘coolness’, which chi too is a knowing victim and critic of, then takes on a double meaning. Referring to the notion that parents are often viewed as uncool by their children, it is also a comic but heartfelt lament for the loss of the artist’s father.

 

The range of desires across chi too’s diverse system of sign and symbols reveal that longing is a complex and universal human emotion. However, our unrequited passions are often kept hidden, safe from scrutiny and ridicule. chi too purposefully exposes his vulnerabilities, but behind the façade of staged farce, satire and irony. Diffusing the awkwardness of his own intimate confessions, audiences are then allowed to laugh or feel empathy for the artist’s reflections on his own life. But seriously, ‘are you for real chi too, or not?’ oscillating between yes and no answers perhaps this statement is best left unresolved like Longing # 1; a monumental projection of the artist’s lips, not speaking but in repetitive motion. Its intent remains unclear, even to chi too. The uncanniness of this work reawakens distant memories in all of us through nostalgia or cliché. These ambiguously imagine and reveal the story of chi too, an unfolding drama of love and loss, art and society, albeit with a whoopy cushion thrown in for comedic effect.

 

 

 

29 Apr 2011 Tanah Ayer: Malaysian Stories from the Land
The Production of Place

By Simon Soon

Nationhood and its accompanying narrative, is often thought of as a manufactured concept or what Benedict Anderson describes as an ‘imagined community’. Malaysia despite its relative youth (gaining independence from the British in 1957) experiences the same political marketing approach to nation building. However, as a necessary strategy of resistance to such illusions, it is the nuances of the local that provoke and texture such abstracted spaces of national identity and culture. Although ethnically diverse Malaysians have been tasked to imagine a harmonious multi-cultural co-existence of people as a singular unity expressed in the recent 1Malayisa political campaign, arriving at this national imagination is importantly filtered and questioned through the locality of everyday encounters.

Here the local retains its idioms, quirks and distinctions. It is a locus of history and of specificity that does not necessarily fall in step with the broader shared, and perhaps compromised, vernacular of the nation. Therefore, exploring the landscape of Malaysia as a subject requires artists to work quite differently from how the modernity of Malaysia is conceived and projected within the space/place dichotomy. It privileges in this instance a way of negotiating one’s sense of belonging on a range of emotional tenors that are broader and more complex than the brand of patriotism normally associated with nationalism.

The character of Malaysia’s modernity can be inferred from how modernisation is attributed in history textbooks to the Fourth Prime Minister, Tun Dr. Mahathir Mohamad. Given the epithet of ‘Father of Modernisation’, Dr. Mahathir’s 22 year long prime-ministership from 1981 to 2003 saw him prioritizing economic growth and expansion as the main measurement of modernity in Malaysia through a willful erasure of the local and disregard for continuity and social belonging.  The consequences of such policies created a type of disconnect between government and people, progress and culture, economy and history. The expansion of oil palm plantations that have endangered bio diversity, the deployment of culture solely for political and economic goals, the policing of public spaces, increasing Islamic conservatism, and the stoking of racial sentiments for political goals alongside keystones of what is considered as ‘progress’, concludes that from government perspectives, space is ideologically assumed to come prior to place.

While space is commonly defined as that abstract condition or dimension through which the particular or locality “place” can occur, Edward Casey has argued that this Kantian mode of understanding perception belies that our understandings are not located within space, but rather we must already be in a specific place in order to perceive space.

This reversal of values resonates on a methodological level with the artistic strategies that are featured in Tanah Ayer: Malaysian Stories from the Land. In contrast to the nationalised narrative of relentless progress, crystalised in the Wawasan 2020 (Vision 2020) campaign of the early nineties, artists are compelled to reexamine the cost of unfettered development on two grounds – by looking both geographically (the local) and temporally (in the past). Here the past and the place are not just setting of nostalgia and pining, but are the very lens through which one’s sense of belonging can be expanded in order to reinvent the now and the future against the amnesia of Malaysia’s modernity.

Tanah Ayer (purposefully employing a more historical spelling) combines two words: land (tanah) and water (air), to describe the sum of one’s concept of nation and homeland. This affiliation not only connects the subject to the lived compound of one’s home but also its environmental complement. Encapsulated in this word is a place for civilization and nature, the built environment and the landscape that surrounds it.

The multiple layers of Tanah Ayer are refracted across three nodes that pattern the spectrum of locality. Firstly, through the poetics of place by considering the affinities between artists and the land; secondly, the traffic of bodies or the movement of people across geography and finally, the entropic dimensions of the Malaysian dream. However, these are not thematic arcs that are aimed at limiting the interpretative scope of each individual work. Instead, one should conceive them as inflections on the terrain through which the artworks’ meaning can be read and are able to fluidly circulate.

Poetics

The poetics of place applies to the affinities one emotionally invests in a particular locale. Its expression is couched in a symbolic language that is in romantic conversation with the history, myth, values and people of place. Here, the universal referent is rendered local, distinguished by a stylistic accent that develops its own flavor and tempo. Like the Girl from Nanyang by Chong Siew Ying, who looks out from within her reverie amidst the bloom of hibiscus, as a lyrical shorthand for the complex web of association when one centres one’s claim to home.

chi too’s Maghrib Di Machang captures this tonal rhythm by way of composing a cinematographic still life. The closing of the day draws the curtain of night upon the street peddler, the pulse of his individual world juxtaposed against the universal call to prayer. Here the floating balloons draw us into meditative contemplation on livelihood in a small town even as the spiritual charge suggested in the title pulls us towards a very different direction, that of transcendence.

Artists have also sought the poetics in the natural. Whether this is through depicting the feminine beauty of the rural landscape through the wistful outlook of a demure Malay village girl as Kow Leong Kiang does in Wind Blowing, or exploring the surreal and spiritual dimensions of this landscape through the dark brooding world of Ahmad Zakii Anwar or through the very locality of the material itself as in the case of Sun Kang Jye’s skillful sculptural transformation of local wood, artists have also grappled with the question of nature on many different levels as a marker of distance or originality where its reality and values can challenge the dominant narratives of Malaysia.

Yee I-lann’s Horizon series projects the Malaysian dream on the vast expanse of an Australian desert landscape to acknowledge her own personal hybridity and to decentre both localities by examining them from a new horizontal vantage point filled with hope and contradiction.

On another level, I-Lann’s Malaysia Day Commemorative Plates returns to mine the founding of Malaysia as a regenerative dialogue. Archival photos of the four signatory bodies: Malaya, Singapore, Sabah and Sarawak, celebrating 16th September as the birth of a new nation charts an optimistic conceptual horizon as they are displayed side by side as moments across geography activated by the promise of a singular aspiration towards commonwealth.

Traffic

In the geography of culture, one cannot but consider the idea of arrival and departure, the movement of a body of people across the land and perhaps how this mobility creates new ways of seeing and understanding place-ness. It is an allegory of our negotiation with space through the particular and how we aestheticise it even as we are constantly moving and changing, by turn refracting the mutable lens, which must continuously give shape to a different picture stirred by the slightest change in one’s affinity.

Study of Malaysian Modern Visual Arts in Landscape by Tan Nan See examines the typology of landscape representation. It charts a national art history on its own terms, through the miniaturising of iconic landscape paintings that calls for slippages and attention to an act of personally attenuated homage in order to construct an alternative trajectory to national imagination. This litany includes colonial landscape painters such as colonialist Captain Robert Smith and Frank Swettenham, the founder of the Penang straits colony, early watercolourists Yong Mun Sen and Abdullah Ariff, abstract modernists Jolly Koh and Latiff Mohidin through to contemporary artists such as Sharon Chin who is featured in this exhibition. Presenting a specifically designed chronology the series presents both the shifts in artistic styles and concerns as well as the changing view of landscape.

In a similar sense, Chong Kim Chiew represents Malaysia’s fraught history through a series of paintings of old stamps. The stamp represents postage as a modern communication medium, which celebrates pictorially the achievement of a particular state. In this series, Kim Chiew represents a Johore State stamp, a stamp of federated Malaya with a map of the United Kingdom, and a faceless portrait of  Malay nobility. Together they weave the fraught histories about connection and disconnection, reminding us that Malaysia is a composite of different states whose destinies  and movement of people within it are entwined by the history of colonialism. 

In another work that explores the azan, Sharon Chin’s Pole Positions grafts the spires of the Petronas Twin Towers, Malaysia’s very own symbol of late-capitalism, with the Islamic prayer mat. The Twin Towers are often cited as an architecturally postmodern style that borrows from the arabesque of Islamic motifs, yet its verticality resonates much closer to the phallic ideology of capitalist mobility elucidated in Rem Koolhaas’s study of New York. The prayer mat’s orientation takes the tightly cropped twin spires as its spiritual compass and through it, questions the very values that have been set in place by the veneer of Islamic modernity that has driven much of Malaysia’s economic progress.


In her photographic series, Mer.rily, Mer.rily, Mer.rily, Mer.rily, minstrel kuik props up everyday objects with her hand against the blue sky from her balcony. Among the objects we find a paper airplane, a mandarin orange, a toy bird and a jasmine flower. Extracted from a larger series which includes pictures of her family, her neighbourhood and household items, they provide us with a snapshot into her migrant background, her sensitivity to the everyday moments of her childhood home, even as an artist who has spent many years studying and living abroad in France.

What troubles this optimism is the racialised realpolitik of the present day. Gan Chin Lee’s portrayal of street life takes us into the mamak restaurant portraying a coterie of nonchalant youths from non-Malay backgrounds. What seethes beneath what would normally be considered a portrait of hapless youth is hinted in the title, Balik! Atau Membalas Budi (Go Home, or return our kindness!). Racialist undercurrents that have labeled non-Malays as ‘pendatangs’ or ‘newcomers’ shape a discourse that see these as parasitic communities that only have economic rather than national interests at heart. The mamak restaurant thus becomes the space of foreignness. Moreover, mamak refers to a mercantile class of Indian Tamil Muslims who arrived in the Malay peninsular during British colonialism and have since carved an economic niche for themselves as restaurateurs serving a selection of street food. Gan’s painting is ironic in summoning these tensions to the surface of an otherwise banal portrait, compelling us to acknowledge the future of Malaysia’s multiculturalism.

Entropy

In a world marked by absence, whether it is human presence or activity, the monuments of modernity suddenly turn phantasmic, haunting us by their lack of vitality or signs of life, their incompletion and dysfunction. The photos of Eiffel Chong illustrate this world. In Monumentalisation of Death, a construction site eerily lit at night transforms itself into a kind of modern day ruin by its inactivity. Similarly, Mathematical Equations with Emotional Contours inverts the logic of consumerism by highlighting an empty billboard. In moments where the urbanscape seems disused or dysfunctional, Eiffel is able to demonstrate the strangeness of a city, as a product of capitalism, at the point of its unraveling.

The dying hibiscus (Malaysia’s national flower) sapped by the container of Malay nationalism symbolised by the songkok headgear in Vincent Leong’s MeLayu (to Wither) is an allegory of the nation withering under the burden of Malay nationalism, perhaps in reference to the UMNO political party. What was once a movement that led the independence struggle now resorts to inciting communal distrusts and racial tensions in order to stay in power at all costs. This allegory is also narrated pictorially through Jalaini Abu Hassan’s painting which references the fabled King Midas. The King is said to be able to transform everything he touches into gold yet the irony is that his greed in turning everything into gold renders the currency valueless.

In Bataille-esque reckoning, entropy is the force of formlessness, the loss of coherence and of meaning. The entropic agent is therefore not necessarily destructive or a negative property. In Flica + Fairuz's performative cinema, we see this agent at work as it adopts the language of abstraction to visualise the frenetic energy of our urban environment. Similarly in Lee Kwang’s layered soundscape, a sampling of falling rain, trains arriving and departing, mechanical sounds and coffee shop conversations presents a contemporary symphony of Malaysia – its fragmentation, multidirectional trajectories, and evocation of the uncertainty border on schizophrenic.

While many would perceive entropy as a pessimistic note to conclude Tanah Ayer with there is also found in interpretative dimension of what Robert Smithson once called an ‘all encompassing sameness’, a new register of the sublime. In the patient manner in which artists document the wilting of narrative, we find within the larger ossified and glorified narrative of Malaysia its own time bomb, perhaps some acknowledgement of its destructive dimension is a step towards reconciliation and amelioration.

By interrogating the symbolic and aesthetic values of place as well as the individual attachment to place and identity, the exhibition is able to present complex artistic responses to politics, economic progress and the shifting cultural values of race, religion and class. Resisting against oppositional flows that threaten to pull apart the fabric of coherence, of meaning, we turn to the Tanah Ayer as the site we experience before we dream, the place that comes before the space of our imagination.

Simon Soon is currently completing a PhD in art history at the University of Sydney. His research focuses on social practice in Southeast Asia art from the 70s - 90s.
22 Apr 2011 M Irfan: Pameranku Di Soemardja
01 Mar 2011 MALAYAN EXCHANGE (Studies of the Notes of the Future) by Green Zeng
12 Jan 2011 VWFA @ Art Stage Singapore
04 Jan 2011 Art Stage Singapore 2011


External link at » http://www.artstagesingapore.com
21 Oct 2010 Jumaldi Alfi: Life/Art #101: Never Ending Lesson
Imagine a small boy being born in Lintau, West Sumatra to Minangkabau parents. His mother returns from West Java especially for the delivery. It is a bone-shattering, seven day-long journey across Sumatra. Nevertheless, she leaves soon after giving birth. The boy, Alfi, is her eighth child. Two years later, Alfi joins his parents in West Java where they are running a Minang restaurant. The family, however, are forced to leave their home after a dispute. The next seven years are spent wandering around Java. They are formative years and even though the family speaks Minang at home Alfi unconsciously becomes very attached to the island. Years later, as he’s growing up back in West Sumatra, memories of Java are to suffuse his thoughts, making him feel unhappy.

He then returns with his mother to Lintau and begins schooling. Two years later, she leaves once again to start her own restaurant in Solo. Alfi is left with his extended family, his parents want him to complete junior high-school in West Sumatra. His teachers acknowledge his studiousness but they find him difficult. He talks back in class and challenges their authority. By now he is foreign or asing. It’s inspired by a sense of dislocation that grows over the years, making him feel more alien despite being nominally at “home”. His homesickness for Java makes him bookish. He seeks to understand why his “world” and family were so severely disrupted.

Years later, when he is studying at the Institut Seni Indonesia (or ISI), he learns more about hishome province’s bloody history. Amidst Jogjakarta’s academic freedom he hears stories and reads books. The carnage of the late 50’s and 60’s shocks him. He begins to comprehend the violence that had shaken West Sumatra and its inhabitants. He learns that the province was turned into a veritable “killing fields” for well over a decade. It began with an abortive anti-Soekarno rebellion (called the Pemerintah Revolusioner Republik Indonesia or the Revolutionary Administration of the Republic of Indonesia, PRRI) in 1956, ending with Soekarno’s fall in 1966and the bloody backlash against the Indonesian Communists that followed.

As Alfi begins to comprehend the bloodshed his own family’s circumstances become clearer. He grows more sympathetic towards his parents. He begins to realise that they had to battle
prejudice, poverty and tragedy as they tried to raise their nine children. His father’s words on why the family had to leave resonate deeply with him: “Wilayah Sumatra Barat dihancurkan politik” - (“West Sumatra was destroyed by politics”). Similarly, he recognizes the irony of his fondness for Java at a time when his own people- the Minang - were still recovering from the trauma associated with what they saw as essentially a “War against Java”.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, Alfi begins to reclaim his culture, celebrating and yet transcending his heritage through his chosen profession: art. An artist’s sensibility, after all, cannot be separated from his personal biography. Contexts help shape the genesis of a creative spirit. In the case of Jumaldi Alfi (one of the Jendela Art Group members), we are presented with a West Sumatran-born artist whose Minangkabau identity has been constantly undercut by his youthful sojourns in Java. Indeed for Alfi - Java was to emerge as “home”, the place he wanted to be long before he came to Jogjakarta in 1989 to complete his studies. However, the Java he returned to was not the mono-cultural milieu of his youth. Indeed, his “Java” - or at least Jogjakarta - is a veritable mini-Indonesia. It’s a heterogeneous, cosmopolitan intellectual centre that manages to attract and nurture thousands of creative young minds. This setting, along with the epiphany described earlier, has had a marked effect on his work.

Now thirty-seven and happily married with three children, Alfi’s Blackboard Series reflects a process of coming to terms with his personal history as well as his identity. Indeed, it’s as if a truly Indonesian sense of self is gestating before us. The creative tensions inherent in his quest to understand his past and its dislocations have slowly eased. The urgency of the search has dissipated. Whilst there’s no doubt that the questioning has been immensely fruitful in artistic terms, Alfi is now embarking on a new set of challenges.

Moreover, the Blackboard Series reflects Alfi’s fascination and admiration with the work of post-War German artists such as Anselm Kiefer, Kippenberger and Georg Baselitz. He finds himself drawn to their obsession with history. Their meditations on unanswered and perhaps, unanswerable questions about German militarism haunt him as deeply as West Sumatra’s sanguine past. Alfi is impressed by the trio’s honesty as they explore these bitter personal and national themes. He admires their work, respecting the magisterial quality, the boldness and the sheer verve. He also relishes their technical virtuosity, the drama of their sweeping brush-strokes and the intensity with which they apply colour. He sees the extent to which a national trauma has inspired a magnificent aesthetic response - more than a match for the terrible tragedies charted.

Nevertheless, Alfi’s Blackboard Series will no doubt surprise those who’ve followed him over the years. Uncluttered and clean-lined, the work would appear to be a total break with his previous densely-worked, expressionistic canvasses. With the new series, the artist has also been more direct in terms of his chosen message - witness the direct quotations from art luminaries such as Beuys and Ruscha. In the past, he was content with mere scribbling - incoherent and scrawled. With these quotes, Alfi is verging on the poetic, embedding the words within his own, far less flamboyant style. The greater economy reveals a more mature artist. In one canvas, Kippenberger’s famous quote, “dear painter, paint for me” (“liebe maler, male
mir”) is set against an achingly empty backdrop. After the intensity and layering of his earlier work, the starkness is actually quite refreshing. We are presented with an artistic landscape shorn of Alfi’s personal leitmotifs. There are no more stones or cacti. These symbols have been laid to rest. With this show, Alfi appears to be seeking a more clearly defined message. Could it be that a multiplicity of meanings is no longer appropriate or necessary for a mature artist?

There are, however, underlying connections with the earlier work. Certain intellectual and visual tropes appear throughout, reminding us of the artist’s personal interests and idiosyncrasies. For a start, Alfi never loses sight of his love of painting. His work is infused with the joy and
playfulness inherent in the process of putting brush to canvas. Indeed, the actual blackboards with their faux frames are paradoxical. They tease the onlooker. From the onset, they would appear simple, even easy to paint or frivolous. In reality, the intense inky-black of the surface and the muffled white of the chalky words require layers and layers of carefully applied paint – each requiring a laborious finish.

Alfi relishes the deceptiveness of his art where nothing is entirely straightforward. In this respect, he delights in the trickery and cleverness of his fake frames. Indeed, the word “FAKE” is harshly imposed on a piece bearing that name, against propositions like “Everyone is an artist” or “Every Art is one”- perhaps a dismissal of artistic pretentiousness. While this can be read as depicting the futility of such processes, it also suggests the problems faced by artists lacking identity, albeit playfully suggested. Nonetheless, “play” can also be intensely serious and with Alfi the exploration of trompe d’oeil fulfils certain intellectual ends. In essence, the artist is exploring the boundaries of creativity: when is a work a piece of art? When is it merely paint applied on a convenient surface?

As Alfi delves into an issue that has long fascinated artists, he clearly resolves that it’s the idea that signifies the art. We make art when we are actively thinking of creating something – when we are engaged. Absent the thought and there’s no art. From a young boy uncomfortable and unsure of his place in the world, Alfi has emerged as a confident master of his craft. His desperate searches for identity have ceased, replaced by sage-like inquiries into the nature of art and humanity. Still, that he has chosen to do this on blackboards- ultimate symbols of
academia- is indicative that Alfi is nevertheless, still learning and seeking after all these years and willingly so at that.

Karim Raslan

- - - - - - - - - -

DEVOTEE OF LIFE

In October 2009, Jumaldi Alfi – together with Andy Dewantoro and Nasirun – participated in an exhibition at Sin Sin Fine Art Gallery in Hong Kong. The exhibition entitled Diverse – 40x40, featured relatively small works by the three artists, measuring 40 x 40 cm each. Alfi presented four series of work, each comprising nine small paintings. These four series – reflecting Alfi’s usual habit of working in series – all bear the same title: Verjüngung.

These small canvases clearly illustrate the unique qualities of Alfi’s paintings: a background filled with mottles, grains and layers of colour; scratches that flash by, visible only for an instant; slits that have seemingly damaged the canvas; the scatter of writings across the painted surface. In the center, nestled among all these elements, we find clearly recognizable forms - stairs, stones, cacti, human hands, feet, and skulls.

This last form, the skull, has often appeared in Alfi’s early works. In the past, he would conceal and work this into the background; the skull would appear as a simple shape, in scratched, hazy outlines. In this instance however, the form, colour and details of the skulls are clearly rendered.

According to Alfi, the title Verjüngung – a German word, was picked up after discussing existential philosophy with two colleagues, a curator and a writer. It is a word with a very definite meaning.1 The closest terms in Indonesian (and English) would be: peremajaan (rejuvenation), pembaruan (renewal). This term – which I will expand on later in this essay – has led Alfi to this juncture in his creative journey, where skulls and blackboards have become dominant motifs in his work.

***
In the solo exhibition, Color Guide Series in 2008, I touched on two fundamental issues that were evident in Alfi’s works at the time. The first was the issue of content, which he has crammed into each of his canvases: textures, stones, scratches, trickles of colour, marks and spots, pieces of scenery, and various words and sentences. The cacophony of elements – in the form of shapes, colours, marks and words – is a form of nervous “chatter” of a restless mind, uncomfortable with recollections of its past. This restlessness is unleashed between dense layers of colour and trickles of paint that occupy the surface of his canvases. These visual forms are dormant images from his past, emerging now like a sequence of phantasmagoric shadows that flash by in the still of the night. The connection between Alfi’s works, his anxieties and memories of his past was accurately put into words by the intellectual Puthut E.A. Who has worked with Alfi a number of times: “Like his paintings, Alfi is not a person who is drawn to the future, rather he is driven by his past.”2

The second was about aesthetics, or more precisely: the manner in which Alfi deals with the ideas that inform his paintings. The paintings from Color Guide Series clearly reveal Alfi’s awareness of the issue of aesthetics he faces within the practical and traditional boundaries
of painting. In his works from 2008, Alfi explored new ways to transform his paintings into an idea (gagasan), the concept of addressing painting as object within the painted image. He consciously exploited the canvas surface and used representative techniques to maintain (emotional) distance, and provided signs to indicate that what he was presenting in this series were paintings within (the frames of) paintings. Up until this point, he had been convinced that painting and the paintings themselves were the “channels and reservoirs of all his anxieties”. If we accept the artist’s statement, then the paintings during this earlier period are a visual documentation of his psycho-biographical footprints. We also witness in Color Guide Series the artist’s attempt to distance himself from the problems he has faced in the past. He highlights his aesthetic concerns, consciously trying to present his paintings as representational objects within paintings, maintaining a distance from his personal problems.

His achievements in Color Guide Series have since opened a new chapter for Alfi’s paintings, presented here in this exhibition. An early indication was already evident in two of Alfi’s paintings from Color Guide Series two years ago: the blackboard (Blur, 2007 and Homage to
Beuys, 2007) which has become the central form in a number of his recent paintings. It is as if this object declared Alfi’s own awareness that the time had come to move towards a new phase in his life and art; to create a distinct distance from the experiences of the past. The blackboard as the central form also pushed the artist to further challenge the problematics of painting - its physical and representational values, a major preoccupation which the artist continues to explore in his work to this day.

***

We can now return to the issue of Verjüngung (rejuvenation,renewal), bringing us to another tangle of issues that Alfi addresses in this exhibition.

I referred previously to Puthut E.A’s statement about Alfi’s work being “driven by his past”. On various occasions, Alfi has admitted that he is constantly anxious about and pre-occupied by problems that he has experienced or is currently going through. The act of painting is a channel which allows him to vent (these anxieties), while each painting acts as a vessel he produces to contain these anxieties. In other words, painting (the act) and painting (the object) will always be a site for wrestling with his memories, for remembering and at the same time forgetting, for introspection, carried out with an intensity and moodiness, a hurried urgency, which may explain why he is able to produce paintings in never ending cycles.

This might lead us to a comparison – within limits of course – with Marcel Proust’s (1871-1922) masterpiece, In Search of Lost Time (A la Recherche du temps perdu), which continues to be a rich and endlessly inspiring source for many thinkers, and a subject of many meticulous studies. In this work, Proust constructs a tale that flows swiftly back and forth, an opus in 7 volumes – one of the longest novels written in the 20th century. Faced with the spirited narration of mementos/ reminisced, of memories/ remembered – Proust called it a channel of “involuntary memory”– it led Walter Benjamin to the term Verjüngung: “This is the work of the memoire involontaire, the rejuvenating force which is a match for the inexorable process of aging. When the past is reflected in the dewy fresh “instant,” a painful shock of rejuvenation pulls it together once more…”3

He further explained:

“Proust has brought off the tremendous feat of letting the whole world age by a lifetime in an instant. But this very concentration in which things that normally just fade and slumber consume themselves in a flash is called rejuvenation. À la Recherche du temps perdu is the constant attempt to charge an entire lifetime with the utmost awareness.” 4

For Proust, reminiscing – which can happen at the same time, paradoxically, as “forgeting”– is the residual energy and will of a human being to become aware of, and to face time with its unfathomable boundaries. The journey of life until death is no longer placed in a special linear time, rather within a layered network of experience. The eternality of time as expounded by Proust, to borrow again the formulation of Walter Benjamin, is that time is a series of stitched together incisions, and not that time is boundless. 5

Borrowing Benjamin’s study on Proust, we can then re-frame our reading of Puthut E.A’s statement about Alfi – that (he and) his works are “driven by his past.” The “push factor” of the past imagined by Puthut is, in fact, the energy of rejuvenation and renewal, which has returned, triggered by the act of reminiscing and recollection and become the motor that drives Alfi’s awareness and art at present. The past with its mementos and memories is no
longer just a past frozen in the subject’s mind, but something to be lived in the here and now.6 Alfi treats his past as if it were an entity that fills the entire network of experience, as a place of study, in a class that continues to go on until this day, right now.

We can take learning as a process connected to rejuvenation, wherein the awareness and thoughts of a person continue to be honed, not just through a process of reflection, but also actualization. This is why the skull – death– in Alfi’s works is presented more as a sign of a new life beginning. He no longer sees Life-Death as a closed cycle. Death, a matter of the past, from his previous experiences, gives energy for the rejuvenation and renewal of vitality in the present. The blackboard — a place to relate information and knowledge which is then erased and then written upon again, and the skull — a safe haven for the nerve centre of humans, are interwoven in Alfi’s consciousness as the actualizations of life: rejuvenation/renewal, Verjüngung, an uninterrupted process.

To simplify, we recall the proverb, “experience is the best teacher”, or experientia docet. This is what is being presented in Alfi’s works. Experience is presented as a verb, the actions of the artist as he reminisces and remembers. Thus, the life that he has lived and experienced from the past to the present, later re-emerges again as random sequences in his works, “woven memories”,7 which are continuously being constructed.

Not only that, Alfi’s latest body of work also demonstrates the manner in which he has incorporated his knowledge of fine art history as a part of his experience and learning process. The words and sentences presented are borrowed from a number of artists whom he admires (from Joseph Beuys, Martin Kippenberger, Ed Ruscha, to the lyrics of Pink Floyd songs). These borrowed quotes and words become a form of playful word association game as he connects with his own personal experiences. Like a student who casually erases words left on a class blackboard, Alfi mischeviously erases one or two letters or blurs a certain word, creating shifts and ruptures in the original meanings, deliberately steering our readings off course.

The nine “blackboard” paintings, an installation (of a skeleton on a wooden boat) and a video that make up this exhibition can be seen as an integrated presentation. Each work represents the different self-contained rooms that eventually form a house. We see Alfi deliberately employing theatrical elements in this show, supplying just enough fresh air in the exhibition space for the artworks to breathe freely with the audience.

Alfi’s grasp of the theatrical and his natural feel for space in the presentation of his work has been evident for some time. Trained in three-dimensional art (i.e. scupture and craft), Alfi has also exhibited regularly with his fellow artists from the Jendela Art Group (Kelompok Jendela) since early days: Rudi Mantofani, Yunizar, Yusra Martunus, and also Handiwirman Saputra. Alfi recalls that during these early set-ups, his friends “were very specific –vocal even– about the way they wanted to display their work – placement, position, space size, even the lighting of
their works”. It was only after frequent discussions with them, that he began to realize that they were trying make use of the space to maximise the presentation of the exhibition and highlight their work in the best possible way.

In 2009, Alfi and his fellow members of the Jendela Art Group (Kelompok Jendela) held an exhibition at the NUS Museum in Singapore entitled Jendela: A Play of the Ordinary. In this exhibition, Alfi’s painting, I Like to See Myself as a Prophet (2009) – one of the earlier works
from the “blackboard” paintings – was presented in a small room with two other installations (works by Yusra Martunus and Rudi Mantofani). Alfi admits that this arrangement really enhanced the emotional intensity and experience he wanted to offer through his painting. Since then, he has begun to toy with theatrical elements that may be used to strengthen the presentation of his work. Through a specific and well thought-out hang, Alfi’s works will be able to address the question of time while transcending the physical frame of his paintings.

We can be certain that Alfi will continue his learning in order to enrich the aesthetics of his art. As he continues to paint and make art, Alfi will continually rejuvenate himself. An academic expert, a Spanish Jesuit priest at the end of the 16th century, stated: Puerilis institutio est renovatio mundi (the education of youth is the rejuvenation of the world). Learning, rejuvenation and renewal, it seems, should be taken in in one breath.

Notes/References:
1 Anton Larenz and Ari Wijaya. Anton Larenz, a German who has lived for sometime in Indonesia, is familiar with the fine art
community from Bali to Jakarta and often writes about Indonesian fine art. Ari Wijaya, a writer from Yogya, is also familiar
with the artists’ sphere in this city, diligently visiting artist studios to discuss and keep track of their works.
2 Puthut E.A., Serpihan Jejak di Belakang Alfi, in Alfi, Yogyakarta, 2008, p. 50.
3 The word “rejuvenating” in this text is a synonym for the word/term “Verjüngung” which was used by Walter Benjamin in
the original German manuscript. I understand that what Benjamin intended it to mean was in fact more than just the act/
prose “rejuvenate” which relates to age and the physical condition, but also to the issue of “renewal” relating to mental
awareness and cognitive conditions. Walter Benjamin, The Image of Proust, in Illumination, Schocken, NY, 1968, p. 211.
4 Walter Benjamin (1968), ibid.
5 The eternity which Proust opens to view is convoluted time, not boundless time. Walter Benjamin, ibid.
6 In another Walter Benjamin composition—which can be a companion to his work In Search of Lost Time on the erudite
matters of various enticing, spirited and detailed issues—The Arcades Project, he expounds on this issue with the statement
that: “It’s not that what is past casts its light on what is present, or what is present its light on what is past; rather, image
is that wherein what has been comes together in a flash with the now to form a constellation. In other words: Image is
dialectics at a standstill.” (Convolute N2a, 3). Walter Benjamin, The Arcade Project, Harvard University Press, 1999, p. 462.
7 “We know that in his work Proust did not describe a life as it actually was, but a life as it was remembered by the one
who had lived it. And yet even this statement is imprecise and far too crude. For the important thing for the remembering
author is not what he experienced, but the weaving of his memory….” Walter Benjamin (1968), p. 202

Enin Supriyanto
16 Sep 2010 Yee I-Lann: BOOGEYMAN
04 Aug 2010 Muhamad UCUP Yusuf: INDONESIA AND I

A VOICE OF RECKONING

Muhamed Yusuf speaks with the sanguineness of someone at peace with himself. As an artist, his work for the last decade has been committed to exposing difficult realities that exist in Indonesian society including corruption, environmental degradation and the continued deprivation of the underclass amongst a slew of other social ills . At times, it seems almost ironic that it should be in observing so much vice and poverty that Yusuf then musters the will and imagination to present a balanced and recuperative vision of a utopian social democracy. It is in how his vision becomes purer and clearer against the muddiness of reality that we may approach the body of works he has prepared for this exhibition.

Indonesia and I is Yusuf's second solo exhibition, and his first since 2005 when he exhibited 20 paintings in a sustained visual interpretation of Indonesian writer and social observer Pramoedya Ananta Toer's mytho-historic novel, Arok Dedes, at the former Komunitas Utan Kayu's Galeri Lontar in Jakarta. Published in 1999, Pramoedya's novel claims for Arok Dedes a heroic position a la Robin Hood – despised by the ruler of a 13th century east Javanese kingdom but loved by the people. The novel makes a barely veiled appeal for readers to critically examine events in their own times. Yusuf marks his affiliations with Pramoedya and other figures who have led social change, and who continue to galvanise social consciousness. Just as these figures may have had to stake contrarian positions in their lifetimes for their beliefs, the I in Yusuf's exhibition titled Indonesia and I stand alongside but slightly apart from his nation.

A founding member of the Indonesian artist-activist collective Taring Padi since 1998 when the group emerged during a period of domestic political turmoil, Yusuf creates works that embody Taring Padi's particular brand of visual aesthetics.  Concerned about social justice and the rights of minority and marginal communities, Yusuf and other members of Taring Padi have consistently cultivated a social consciousness towards the grassroots in their work. Their distinct brand of protest art - seen in their block print (cukil) posters and banners, improvisational street theatre, music and art festivals, as well as workshops involving different communities - seeks as much to create awareness of the livelihood of particular social communities as they highlight, mock and criticise structures of inequality. Due to the ease of reproduction and distribution, block printing on paper and cloth has remained a mainstay technique in the posters and banners produced by Taring Padi. Indonesia and I showcases a suite of about 20 large-format block print banners where Yusuf has aggregated much of the visual aesthetics propagated by Taring Padi. Each banner is intricately composed, visually powerful,  and carries extensive narrative depth: emphasising the rights of every child to education; the virtues of personal character development; equality for women; sufficiency on the agricultural produce of local communities; and visions of social democracy. In these works, Yusuf articulates a distinct and powerful voice of social advocacy in today's Indonesian contemporary art scene.

Following Indonesia and I at Valentine Willie Fine Art, Singapore from 5 to 9 August 2010 is Aku dan You, where Yusuf will present a distinctly different set of work at Tembi Contemporary, Yogyakarta, Indonesia from 24 August to 14 September 2010. Aku dan You comprises mainly paintings and shows  Yusuf's extensive visual repertoire. A painting major at the Institut Seni Indonesia in Yogyakarta, this body of work evidences an inclination for illustration. American artist and illustrator Joe Coleman's burlesque of both high and low American life provides endless fascination and inspiration for Yusuf. In Aku dan You, Yusuf presents a selection of paintings of varying sizes, narrative potential and personal relevance, wry and biting in its social observation and critique, and sometimes grostesque.

Penyelewengan Sejarah (The Deviation of History) is a triptych of self-portraits making reference to a heroic Indonesian triumvirate. On the left panel, Yusuf assumes the guise of Diponegoro, spiritual leader of the anti-colonial rebellion sometimes termed as the Java War which took place between 1825 and 1830. He is portrayed in a heroic pose mounted atop a rearing horse, his assertively raised right arm brandishing a paintbrush that has left a sweeping trail of fuschia across a fiery crimson sky. Partitioned behind him on the left are various archetypes of the people, the common class (rakyat), including the labourer, the farmer and the woman protester. Yusuf's oeuvre consistently feature them as centrepieces critical for his narrative-driven works. The people square up to representations of colonial Dutch troops on the right, ready to shed blood. Battle and bloodshed is suggested by illustrations of skulls and bones. Good triumphs over evil, as represented by the Indonesian shadow puppet theatre (wayang) figure of Dursasana, commonly taken as a vile character, falling over on the bottom edge of the work.

Alongside self-portrait as Diponegoro is Yusuf reincarnated in the unmistakeable persona of Sukarno, the charismatic political leader who led Indonesia to national independence. Sukarno is easily identified by the statesman uniform he is wearing. In his hands, he holds a large stone, behind which peek out a claw, a visualisation of the Indonesian adage ada udang dibalik batu which equates more or less to the popular saying – more than meets the eye. In Sukarno's hands lie not only the destiny of a nation's people, but even culture and nature, signified by representations of animals and wayang figures, are accounted for. A banner reads 'Provokasih' at the bottom of the centre panel. Painted red, it echoes the band of red cutting across the sky, signalling bravery and valour. Completing the triumvirate is Yusuf replacing the persona of the student protestor in one of Indonesian modern artist S.Sudjojono's landmark paintings, Maka Lahirlah Angkatan '66. The student protester of Sudjojono's painting, wearing a red jacket that assimilates to the symbolic red band across the sky, is Yusuf cast as Taring Padi artist-social activist, holding a print roller and a paint can that pronounces 'Wood Cut Not Dead', hence proclaiming the persistence of protest art. The background showing a gathering of common people coloured in a uniform monotone shade and hoisting wood blocks is adapted from a Taring Padi poster. Their shadows cast a black background on which the text Bara merah satukan darah membakar batas dan kelas (Smouldering red embers with shed blood will destroy all class and limits) is etched.

Yusuf's treatment of history, while rooted in reality, is driven by a purposeful sense of pastiche, clobbering together an assortment of historical figures and episodes. Signalling his version of history as a deviation creates for himself the space to engage critically with history that tends to laud victors and forget the vanquished. His guises signal affiliations with protest, revolutions, uprisings and the triumph of people power, and stand as a distinct and powerful voice of social advocacy in today's Indonesian contemporary art scene.

The block print on cloth, Satu Bus (One Bus), overflows with faces of notable figures in history in the interior of a crowded bus. The pictorial space seems to lurch forward, bulging to accommodate the profusion of faces. Outlined in white and filled in with a uniform ebony black, Yusuf appears almost as a demi-god clutching a book with the title Self History.  Yusuf's father, a used clothings dealer before he passed away, steers the bus plying Lumajang in East Java, where Yusuf was born, and Yogyakarta, where he now works and resides with his wife and children. Behind him is Yusuf's mother, who worked as a seamstress. On the bus are passengers such as Mexican modernist artist and muralist, Diego Riveria and Frida Kahlo, his wife and also an artist. Best known for deeply affective self-portraits, her works seem to have been a key pictorial influence on Yusuf's works, particularly in Aku dan You, in their compositional focus given to the figure, the intensity and vibrancy of colours and the thorough deployment of symbolic elements.

The Indonesian poet-activist, Widji Thukul, whose work was critical of the Indonesian government, and who is suspected to have been abducted by government forces in 1998, makes an appearance, as does Munir Said Thalib, a human rights and anti-corruption activist assassinated in 2004 on Garuda, the Indonesian national air carrier. They are joined by historic figures like Raden Ayu Kartini, the 19th century Javanese heroine advocating the emancipation of women, and Mohandas Gandhi, the inspirational political and spiritual leader of the Indian independence movement. Satu Bus is a singular homage to inspirational figures; like Penyelewengan Sejarah, it discloses voluminously his affiliations.

Reading off a visual narrative is the primary approach to Yusuf's works we may take. The density of pictorial elements in his compositions, especially in the Indonesia and I block prints, may seem overwhelming but a clear structure undergirds each work where narrative episodes are contained within numerous picture cells. Janji Sejahtera (Prosperity Promise) is a large-format block print where Yusuf echos the developmental vision proclaimed by Sukarno, Berdiri Atas Kaki Sendiri, abbreviated as Berkadiri and translated literally as 'standing on your own feet'. As ideal and manifesto, Berkadiri is etched on a banner in front of a luxuriant tree. To its left and right, Yusuf has incorporated scenes  of abundance in nature and industry to illustrate the ultimate reality of the vision. These scenes, as Yusuf seems to suggest, may only come to fruition supported by a social fabric where the concepts of multi-religiosity and gotong royong (a moral concept in the Malay-speaking world which stands for mutual help, reciprocity and other aligned ideas) are at work. They certainly are in Janji Sejahtera. Men and women work, cook and live under one roof on the middle left of the composition while the unique features of four religions, each represented by their own distinct architecture, line up alongside each other on the middle right. Beneath is a typical scene in a posyandu (abbreviated from Pos Pelayanan Terpadu, or Integrated Service Post) which is a district clinic attending to the healthcare of women and children.

The nuclear family unit – father, mother and two children – is not only Yusuf's visualisation of his present family, but also idealised as the basic unit of a utopian society. It resides at the heart of the composition. Underneath it, Yusuf visualises the structure of village communities. Basic financial transactions proceed between villagers in a local district bank which is operational once a week in various villages in Yogyakarta and other parts of Indonesia. Beneath it is a scene of plentiful harvest. Flanking the scenes of village commerce and agriculture are representations of the common labourer and the farmer, each one enlarged in scale and thus given emphasis in Yusuf's composition.  Janji Sejahtera is indeed very much a utopian vision, but critically, a utopia does not exist without a dichotomous other side – the regrettable side of reality. At the very bottom of the composition are panels illustrating foolishness, poverty and division. Yusuf's utopia is in the process of realisation – never complete and always a vision to strive towards.

In this process where perseverance is necessary, Yusuf's creativity is stoked. Beneath his sanguine artistic persona, there is a persistence of vision precisely because everyday reality in his world falls short of the ideal. The relevance of Yusuf’s work remains unabated today as he insists in seeing art as a powerful form of social response and a medium of change. He bears a voice of consciousness; one too rare amongst contemporaries. Indonesia and I and Aku Dan You marks a distinct point of reckoning in his oeuvre where his thoughts on social democracy and justice, the environment and other relevant social issues have been allowed to consolidate and then translated into the visual narratives seen in both shows. 


Wang Zineng is an auction house specialist of modern and contemporary Southeast Asian art and writes occasionally on related subjects.



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Connecting with the people: The art of Muhamad “UCUP” Yusuf


For many of us, art resonates best on an emotional and spiritual level. Add to that a strong appeal to the intellect and an aesthetic that reflects true talent and originality and you have the makings of a very strong bond between artist and viewer. I felt that the first time I saw one of Muhamad Yusuf’s paintings and right away wanted to find out more about Ucup, as he is known, and the Taring Padi collective he helped found in 1999. In short, I felt a connection.

As we celebrate Ucup’s first solo exhibition overseas and his first at Tembi Contemporary, it might help to take a step back and briefly examine the movement from which he cannot be separated. Taring Padi (which loosely translates as the Sharp Tip of the Rice Grain) may number fewer than ten members but their art has had an impact on tens of thousands of farmers, students and activists. From an anti-pesticide campaign in Boyolali in 1999 to helping refugees in Aceh after that, the Yogyakarta-based group has dedicated more than a decade of its energy to a range of causes in Indonesia.

Carrying on this tradition of building networks between different communities, in June (2010) they held a workshop with villagers displaced by the eruption of a mud volcano in Porong, east Java, where, more than four years later, thousands are still waiting to be compensated for lost homes and livelihoods. “Taring Padi has been instrumental in raising public awareness,” Heidi Arbuckle, a program officer at the Ford Foundation and an old friend of the group, writes in Taring Padi and the Politics of Radical Cultural Practice in Contemporary Indonesia. “The collaborative efforts of non-government organizations, Taring Padi and the rakyat themselves have challenged the complacency of local bureaucrats, resulting in a number of small victories for their cause.”

Since being established after the fall of former President Suharto in 1998, the collective - who, like Ucup, are mostly graduates from the Indonesian Art Institute (ISI) - has produced thousands of banners and posters, mostly without the aid of any modern equipment. Works are etched into wood, covered with ink and then reproduced by stamping on long sheets of white cloth or paper. Historically, most of the works were then burned in demonstrations or lost in natural disasters like the earthquake that rocked Yogya in 2006. “We’re not too concerned about what happens to our works,” explains Ucup in a past interview. “Our mission is to give training to others and raise awareness.”

Most of that training happens at their modest atelier in the tiny central Java village of Sembungan, where, fortunately, overhead costs can be kept pretty low. Still, it is a lot more than what they were paying for a space when they started out by taking over an abandoned building on the former campus of their art school. As squatters, the group lived as a commune, where they painted, cooked and gardened together. That bohemian lifestyle  didn’t agree with everyone, however, and in 2003 the group was attacked by members of a hardline Muslim group that accused them of being communists and leftist radicals.

Left-leaning might be the more apropos term. The Taring Padi’s concept of seni kerakyatan borrows from the left-wing cultural movement of the 1950s and 60s known as the Institute of People’s Culture (or LEKRA), which was was disbanded in the turmoil that gave rise to the autocratic Suharto regime in 1965. Like the pre-1965 left, adds Arbuckle, “seni kerakyatan is not defined by aesthetic criteria but the quest for popular consciousness and the ideological commitment to people’s struggles.”

The criteria, per se, may vary but they are certainly rooted in powerful visual traditions established in the 20th century. Nowhere are these traditions more strongly felt than in the works of Ucup, whose identification with protest art and worker struggles of the past and present are expressed unequivocally in his woodcuts and works on canvas. Like the great Mexican muralists David Siquieros, Jose Clemente Orozco and, of course, Diego Rivera, Ucup tackles the themes of injustice that surround him, from class disparity and greed to unbridled consumerism and environmental degradation. “We are critical,” stresses Ucup. “But we are not anti-government.”

The criticism that pervades Ucup’s work is most explicit in his woodcuts and often tangible in his canvases, whose themes combine a wit and lyricism that can be playful and cynical at the same time. Doses of humor may help the medicine go down but make no mistake, this is the de facto leader of a group that was born out of the country’s bloody, pro-democracy movement in 1998 and maintains its ideological commitment to struggle. Like Sudjojono nearly a century ago, Ucup and his collaborators lament the state of the agrarian movement and the plight of today’s farmer. “They have always fought to get farmers better prices,” adds Arbuckle.

Rice farmers, once the backbone of the country, struggle today not only in the face of new techniques and technologies but also from a change in consumption habits. This is brilliantly illustrated in his painting Makanan Nasional, a series of ten packs of instant noodles, a food introduced only a few decades ago by Suharto’s cronies and now a multibillion dollar industry. Ucup seems to take aim at Indofood, now the largest producer of instant noodles in the world, and each pack pokes fun at the non-discriminating masses whose every slurp feeds a destructive cycle of emptying wallets with even emptier nutrition. Big business triumphs again, helping turn instant noodles into a national food and one that can be found in any corner of the archipelago along with kretek, that other ubiquitous commodity that has enslaved the masses.

Yet a positive message recalling the nationalist rhetoric of Sukarno, the country’s firebrand first president, also characterizes the works in this latest exhibition. A particularly strong example is the Trisakti series of woodcuts. Named after the university in Jakarta where four students were killed during the riots of May, 1998, the three works remind Indonesians not to forget their rights and to foster a culture of self-sufficiency, both in terms of food security and politics.

In other etchings, like Penumpang Gelap, undertones of violence recall the works of Kathe Kollwitz and Otto Dix, who appear to have had a profound impact on Ucup’s style and Taring Padi’s preferred medium. Interestingly, whereas the blunt criticism expressed by the German Expressionists in the early 20th century led many of their works to be condemned as “degenerate art,” those same painters are now ranked among the most influential in the history of Western art. It may be too early to measure the long-term impact of Taring Padi but when that history is written, their sphere of influence will likely expand beyond the realm of fine art.

Still, the longer one studies these provocative works, a natural question arises as to whether the same idealism that has held Ucup and Taring Padi together for more than a decade can be sustained. Is it likely that the power of protest may soon be lost to the allure of commercial success? Ucup doesn’t think so. The group may have abandoned its structure of having officers and cobbled together enough money to buy a simple printing press but it is staying on message. “When we get money we use it for our collective purposes like teaching,” he explains. “We work with farmers and laborers who may not have realized they too have an aesthetic sensibility.” 

At this point in his most-promising career, Ucup will have to reconcile for himself whether it is art for the people or art for the market. While the two do not have to be mutually exclusive, or even contradictory, the potential conflict will certainly test his resolve. As he struggles with the dilemma (though I am not at all certain that he does), Ucup will no doubt handle it with the same humor and insight that enlivens the current works marking his debut on the international stage. In the end, his success will not be measured by the market but by the depth of that connection.


Jason Tedjasukmana
Indonesia Correspondent
TIME Magazine
15 Jul 2010 Popok Tri Wahyudi: BERGERak
The years of living dangerously

By Adeline Ooi

Have you ever had gory “fantasies” about accidents and crashes? Ever imagined the aircraft you’ve just boarded exploding during takeoff, or wondered if a head on collision might be imminent while your taxi driver is madly overtaking during rush hour? Have you ever been stuck in a terrible storm in a boat and wondered about sinking to the bottom of the ocean like the Titanic?

Popok Tri Wahyudi’s work in his first Malaysian solo exhibition taps into some of our darkest fears and imagined visions about commuting, travelling and migration. Presented in a range of media, from paintings and drawings to woodblock prints, silkscreen on canvas, etchings and mini sculptures, these bittersweet and sometimes macabre narratives negate the glamorous images of the jet set that one may associate with travel ¬– when people wined and dined and slept on bunk beds, charmed by the allure of flight stewardess– or the usual happy pictures one associates with travel – adventures in exotic locations, leisurely vacations in picturesque towns. Instead, his work narrates the grittier and darker realities of human mobility in the 21st Century within the Southeast Asia context.

Popok is based in the city of Yogyakarta in Central Java where this subject is a familiar one. Here, contemporary and traditional modes of transport co-exist. Becaks and horse-drawn carts, known as dokar share the busy streets with the latest four-wheel drives, MPVs and the ubiquitous Honda 90cc motorbikes and bicycles. Jogja is often the first stop for most East Javanese in their rural to urban migration. At the same time it is a campus town that receives thousands of students from all over Indonesia with the start of each academic year. And like the rest of Indonesia, this city also has its fair share of migrant workers with plenty of stories to tell.

Derived from numerous sources – some based first-hand encounters when travelling to foreign countries on residency programmes, while others are personal observations of his surrounding, or inspired by stories of migrant workers, travel reports, movies, video games and the artist’s wild imagination – Popok’s images are “stories told from the ground.” They reveal complex layers and realities of human mobility that touch us on different emotional levels. A number of the images presented in this exhibition relate to our Malaysian experience, particularly in Kuala Lumpur where we are reliant on the services of migrant workers, either at home or outside. His paintings offer a view from the ‘other side’, through the eyes of people who are forced to uproot from their homeland to seek better fortunes overseas. “My paintings are the largest format in this show and I’ve used it to present ‘global portraits’ about travelling. I try to explore the emotional aspects of departure and arrival, such as the sadness of bidding farewell to loved ones, the uncertainties of arriving in a foreign land, as well as events that may take place during a journey. I also wanted to explore the intentions, hopes and aspirations that have inspired or forced people to leave.”

Popok’s vivid colours, simple forms and comic style compositions are powerful storytelling devices that can be easily accessed by his audience. The artist’s stylistic sensibilities also reflect the popular images that grace the city’s numerous flyovers, concrete fences and public spaces.  An ex-member of the now defunct Apotik Komik, a collective that made its mark in during Indonesia’s Reformasi era, known for their refreshing murals and site-specific projects using local recycled materials during the late 1990s, Popok’s comic inspired work is very much rooted in the everyday. They address the socio-political issues of Indonesia’s charged environment through an inimitable brand of ‘Jogja comic style’, characterised by thick black outlines, bright bursts of colours and stylised depictions of human figures against part dystopian part science-fiction settings.

One of the gems of this exhibition is a series of black and white drawing using white Pitt pastel sticks on black paper. They present ‘the more ‘human’ and at times absurd stories about our experiences on the road’. Effortless yet dramatic, the stark contrast of white lines against black background and clever play of positive and negative forms, transport our imagination into a world of dangerous driving and speed demons where different forms of transportation face the inopportune fate of head on collision, flipping in midair or exploding. “Imagine a train that is about to crash and cannot be stopped; the ‘annoying’ yet cocky behaviour of most bajaj and/or bimo who consider themselves ‘king of the road’ as they fearlessly weave through heavy traffic, nearly causing horrible accidents; or the speedy tukang ojek who tries to ferry us to our destination in a matter of minutes; or even just the simple joys of a leisurely bicycle ride.” 

Meanwhile, a series of disturbing yet humorous woodblock prints draw our attention to some of our travel nightmares and fantasies. “There are people who fear being on a ship as they fear they may sink like the Titanic, there are also those who have flying phobia due to the fear of heights, or that an airplane may explode.” The artist also fantasises about ‘jumping’ (as seen in the movie “Jumper” (2008) where characters in the movie ‘jump’ from one destination to another in a split second) and the iconic (“beam me up Scottie”) teleportation thanks to the Star Trek series and movies we have come to know so well. 

His charming series of 3-d objects, reminiscent of model cars, made out of wires and used beer cans are low-fi miniature representation of Indonesia’s most popular forms of local transport. “I’m trying to highlight their unique characteristics and forms of the different types of vehicles we use as public transport and also the different kinds of methods of transportation we have… at times these modes of transport are not for transporting human, they are for goods and personal possessions. In rebuilding them, I have also come to understand the difficulty of the construction process of the actual vehicles.”




08 Apr 2010 THE ENERGY TRAP: Painting & Sculpture


External link at » http://www.vwfa.net/theenergytrap
01 Apr 2010 Child's Play (or why Jesus Baby looks so strange)
19 Nov 2009 The 2nd Seven Years: Quilt of the Dead, Flora & Fauna IV, Narratives by Chang Yoong Chia
11 Sep 2009 Chong Kim Chiew: MAGNITUDE
Maps and Marks in exile

不存在真正的地图,因为没有一种描绘是真正可靠的  - 张锦超

A genuine map doesn\'t exist, for there isn’t a type of description which is truly dependable   - Chong Kim Chiew.

1.
Chong Kim Chiew sees maps from different era as visual cues to make sense and question the ‘history’ of a place. More particularly of historicized social and political forces onto topological depiction, in manners of the shifting of territories, boundaries, borderlines, marking and remarking, naming and renaming of places. What intrigue him are the phenomena of the shifting hands and the maps produced in naming and claiming ownerships to such territories and the repercussions in erosion of memories and arbitrary construction of identity.

The show presents works on paper by Kim Chiew from 2004 to 2009. Initially working with the iconographic image of the Malay Peninsula and the thumbprint, his references expanded to maps of Malaysia and the surrounding region in South East Asia -  from contemporary rendition to maps from the 70’s and 80’s which he has collected over the years. Referring to the political history of Malaysia/Malaya/Borneo Kim Chiew has also drawn on strategic maps by the occupying Japanese army in the 40’s and British colonial maps of the Peninsula and the Borneo states from pre-independent to Emergency era as reference.

Coming from his early questioning on and sense of identity crisis over idea of belonging and identification with place and nation, Kim Chiew reckons one’s cognition (of a place) in/through maps is ever incomplete, but always shifting, changing, due to constant social, political, cultural and institutional framing of geographical landscape – ever changing by renaming and remarking – which he equates as act of erasing, defacing and whitewashing memories and marginalized events and issues.

2.
This body of work is by no means an objective assessment of our socio-political situation but very much Kim Chiew’s return to his painterly concern – a  visual and mark making process for both mediating his own search and trajectory of his worldview.

Perhaps his usage of such iconographic image of the maps, of Malaysian states and corresponding shapes which supposedly indexed to geopolitical territories, of contour and boundaries of the British and Japanese isles, are but abstraction exercises and subjective meditation of his struggle in identifying the land and places he stood and lives on, and negotiating his place in this space.

What the audience would imagine of these landscapes or dissonant pseudo-maps of such landscapes he refers to is open to our own reading and interpretation of our mental maps of places we live in too.

3.*
地图map 旅人 traveller  方向 direction 指南针 compass
迷航 lost in navigation 迷途 lost in direction 遗忘 to forget
何处 where? 回不了 not able to return to
故乡成他乡 the homeland becoming a foreign land
异乡成他乡the adopted land becoming a foreign land
此处是异处 this place is another place
何处是归处 where is the place for homecoming?
位置,错置 position, mis-positioned 位移 displacement
流变 changing 变动 change to断裂 breaking apart
飘忽不定 drifting from place to place
多空间multi-spaces 混种化思想hybridised thinking
非等级  in-equivalent categories场域field边境,边界 frontier, boundary
分散权力式dispersion of power不可解读性 un-interpretable
抹去痕迹 wiping away the trace
涂改 modification删除 deletion 粉刷 whitewash 排除 elimination
无根 rootless  历史无源 a history with no origin
为了忘却的纪念 commemoration to the elapsed
唤起evoking
地理和空间不是自主,孤立,分离和固定不变的同一体
the geographic and the space is not a self-determined, isolated, separated and fixed invariable identical body
命名者,被命名者 the name-giver, the named
精神流亡 spirit in exile

* Translated and rearranged, based on loose notes by Chong Kim Chiew

Yap Sau Bin
11th September 2009
Kuala Lumpur
25 Jul 2009 Paintings For All Ages / Paintings with Extended Space
26 Mar 2009 Things Said Amongst Us
Things Said Amongst Us
By Adeline Ooi & Lena Cobangbang

I.

Since 1998, there has been a vibrant surge of activities initiated by young artists around the city of Manila. Many credit the sudden change to “People Power 2”, and see it as a parallel phenomenon akin to Indonesia’s Reformasi movement. Whatever the reasons, it has become apparent that a generation of young art practitioners is carving out new territories of their own, inadvertently shaping their cultural landscape through fresh approaches and a plurality of expressions. They are driven by the need to assert independence from the clutches of modernism, cultural clichés and Manila’s social hierarchy, to claim ownership of the \'personal\' through individual narratives, communicating differing concerns and interests, those meaningful and inconsequential. This new contemporary voice is mischievous but no less profound. It is bold and self-assured, exuding that inimitable brand of ‘pinoy’ urban streetwise savvy, playfully appropriating, recomposing and reinventing new ways of seeing, drawing references from Western media to ‘kitschy third world local popular culture stuff’.

Many from this generation are also multi-tasking chameleons, full of character, bravely jostling for an access to audiences and methods to change the way their art is created, presented, perceived and experienced. The ‘family tree’ of this milieu reads like the tangled streets the artists traverse on daily. Whether working together on DIY (Do-it-Yourself) initiatives as members of a collective, or setting up exhibition venues of their own, or quietly working on their obsessions, their enthusiasm and determination to continually provoke and play, to experiment and reinvent are inspiring. Some are self-publishing –comics and zines, entrepreneurs in their own resourceful way, while others are making personal statements in their distinctive fashions.

The title, “Things Said Amongst Us”, reflects the close-knit relationship shared among the artists presented in this exhibition. Apart from the mutual respect they have for each other’s art, sharing professional working relationships and personal friendships, there are also a number of ties that bind them in an intricate social map that makes up the contemporary Filipino art scene. The artists here can be loosely divided into two groups: Alfredo Esquillo Jr., Jonathan Olazo and Elaine Roberto-Navas forming the \'older\' generation who began their careers in the early/mid 1990s, fondly labeled ‘the artists’ artists’ by the likes of their near ‘juniors’ ¬–Geraldine Javier, Jayson Oliveria, Louie Cordero and Yasmin Sison, representatives of the new contemporary practitioners in this genealogy.

They are a varied bunch; each artist brings to the fore a unique set of concerns, intent and temperament, representing a cross-section of cultural and social backgrounds. However, beneath the layers of contrasts and distinctions lay a number of overlapping influences and shared interests. Despite generation differences –nearly a decade separating Roberto-Navas and Olazo graduation from UP, the eldest of this grouping, with Cordero, the youngest in this instance– the convergences belie their seemingly serendipitous nature. It is by no coincidence that the participating artists in this show, with the exception of Esquillo, have studied under the close tutelage of Roberto Chabet at the University of the Philippines (UP) College of Fine Arts.[1] Through their conceptually oriented training at UP, each has acquired a preference for intellectual engagement in place of immediate emotional responses. Esquillo stands slightly apart from the rest due to his Social Realist heritage via Renato Habulan and tutors such as Antonio Austria at University of Santo Tomas (UST). [2] Nevertheless, the underpinning symbolism of Esquillo’s narratives bear traces of intellectual engagement which can be attributed to Chabet, where he was a regular ‘student’ at Chabet’s private seminars conducted for interested artists and individuals.

Geraldine Javier, Jayson Oliveria, Louie Cordero and Yasmin Sison, later graduates of UP, are among the 15 founding members of the Surrounded By Water (SBW) collective which began in 1997. In many ways, their roles as members of SBW act as the pivot of this mapping exercise. The resulting friendship we witness here is the outcome of a conscious effort to forge relationships not only with SBW’s peers but also to reach out to a wider community through numerous self initiated projects and dialogues in their ‘alternative’ heyday. Invitations to the likes of Esquillo, Olazo and Roberto-Navas to participate in SBW initiated activities began as simple ‘getting to know you’ gestures and later grew into deeper more meaningful relationships. The desire to be involved players in their community, coupled with the attempt to build an alternative, perhaps more supportive infrastructure are some of the reasons behind SBW’s dynamic programming during their active years from 1997 to 2004. They presented numerous series of exhibitions –group shows and solos, talks, artist gatherings and even established contact with regional peers.

From the peripheries of the center to artworld darlings, the members of SBW and their close collaborators have eased their way through the obscurity of the early ‘alternative’ days. Not only have their careers received institutional nods, garnered regional art awards and acclaim from home and regional audience, their individual commercial success –sell out solo exhibitions, record breaking prices at regional auctions– tell us also that the images that they have fought so hard to create and present nearly a decade ago now reside firmly in the contemporary mainstream. [3]

II.

In how many ways are these artists ‘cut from the same cloth’? Given that they have been mining the mass media of its images to provide the ground for their works, the affinities with which they use these images can be easily deduced from the very pictorial quality of their paintings, more than baring the basic technique of how they are transferred onto canvas – a near identical approximation of the photograph plotted by grids. It is this same technique that bears a trace of their formal training and adopted instinctively by signboard makers in the billboard advertising industry as well as avidly appropriated by Louie Cordero’s vivid pop mysticism. This is also true of the paintings of Yasmin Sison and Geraldine Javier, whose ‘mise-en-scenes’ belie their filmic inspiration.

In ‘Sound of a Thousand Flowers Blooming’, Javier uses montage in juxtaposing panels of different but related images to create filmic metaphors in the resulting triptych - a close-up of a white chrysanthemum, a woman slumped over in the driver’s seat of a T-model Ford, her blonde head bowed over, a field of overgrown grass in monochrome. This equation alludes to the similarity of forms with deeper meanings that invoke a sense of loss or an overtly rhapsodized fascination for the spectacle of the hunted and the dead, where bodies are treated like any object of wonder, tinged with a superfluous sense of melancholia. The allusions are inevitable, for Javier’s choice of images is methodically intended, paralleling the motives of a hunter, or that of a film editor.

Sison, on the other hand, employs masking, either obliterating figures with frenzied scribbles of paint, painting over them with a patterned shape, or letting her subjects wear disguises or masks over their eyes. These covered figures seem to absorb all the projected expectations of their identity in the context where the figures are placed, invariably lending a surreal quality to its narrative. The masking however is a means to contrast surface treatment – the rough impasto as an intrusion on the otherwise polished background. Her series of paintings of masked little girls in white storybook frocks is an extension of this masking and image projection. Yet these works evoke a rather primordial mood by setting her protagonists in timeless landscapes of shoreline and dense forest. These settings however verily enunciate a freer handling of paint as compared to her more deliberate modeling of the figures. This loose handling could be a hats-off to the more senior artist, Elaine Roberto-Navas, who consistently ravishes the canvas with a sensorial and luxuriant technique of heavy impasto, intimating an intense full-on corporeality even as she is depicting the timeworn accoutrement of domestic life. But this surface, in Sison’s case, yields impenetrability instead, like the closely-knit web of foliage or the heavy rusting iron gates, which Roberto-Navas alternately paints in between her paintings of toys and dolls. Much of this technique however is abandoned by Jayson Oliveria, and Jonathan Olazo, with the former resorting to tracing found and downloaded images directly on canvas and briskly filling in these traced forms in strokes suggestive of their color-gradated forms. This compulsion to paint is only matched by his indifference to subject matter, where banality and altruism are both leveled out on the same plastic plane. Oliveria’s conceptual approach to painting extends to his assemblages and objects that stand as either derelict counterpoints to his paintings or stand-alone surly exclamations to his pronouncements of painting and the very process of its making. Amongst this group of artists, he remains at the extreme end, being the nihilist in a company of dream weavers, the pisser on the champagne tower.

The condition of painting is somehow a shared concern with Olazo. His penchant for accumulation and a broad and ever changing strategies in painting/ art making is a way to flex his crouched position under the increasing weight of art history and his reluctance at being an inheritor of this legacy. He picks familiar art historical idioms (through the branching modes of abstraction) and pairs them with the vernacular of popular culture, to either emphasise or deflate this romantic pondering on the supposed heroism of solitary creation. This ambivalence runs the risk of being too esoteric at times. But then again, painting or most art is presaged on this abstruseness and by which it either remains endearingly appealing or deathly alienating.

Alfredo Esquillo Jr.’s use of symbols is grafted to a clear-cut allegory of the firmament of Philippine politics and sordid daily drama, finely delineated in easily recognizable imagery with its illustrative quality driving the point deeper to a didactic hammering. In most of his paintings, the figures are spotlighted against a dismally sepia void, placed dead center, almost always symmetrically composed. The inserted elements take on the palpability of being both flimsy cut-out props and world-weary furrowed actors play-acting their very lives. His most recent series of painting, casts himself as a sort of philosopher-king seemingly undecided and reluctant to play the role, as they are perched precariously on a continuously swaying tower of bricks.

Symmetry as a compositional device is also employed by Louie Cordero but takes its cue from the naïve and purely instinctive methods of self-taught artists. A motley of signs and symbols scavenged from the stinky heap of consumerist excess spill all over Cordero’s canvases, though some are direct quotes from the coded lingua franca of various subcultures including the Jeepney art painters, tattoo artists and the Rizalista cultists of Mt. Banahaw, often tinged with the cultural slang of urban low-brow. [4] Though his paintings possessed a highly illustrative quality, its garishness, brashness, ornamental flatness, and self-consciousness of its cannibalistic compositing provide a highly contrasting counterpoint to Esquillo’s.

Even though it may appear that the very fabric, from which all these artists cut their piece of inspiration, is fast unraveling to the point where they have shorn away their pieces from and on which they weave their own obsessions, their unspoken influences on one another and parallel strategies entangle them in this confluent web, loosely entwining their individual pursuit and devotion to their craft.

Notes.

[1] Roberto Chabet is a seminal figure in the development of contemporary Filipino art. He is noted as one of the founders of the avant-garde and experimental movement. Chabet has held many roles in his career, notably that of the first curator of the museum of the Cultural Center of the Philippines (CCP) and long time professor at the University of the Philippines College of Fine Arts. As a mentor to his students, he challenged notions of art making emphasizing the importance of conceptual development, intellectual engagement, critical thinking.

[2] University of Santo Tomas (UST) is a Catholic university and is the oldest university in the Philippines. UST’s College of Fine Art was considered the most cutting edge during the turn of the 20th Century and has produced some of the most illustrious names such as Victorio Edades and his fellow 13 Moderns. However, the art training at UST in recent decades has been considered somewhat ‘conservative’ in comparison to University of the Philippines’ (UP) strong conceptual direction. UST art training is characterized by strong emphasis on traditional skills such as draughtsmanship and painting.

[3]The Cultural Center of the Philippines (CCP) Thirteen Artists Award is an award, which recognizes 13 promising young artists who are progressively breaking new grounds in their work. Named in honor of the pioneering group of 13 Modernists in Philippine art, the CCP Thirteen Artists started in 1970 as an exhibition series and has developed into a triennial awards program well regarded by the artistic community. What has characterized the work of Thirteen Artists recipients then and now is a fresh visual language, innovative solutions to artistic concerns, and sustained creative output. Jonathan Olazo was received the award in 1994, Alfredo Esquillo in 2000; Geraldine Javier in 2004; Jayson Oliveria, Louie Cordero and Yasmin Sison in 2006.

[4] Jeepneys are the most popular means of public transportation in the Philippines. Originally made from US military jeeps left over from World War II, they are well known for their flamboyant decoration and crowded seating. They have also become a symbol of Filipino popular culture. Rizalistas are a group of people who immortalize and worship Jose P. Rizal as a divine being. But there are a number of contrasting views about the persona of Rizal. For instance, some groups consider him as god, the son of Bathala, the reincarnation of Christ, a spirit, an avatar, a saint, a prophet, while others believe that he is a god and a man at the same time. Rizalistas are scattered all over the Philippines but most of them are based in Calamba, Laguna and at the foot of Mt. Banahaw in Quezon Province. There are even chapters abroad.



External link at » http://www.nadigallery.com
24 Mar 2009 Kow Leong Kiang: Jogja Constellation


External link at » http://tembicontemporary.com/jogja-constellation
18 Jan 2009 RUINS: Captain's Log Entries on Days with No End
01 Aug 2008 JIMMY ONG : Ancestors on the Beach at Post-Museum


External link at » http://www.vwfa.net/jimmyong/
30 Jul 2008 VWFA & Nadi Gallery Present Bentuk-Bentuk: Contemporary Indonesian Art in 3-d
03 Jul 2008 Chang Fee Ming : Mekong - Exploring the Source opens at VWFA, Singapore

An Introduction

Mekong - Exploring the Source began as the continuation of an earlier journey.  It is a sequel to Chang Fee Ming\'s 2004 exhibition Mekong, a culmination of seven years of research and travel along Southeast Asia\'s greatest river, from its upper reaches in Weixi, Dali, and Xishuangbanna in Yunnan, China down to Cuu Long, or "Nine Dragons” delta in Vietnam. Mekong, consisting of over thirty major works and a large body of drawings and studies, took us through parts of China, Thailand, Myanmar, Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam in a rich and complex investigation of life, culture and change in this key region of Southeast Asia. The exhibition was inaugurated in Kuala Lumpur, and traveled on to Jakarta and then Chiangmai in the Mekong region.

Having reached the northern limits of what might be considered a Mekong cultural region, Fee Ming determined that he would push on upwards, compelled to find the source of the river. In 2005 he made his first trip to reach the source, beginning at Zhongdian in Yunnan, traveling through Tibet to Yishun in Qinghai, but was cut off from his final destination by territorial fighting over access to the valuable dongchongchao caterpillar fungus. In 2006 he finally succeeded, traveling through Qinghai from Xining to Yishun and on to Zadoi, the nearest town to the source.

This new series then, begins very far up the river Mekong, where it is called Dzachu – “river of rocks”. It covers the Tibetan region around the source, from Qinghai through Tibet to north Yunnan. The exhibition, like Mekong, originates in Kuala Lumpur, and then travels back up to Beijing, and on to Singapore.


Mekong was for Chang Fee Ming anchored in a search for home, for a sense of belonging to the Southeast Asian region. Like other regionalists before him, he traveled the Mekong to find cultural roots stretching back to its early kingdoms, architecture, aesthetics, its tribal communities; to find resonances with beliefs, ways of life, difficulties not so far away from his own. The journey to the source was a natural progression, a further tracing back. The tribes encountered in Thailand and Myanmar surely had their ancestry on the plains of Tibet, and Fee Ming has always been interested in the migration of tribes and their cultures, driven out by stronger races or harsh conditions in the north, their lives and context changing as they relocate downstream.

The Tibetan region around the source of the Mekong, however, is very far from home for the artist, who was born on the northeast coast of Malaysia, of the sea rather than of the mountain. He found life there to be very much unlike life downstream, where despite challenges, there are nonetheless resources and opportunities to be had. The harsh, unforgiving conditions of Tibetan life afford no weakness. Its ritual traditions, with both Buddhist and animist elements, maintain a spiritual strength and also a strong link to nature, whose mercy it is beholden to.

Chang Fee Ming\'s is driven by his sympathy for independent communities with a strong sense of heritage and tradition, whether in Terengganu, Bali, Mandalay, or the Swahili Coast. The Tibetan plains may seem very far from the gentle, sensuous world of the archipelago, but this new series of paintings may be the artist’s strongest statement yet about cultural survival and human resilience.


The narrative strain of Mekong continues to prevail in this exhibition, but where Mekong encompassed many stories of different communities and cultures, here the artist has pieced together a unified picture of Tibetan life as he has witnessed it. Each painting focuses on key themes of Tibetan experience – forms and physical elements of prayer, seasonal migration, the harvesting of precious herbs, the Buddhist monk, the mountaineer, the gathering of women at market. Man, woman, child and beast are firmly placed in the landscape, heretofore seldom seen in Fee Ming’s work. There are stories of love, separation, pilgrimage, travel, work, persistence. Fee Ming also takes pains to express the textures of his experience – the solidity of rock, painted and carved with mantras, the gossamer lightness of worn prayer flags, the woolen thickness and fine detail of warm clothing.

Upstream from the river in Southeast Asia, here on the plains, the air changes, becomes rarefied and thin; the light changes, intensifying. Colours become extreme at this high altitude. In several paintings, Fee Ming reveals a searing, almost painfully blue sky. Everything is cold and dry, a far cry from the humid warmth, the warm colours nearer to home. The mountain landscape looms in chiarascuro. Festive dress is richly coloured, as is ritual ornament. There are brave contrasts, and a sense of brightness battling the cold.

The new subject with its new light, temperature and textures, has posed exciting challenges for Fee Ming as a watercolourist. He has met them with bravura, exercising his different technical strengths and developing new approaches in each of the works. To accentuate the effect of bright sunlight on surfaces, he makes extensive use of paper white, also taking a hard clean brush to “etch” out details, creating flecked textures on woolen clothing, horse’s fur. To bring out and enliven the dark crevices of the mountains, the deep folds of thick cloth, he applies repeated layers of light colours such as emerald and turquoise over the dark. Broad washes using a thick oil brush on selected areas create different grades of sharpness, deepening perspective, as with a camera lens. Professor Guo Jing refers to the result as a "melody of light and shadow"; a certain unified strain runs through the series, cold, bright, serene.

Just as the contrast between light and shadow defines the tone of this series, its “stories” are often defined by the relationship between two elements – the symmetry between man or woman and their environment, the contrast between a bright new factory-made modern fabric, and the well-worn textures of traditional clothing, the dialogue between a Catholic missionary past and a long tradition of Buddhism that lives on, the imminent separation of a man and a woman.

Christine Rohani Longuet in her essay makes several references to how some of the compositional constructs of this new series echo particular paintings of the previous Mekong series. Over time, we have seen Fee Ming consistently draw parallels or mark differences between cultural practices and material in this way. Familiar themes of youth and age, the past and the future, the role of religion and ritual, are translated to a new context. While in Mekong, some strong political and social statements are made through such themes, here Fee Ming attempts a more holistic approach to a people and their culture. The practice of Buddhism, of course, is different in its form and ritual, from its practice downstream in Southeast Asia. People face similar challenges of change and development, but at the same time also have to endure real physical hardship.

Any foray into the Tibetan region brings with it the hanging issues of nationalism and sovereignty. While Fee Ming does not presume to express an overtly political stance, his work shows a real passion for a community’s will to preserve their traditional culture and life. He has found in his subject a stoicism and toughness he obviously admires; a people who have achieved a sense of one-ness with an overpowering natural environment, through sheer physical strength and a deep spiritualism which pays tribute both to Buddhism and to the gods of mountain, sky and earth, and who have chosen a hard path to maintain their way of living. This exhibition tells a powerful, personal story of Tibetan lives, one of choice, humanity, and faith.

Beverly Yong, Curator
Kuala Lumpur 2008


External link at » http://www.changfeeming-mekong.com/Mekong-Exploring/index.html
14 Jun 2008 Jalaini Abu Hassan: CHANANG

CHANANG

Oleh Rifky Effendy

Perbincangan tentang perkembangan seni rupa kontemporer di Malaysia tengah menunjukan kondisi yang menarik saat ini. Secara pribadi saya bersentuhan dengan karya – karya seni rupa Malaysia adalah ketika acara loka karya dan pameran seniman dari Asia Tenggara yang diselenggarakan FSRD-ITB yang dipimpin Dr. Setiawan Sabana tahun 1997 lalu, di Bandung. Ketika itu saya mengenal sosok perupa bernama Zulkifli Yusoff, salah satu seniman yang diundang dari negeri Jiran. Mengamati karya-karya Yusoff, yang juga seorang pengajar di Kuala Lumpur, penuh dengan simbol – simbol yang menarik. Disajikan dengan idiom instalasi yang mirip permainan catur raksasa. Karya tersebut terdiri dari masing-masing bentuk tiga dimensional yang wujudnya bercorak abstraksi dari figur dalam bermacam gestur, beberapa seperti manusia sedang bersujud. Sempat saya bertanya tentang karyanya itu, mengapa ia melakukan abstraksi dan deformasi dari bentuk manusia sedemikian rupa, bila ada yang ingin disampaikan lewat karyanya?

Ia kemudian menjelaskan bahwa sebagai bangsa Melayu dan juga dengan dominannya agama Islam, penggambaran figur manusia maupun mahluk hidup lainnya dalam berbagai bentuk karya seni sebaiknya dihindari. Maka karya dengan corak abstraksi merupakan yang paling lazim diterima oleh masyarakat. Jawabannya mengingatkan saya pada perkembangan seni rupa bercorak formalis dan dekoratif yang berkembang di dalam kehidupan akademi di Bandung dan Jogjakarta beberapa dekade lalu. Walaupun tak seluruhnya punya kesamaan, namun munculnya estetika yang cenderung bernafaskan Islam dipraktikan juga terutama oleh (Alm.) Ahmad Sadali, AD.Pirous, Sunaryo, H, Widayat dan lainnya. Namun perkembangan itu bukanlah estetika dominan dan bahkan tak dijalankan secara konsisten oleh beberapa pengusungnya. Perubahan-perubahan sosial – politik juga mendesak kehidupan berkesenian terutama ketika gemuruh reformasi dikumandangkan, seiring dengan masuknya pemikiran-pemikiran yang menolak adanya pemusatan-pemusatan seni rupa dan kemapanannya dalam tingkatan lokal.

Dalam tulisan kuratorial pameran Matahati di Galeri Petronas yang baru lalu, Kurator Singapura June Yap mengungkapkan bahwa identifikasi etnik Melayu selalu dikaitkan dengan agama Islam. Sehingga aturan dan ajaran yang bersumber dari nilai ajaran Islam begitu dipegang teguh oleh kalangan seniman Bumiputera. Dengan mempraktekan corak abstraksi (abstract-representation) sebagai kendaraan yang sesuai dengan identitas Melayu, terutama di tahun 1970 hingga 80-an.    Walaupun kemudian para seniman generasi yang lebih muda, yang telah membuka lebar cakrawala seni mereka dengan masuknya buku-buku dari luar negeri dan informasi yang makin deras, juga kunjungan – kunjungan seperti ke pusat-pusat seni dunia, dan perubahan cara pikir yang merubah praktik seni rupa di Malaysia. Kemunculan para seniman yang mulai berkomentar sosial-politik dan kritis terhadap budaya Melayu mulai tampak pada dekade 90-an, seperti subyek karya-karya kelompok Matahati misalnya.

Oleh karena itu sangat menarik ketika kita cermati karya-karya terbaru perupa Jalaini Abu Hassan (atau dipanggil Jai atau lebih dikenal sebagai Jalak) dalam kesempatan pameran di Jakarta ini. Lukisan – lukisan media campurnya yang terbaru banyak menghadirkan imaji Babi, digambarkan secara tunggal maupun beberapa dalam satu bidang kanvas. Pada karyanya berjudul Babi Harus, potret (manusia?) Babi yang sedang menyeringai seram menakutkan, ia sandingkan saling membelakangi dengan potret seorang lelaki berpeci yang berhidung memanjang, mengingatkan kita pada tokoh boneka kayu Pinokio jikala berbohong. Jai membubuhkan teks –teks disana-sini , diantara goresan – goresan hitam ekspresif dari arang bercampur minyak aspal dan cipratan cat sehingga memancarkan suasana kelam. Begitu pula dengan karyanya Pig Project yang menghadirkan suasana arena penuh babi dalam imaji koridor fasade gedung – gedung parlemen. Seekor babi melintang berwarna jambon (pink), ia sedang menginjak babi – babi lain dibawahnya, sedangkan babi-babi bersayap melayang diatasnya dengan riang. Pada karya berjudul Pigstown Council Annual Meeting, babi-babi itu berseliweran di simpang jalan. Dipojok seberangnya tampak bangunan rumah toko yang khas jaman kolonial Malaysia yang bobrok tak terurus.

Karya – karya Jai yang kita saat ini saksikan menjadi sangat provokatif dimata segolongan masyarakat, terutama dengan menghadirkan hewan babi. “Karya-karya ini agak lantang nadanya jika dibanding dengan karya-karya aku sebelum ini, yang selalunya mengkritis dalam sopan dan silu.”   Sejauh ini ikon babi bagi masyarakat muslim merepresentasikan nilai-nilai yang negatif, ambivalen dan paradoks. Pertama karena hewan ini termasuk haram bagi masyarakat muslim untuk dikonsumsi, kedua secara simbolik berkonotasi dengan kerakusan dan kotor, ketiga paradoks karena hewan babi dan peternakan babi begitu lazim dalam kehidupan sebagian kecil masyarakat di Malaysia maupun Indonesia terutama dalam kehidupan etnis Tionghoa, orang Dayak dan kelompok masyarakat non-muslim. Alih-alih masyarakat muslim di Asia Tenggara lebih bisa menerima hewan Babi, tapi sekaligus juga menolaknya. Teks –teksnya juga dirasakan begitu menohok dan banal, seperti “babi harus”, “pig project”, “pigstown council annual meeting”, teks – teks ini kemudian dijadikannya judul karyanya. Imaji-imaji disana dimunculkan dalam rangka mengarahkan kritik sosialnya terhadap permainan-perrmainan kotor yang dilakukan dalam praktik politik para penguasa dan segolongan masyarakat elit. “Isu babi yang asalnya bersifat keagamaan kini dipolitikan menjadi agenda culture yang berbau rasuah dan muslihat.  Orang Melayu muslim sudah sanggup menjadi taukeh-taukeh babi demi kuasa dan kekayaan ”.

Jai memang dikenal di Malaysia sebagai perupa yang sering mengomentari persoalan sosial yang terjadi disekitarnya, terutama terkait dengan budaya Melayu dengan cara yang unik , tak vulgar , terbungkus dengan permainan simbolik , baik menggunakan tanda visual maupun teks - teks (leksikon) . Kekuatan dan kepekaan dalam menggambar realistik terutama dengan media arang dan medium aspal memang cukup menonjol. Lelaki yang lahir di Selangor tahun 1963, mendapatkan pendidikan di Institute of Technology MARA (ITM) Selangor dan lulus tahun 1985. Kemudian bergabung dengan Anak Alam sebuah ruang bagi para perupa maupun penyair yang diinisasi oleh seniman Latiff Mohidin di tahun 1970an. Dan kemudian ia pergi ke London melanjutkan sekolah di The Slade School of Fine Art. Disinilah Jai mendapatkan pengalaman baru yang serta merta membuka cakrawala seninya.  Kemudian tahun 1988 ketika pulang ke Malaysia ia mengajar di ITM, dan pada tahun 1992 ia kedua-kalinya mendapatkan beasiswa untuk belajar di Pratt Institute, New York. Pengalaman-pengalamannya bersinggungan dengan medan sosial seni rupa kontemporer di Eropa dan Amerika membekalinya dengan semangat menerobos aturan-aturan yang telah didapatkan di tanah airnya. Menikmati kebebasan artistik secara personal namun dengan kekayaan konseptual, salah satunya adalah bagaimana ia mencampur – aduk beragam materi dalam menciptakan sebuah lukisan.   Begitupun dengan gagasan-gagasannya, ia semakin berani mengungkapkan hal-hal yang ada diluar batas etis, keluar dari tabu-tabu yang berlaku di kehidupan budaya Melayu.

Intensi menyoroti kenyataan hidup disekitarnya lewat tanda-tanda memang telah ia lakukan pada serial karya-karyanya sejak awal. Suatu kali Jai mengatakan pada saya, bahwa dalam berkarya ia mulai menyukai mengomentari hal-hal politis yang tersembunyi, tak terperhatikan dalam realitas kehidupan sosial – politik di Malaysia saat ini. Ada banyak simbol-simbol masyarakat Melayu yang dipergunakan oleh kelompok  tertentu untuk tujuan – tujuan politis. Seperti motif-motif pakaian, binatang, warna, kata-kata, dan benda-benda serta lainnya. Maka ia mulai menggunakan elemen-elemen itu untuk mengungkapkan opini personalnya terhadap nilai-nilai yang dianggapnya menyimpang terutama persoalan kemunafikan segolongan orang yang mempunyai kepentingan tertentu. Ia pernah menggambar potret dirinya sedang menyeringai dengan kedua telunjuknya diletakan di kepala sehingga sekilas membentuk seperti tanduk. Dimaksudkan sebagai ungkapan dalam mengkritisi diri dan sekaligus masyarakatnya. Namun bagi sang anak, gambar tersebut begitu mengganggunya sehingga menganggap sang ayah seperti setan.   Persoalan cara memandang yang dogmatik seperti ini mungkin juga dialami oleh masyarakat di Indonesia, dimana ajaran-ajaran, aturan dan batas etika, dikonstruksi oleh nilai-nilai yang berakar pada ketertiban budaya serta adat istiadat maupun kekuasaan segolongan masyarakat.

Kita bisa saksikan karya berjudul Senyum Setan, yang berupa imaji potret dirinya bertanduk menyeringai. Digambarkan ganda yang satu menghadap kedepan dengan lebih berwarna , lainnya menghadap ke kesamping dengan nuansa hitam-putih yang misterius. Dilatar belakang muncul imaji seorang lelaki dengan pakaian resmi Malayu , berpeci, berjas ditampakan hampir samar tertutup laburan aspal hitam. Dengan tulisan cukup besar dan menyolok dipojok kanan : “Setan2” serta “Senyum Setan” dipinggir imaji ganda tersebut, menjadikan karyanya tampak lebih terasa kasar dan banal. Kritik dengan sindiran yang dilancarkan Jai lewat karya ini menggunakan penyimbolan yang berlapis. Pertama adalah imaji sosok ganda diri Jai yang dipergunakan sebagai alegori atau jelmaan simbolik dari imaji dibagian latar, dengan cara memproyeksikan sifat kemenduaan, kemunafikan tapi sekaligus juga untuk merepresentasikan juga sifat manusia, yang “ mengimbarkan kedurjanaan kita sendiri terhadap makhluk Tuhan”.   Tercermin pula sikap yang membuka diri , jujur terhadap watak manusia yang banyak kelemahan, sekaligus keberanian untuk mengungkapkan opini pribadi ditengah komunitasnya. Mengingatkan pada kredo realisme yang pernah diuarkan S. Soedjojono tahun 1940-an, “ Kebenaran dahulu lalu kemudian Kebagusan” dalam mencipta karya-karya.

Pada karya lainnya, berjudul Padi Tak Jadi, Jai menghadirkan imaji-imaji sawah dengan yang mengepulkan asap putih, sekelompok burung Gagak hitam yang bertengger tengah mengamati. Ia membubuhkan kata “The Great Malaysian Landscape” di bagian bawah kanvasnya. Tentunya karya ini merupakan suatu sindiran terhadap pemerintahan negaranya terutama terhadap slogan – slogan untuk membangun citra yang baik. Bukan hanya karena sawah – sawah itu digarap oleh para petani yang sering dijadikan ‘umpan’ atas kesuksesan, atau atas nama ‘progress’.   Tapi juga karena ada banyak persoalan dibalik tiap pencapaian sebuah negara/bangsa, terutama bila kita tarik pada konteks di Malaysia maupun bangsa-bangsa di Asia Tenggara.

Jai sepertinya berupaya untuk membuat karya-karya yang mampu membangkitkan pertanyaan dengan suatu tohokan yang keras. Membangun tanda-tanda lewat strategi yang berawal dari gerakan seni Pop atau menggarapnya dengan watak yang fotografis dengan kombinasi goresan-goresan arang, aspal maupun cat secara ekspresionis maupun coretan-coretan dijalanan yang banal. Sehingga tajuk Chanang menjadi sesuai dengan watak maupun corak-coraknya yang mengandung pernyataan diri yang keras dan tegas tentang latar keberangkatan karya-karyanya. “ Seperti pukul canang, maksudnya menghebahkan atau mengumumkan secara berteriak atau riuh rendah.”   Karya-karya yang disuguhkan Jai, bisa kita simpulkan sebagai pengungkapan pribadinya, komentar terhadap sisi kelam dari persoalan sosial – budaya yang terjadi sekitar dirinya terutama konteks Malaysia. Namun dalam persoalan kekelamannya tersebut, justru kita menemukan hubungan-hubungan yang terasa lebih alami dan mendalam ketika memahami renik budaya masyarakat di wilayah Asia Tenggara saat ini.

Sengkarut politik, agama, budaya dan ekonomi yang muncul dari pengalaman keseharian atau nilai yang keluar dari akar rumput, terepresentasikan dalam gagasan penciptaan karya seni. Dengan dilatari perkembangan pemikiran seni rupa kontemporer  yang lebih kritis dan menolak sebuah kemapanan cara pandang, para seniman mampu melihat tanda-tanda yang tak terlihat dan tersembunyi . Lewat karya - karya Jai pula, publik seni di Indonesia bisa membaca tanda-tanda pergolakan didalam dirinya maupun sebagian masyarakat menghadapi realitas sosial maupun budaya di Malaysia. Menantang norma-norma ketertiban budaya Melayu yang resmi dan dogma-dogma agama Islamnya. Melampaui mitos dan tabu-tabu untuk lebih memahami kenyataan yang hakiki, dengan cara menerobos sekat-sekat budaya, dan identitas yang terkonstruksi oleh cara pandang politik yang dianut golongan masyarakat tertentu maupun dari warisan jaman kolonial.

Hal lain yang kita amini dari karya-karya Jai adalah semakin mantapnya corak yang didasari realisme dalam praktik seni rupa saat ini. Sebagai suatu corak yang bisa menyampaikan pesan maupun komentar seorang seniman, alih-alih menjadi wahana artikulasi dalam menafsirkan kenyataan hidup lewat sengkarut tanda – tanda yang menggenang dalam kehidupan kontemporer. ***
30 May 2008 Chang Fee Ming: Mekong - Exploring the Source

An Introduction


Mekong - Exploring the Source began as the continuation of an earlier journey.  It is a sequel to Chang Fee Ming\'s 2004 exhibition Mekong, a culmination of seven years of research and travel along Southeast Asia\'s greatest river, from its upper reaches in Weixi, Dali, and Xishuangbanna in Yunnan, China down to Cuu Long, or "Nine Dragons” delta in Vietnam. Mekong, consisting of over thirty major works and a large body of drawings and studies, took us through parts of China, Thailand, Myanmar, Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam in a rich and complex investigation of life, culture and change in this key region of Southeast Asia. The exhibition was inaugurated in Kuala Lumpur, and traveled on to Jakarta and then Chiangmai in the Mekong region.

Having reached the northern limits of what might be considered a Mekong cultural region, Fee Ming determined that he would push on upwards, compelled to find the source of the river. In 2005 he made his first trip to reach the source, beginning at Zhongdian in Yunnan, traveling through Tibet to Yishun in Qinghai, but was cut off from his final destination by territorial fighting over access to the valuable dongchongchao caterpillar fungus. In 2006 he finally succeeded, traveling through Qinghai from Xining to Yishun and on to Zadoi, the nearest town to the source.

This new series then, begins very far up the river Mekong, where it is called Dzachu – “river of rocks”. It covers the Tibetan region around the source, from Qinghai through Tibet to north Yunnan. The exhibition, like Mekong, originates in Kuala Lumpur, and then travels back up to Beijing, and on to Singapore.


Mekong was for Chang Fee Ming anchored in a search for home, for a sense of belonging to the Southeast Asian region. Like other regionalists before him, he traveled the Mekong to find cultural roots stretching back to its early kingdoms, architecture, aesthetics, its tribal communities; to find resonances with beliefs, ways of life, difficulties not so far away from his own. The journey to the source was a natural progression, a further tracing back. The tribes encountered in Thailand and Myanmar surely had their ancestry on the plains of Tibet, and Fee Ming has always been interested in the migration of tribes and their cultures, driven out by stronger races or harsh conditions in the north, their lives and context changing as they relocate downstream.

The Tibetan region around the source of the Mekong, however, is very far from home for the artist, who was born on the northeast coast of Malaysia, of the sea rather than of the mountain. He found life there to be very much unlike life downstream, where despite challenges, there are nonetheless resources and opportunities to be had. The harsh, unforgiving conditions of Tibetan life afford no weakness. Its ritual traditions, with both Buddhist and animist elements, maintain a spiritual strength and also a strong link to nature, whose mercy it is beholden to.

Chang Fee Ming\'s is driven by his sympathy for independent communities with a strong sense of heritage and tradition, whether in Terengganu, Bali, Mandalay, or the Swahili Coast. The Tibetan plains may seem very far from the gentle, sensuous world of the archipelago, but this new series of paintings may be the artist’s strongest statement yet about cultural survival and human resilience.


The narrative strain of Mekong continues to prevail in this exhibition, but where Mekong encompassed many stories of different communities and cultures, here the artist has pieced together a unified picture of Tibetan life as he has witnessed it. Each painting focuses on key themes of Tibetan experience – forms and physical elements of prayer, seasonal migration, the harvesting of precious herbs, the Buddhist monk, the mountaineer, the gathering of women at market. Man, woman, child and beast are firmly placed in the landscape, heretofore seldom seen in Fee Ming’s work. There are stories of love, separation, pilgrimage, travel, work, persistence. Fee Ming also takes pains to express the textures of his experience – the solidity of rock, painted and carved with mantras, the gossamer lightness of worn prayer flags, the woolen thickness and fine detail of warm clothing.

Upstream from the river in Southeast Asia, here on the plains, the air changes, becomes rarefied and thin; the light changes, intensifying. Colours become extreme at this high altitude. In several paintings, Fee Ming reveals a searing, almost painfully blue sky. Everything is cold and dry, a far cry from the humid warmth, the warm colours nearer to home. The mountain landscape looms in chiarascuro. Festive dress is richly coloured, as is ritual ornament. There are brave contrasts, and a sense of brightness battling the cold.

The new subject with its new light, temperature and textures, has posed exciting challenges for Fee Ming as a watercolourist. He has met them with bravura, exercising his different technical strengths and developing new approaches in each of the works. To accentuate the effect of bright sunlight on surfaces, he makes extensive use of paper white, also taking a hard clean brush to “etch” out details, creating flecked textures on woolen clothing, horse’s fur. To bring out and enliven the dark crevices of the mountains, the deep folds of thick cloth, he applies repeated layers of light colours such as emerald and turquoise over the dark. Broad washes using a thick oil brush on selected areas create different grades of sharpness, deepening perspective, as with a camera lens. Professor Guo Jing refers to the result as a "melody of light and shadow"; a certain unified strain runs through the series, cold, bright, serene.

Just as the contrast between light and shadow defines the tone of this series, its “stories” are often defined by the relationship between two elements – the symmetry between man or woman and their environment, the contrast between a bright new factory-made modern fabric, and the well-worn textures of traditional clothing, the dialogue between a Catholic missionary past and a long tradition of Buddhism that lives on, the imminent separation of a man and a woman.

Christine Rohani Longuet in her essay makes several references to how some of the compositional constructs of this new series echo particular paintings of the previous Mekong series. Over time, we have seen Fee Ming consistently draw parallels or mark differences between cultural practices and material in this way. Familiar themes of youth and age, the past and the future, the role of religion and ritual, are translated to a new context. While in Mekong, some strong political and social statements are made through such themes, here Fee Ming attempts a more holistic approach to a people and their culture. The practice of Buddhism, of course, is different in its form and ritual, from its practice downstream in Southeast Asia. People face similar challenges of change and development, but at the same time also have to endure real physical hardship.

Any foray into the Tibetan region brings with it the hanging issues of nationalism and sovereignty. While Fee Ming does not presume to express an overtly political stance, his work shows a real passion for a community’s will to preserve their traditional culture and life. He has found in his subject a stoicism and toughness he obviously admires; a people who have achieved a sense of one-ness with an overpowering natural environment, through sheer physical strength and a deep spiritualism which pays tribute both to Buddhism and to the gods of mountain, sky and earth, and who have chosen a hard path to maintain their way of living. This exhibition tells a powerful, personal story of Tibetan lives, one of choice, humanity, and faith.

Beverly Yong, Curator
Kuala Lumpur 2008


External link at » http://www.changfeeming-mekong.com/Mekong-Exploring/index.html
10 Apr 2008 The Painting Show: Gan Siong King, Hamir Soib & Phuan Thai Meng
10 Apr 2008 Melati Suryodarmo: Solitaire
20 Mar 2008 Red Planet: A Solo Show by Vasan Sitthiket
ART WARFARE: VASAN SITTHIKET’S RED PLANET

Vasan Sitthiket has been a thorn in the side of the Thai establishment for the past two decades. Prolific, formally polyvalent, and at the centre of Thai artistic life for a generation, the Bangkok and rural-based artist, poet, singer and politician shares concerns with many of the region’s most prominent cultural actors. Like a number of his contemporaries in Indonesia, Vasan targets corruption, demagoguery, and social injustice amongst other socio-political ills. Particularly aware of the influence of Thailand’s recent past on her current political malaise, he probes local collective memory and his country’s histories, real and fabricated, questioning official versions in an attempt to separate propaganda from truth. In his quest for truth, he casts his net wider than other Thai commentators, openly attacking government, army, Buddhist clergy and Thailand’s pervasive and destructive consumer culture. But though Vasan has long been dismissed as an angry trouble maker by the powers that run the country –his social activism standing in marked contrast to his countrymen’s conventionally non-confrontational approach-, even the targets of his caustic and sometimes less-than-subtle attacks can not deny the power of his artistic voice.
 
In his work, irony and satire are often bluntly wielded, bawdy sexual and scatological iconography recurring motifs in his lexicon of signs; yet Vasan’s pictorial language can be as metaphorically complex, lyrical(1) and conceptually elegant(2) as it can literal. A constant of his oeuvre however, with its wide expressive repertoire and conceptual sophistication, is its highly readability and purposeful message.

Doubtless less discussed than its sometimes provocative thrust and shocking imagery, is the visual splendour of Vasan’s art, arguably beholden, at its core, to classical South East Asian aesthetic tradition combined with a rigorous mastery of form. It is thus the superimposition of powerful social ideas and an arresting and accomplished visual language that positions Vasan Sitthiket at the forefront of regional contemporary practice. And though the artist places as much importance on the message of his art than the artistry of its message, it is irrefutable that it is the formal grandeur of his work that draws his audience to its meaning, making Vasan’s oeuvre a potentially powerful tool in the struggle for social and political renewal in Thailand.

In the last decade, as Thailand has grappled with  progress as much as regression in her quest to build democratic institutions, Vasan has emerged as one of his country’s pre-eminent visual practitioners chronicling his times and seeking an active part in the shaping of his nation’s future. And though Thailand’s status as a budding democracy in transition from an agrarian to a modern economy is echoed in other parts of South East Asia, Indonesia and the Philippines in particular, Vasan Sitthiket’s drive and willingness to put his artistic vision at the service of his concrete ambition for change, is unique.

In a climate of increasing censorship and authoritarianism, more particularly obvious in Thailand since the election of Thaksin Shinawatra in 2001 and worsening as public demonstrations against the latter’s second government (March 2005- September 2006)
ended with the military coup that exiled the ex-prime minister in September 2006, Vasan has continued his campaign against corruption, cronyism and violence. His push to exert pressure for change culminated in a bid to enter the national political arena. Founding the Artists Party in 2004, Vasan presented himself in the December 23 2007 parliamentary poll.

Yet however immersed in home-terrain concerns, Vasan does not lose sight of the global picture. Indeed, he links many of his country’s ills to parallel factors played out in other and far-flung reaches of the planet. Sensitive to the actions of the outside world, as are many Thais who recall their nation’s diplomatic balancing act in the fending-off of colonialism in the 19th century(3) as well as more recent European/American interventionism in neighboring South East Asia(4), Vasan is acutely aware of all big powers’ potential for hegemony beyond their own borders.

For this reason, he has been a keen observer of American foreign policy for many years. Though harbouring no grudge against the American people, he is critical of a U.S. government he perceives as bellicose and ideologically domineering. In the past he has targeted the import of American capitalism and cultural values to Thailand rather than America per-se. But with the escalation of tensions in the Middle-East in 2002, he turned his attention to mounting U.S. and allied nations’ call for ‘regime change’ in Iraq, a euphemism for war. Militant as Vasan may be, he fights for his causes with words, brush, performance and song. An entrenched pacifist who has already, at 50, seen far too much violence(5), as invasion loomed in early 2003, Vasan felt the urge to act, rather than merely condemn from the safety of his studio in Bangkok.

Thus began Vasan Sitthiket’s very real Iraq experience. In early March 2003 he traveled to Baghdad with an official 13-member Thai delegation that included politicians, academics, journalists, and NGO representatives from organisations such as Thailand’s Human Rights Foundation(6). The group’s objective was to show support for the Iraqi people in the face of aggression as well as experience the situation in Iraq first-hand. However, despite being part of this delegation, it was not as a protected V.I.P. that Vasan saw the country, but rather as a concerned citizen of the world, intent on making a difference and acting as on-site witness. The result of Vasan’s eight day trip to Iraq (6-14 March 2003) is the large body of documentary and artistic work Red Planet. As well as photographs recording the people of Iraq, the group includes poetry, prose writings, and 11 acrylics on canvas painted after his return to Thailand from the Middle-East(7).

As much as proposing an angry Evil vs Good narrative - which, says the artist, is part of Thailand’s cultural foundation- where a particular nation is demonised, arguably a somewhat simplistic reading of history in view of the complex reality of Iraq under Sadam Hussein, Vasan’s Red Planet is filled with pathos for the people of Iraq. Beyond some canvas’ strident polarization (Bomb for Liberty, Food for Children), a standard Vasan device for ensuring initial viewer engagement, there is a deeply-felt empathy for the people’s hopelessness in the face of their choice between the brutality of home oppression and that of an imported war. On more thoughtful inspection, many of the pictures speak less of ideological side-taking than a more universally-recognisable abhorance of the senselessness of violence inflicted on the innocent.
 
Red Planet harks back in many ways to Vasan’s seminal Blue October series of 1996(8). The latter, painted in frigid blue, offers a numbing, terse and nearly detached vision of one of modern Thailand’s most demented examples of state-sponsored butchery, the 1976 massacre. In apparent contrast Red Planet sizzles with anger, echoed visually by the canvas’ explosion of red. Yet the two series share an acutely expressed revulsion at the senselessness and immorality of violence. But perhaps more important than their probing of morality, both groupings stand as a document of history and an antidote to collective amnesia. Though Red Planet is as raving as Blue October is subdued –the first was painting within days of Vasan’s return from war-torn Iraq, whereas the second was executed 20 years after the fact- both bodies denounce the futility and hypocrisy of those perpetrating violence in the name of higher ideological goals.

New works painted by Vasan for the current exhibition return again to Iraq, 5 years on from the beginning of the war there. Though perhaps less angrily dramatic than the canvases produced in the immediate aftermath of the invasion, these stark evocations of death, dubbed Iraq war: 5 years later by the artist, are however far more darkly pessimistic. History has unfortunately unfolded as the artist presciently predicted in 2003 and has brought in its wake never ending brutality, misery and death rather than the liberation the invaders had promised. More powerful than any of Vasan’s long discursive diatribes on the theme of American-British capitalist greed and imperialism(9), this series, working as a sort of epilogue to Red Planet, is chilling in its muzzled silence and morbidity. And though all these new paintings –see especially Forget You Not and Forget Me Not- of course harbour more than a whiff of political bias, it is the bleakness of their imagery, and the implication of all humanity in their message, that gives them their iconographic and psychological strength, the artist asserting that not only are the evil perpetrators of the war guilty, but also all of us who have, through inaction, allowed it to happen. Yet despite their sometimes screamingly partisan stance, these evocations mean to tread well beyond politics and jingoism, addressing the very meaning of human depravity and its no-return implication for the world of men. The looming no-redemption-possible vision of hell is, in Vasan’s hands, all too real and tangible.

Vasan Sitthiket’s Red Planet and the series’ 2008 epilogue Iraq war: 5 years later propose paintings that are simultaneously disturbing and engaging. They demand not only their audience’s thinking approach to history and international politics, but also question all of us outside war zones enjoying life while others suffer. As a one man guerrilla Vasan Sitthiket\'s iconoclastic credentials are not in doubt. But perhaps the frequent insertion in his paintings of his own bespectacled and bearded likeness, alternately portrayed as victim, witness, or most ambiguously as a member of the society he is challenging, offers the most lucid commentary of all, inevitably reinforcing the painful message that we are all, starting with the artist himself, involved in global destiny. Not preaching, Vasan’s works nonetheless call upon his viewer’s sense of morality, expecting the latter to accept the responsibility necessary to formulate judgement and so empowered, proceed to action. Not righteous, Vasan’s works instead act as witness. Stridently vocal in their political stance yet also deeply and universally humanistic, Red Planet and Iraq war: 5 years later take Vasan Sitthiket’s accomplished and explosive artistic expression into active combat for the salvation of all humanity.           


Iola Lenzi, February 2008


Iola Lenzi, a lawyer by training, is a Singapore-based critic and curator specialising in Southeast Asian contemporary visual practice. She is the author of Museums of Southeast Asia as well as a contributor to art periodicals in Asia, Australia and Europe. She has curated Vasan Sitthiket in two previous exhibitions: the solo show VIP/ un-VIP & other political tales, Atelier Frank & Lee, Singapore, November-December 2002, and the 9-man show Subverted Boundaries, Sculpture Square, Singapore, June-August 2003.



NOTES
(1) Vasan’s Farmers are Farmers series, shown at Bangkok’s Tadu Gallery in 1998, is a deeply personal study of the artist’s rural origins which cryptically probes the rural/urban dichotomy contrasting the hardship of Thai rural life with the city’s consumer culture. The mainly monochrome aesthetically classical allegorical series features naturalistic portraits of farmers, including the artist’s grandparents. The works express dignity and beauty and are only subtly political in their reference to a pre-industrial rural culture of  self-sufficiency.

(2) Vasan’s 2001 series We come from the same way, originally shown at Bangkok’s Numthong Gallery, is one of the artist’s most commanding conceptual works. Illustrating the birth of both parochial and global historical icons of culture, faith and power responsible for changing lives manipulating good and evil, the paintings counter a belief in the randomness of the capacity for good and evil while conversely underlining man\'s responsibility for his own actions and destiny. Vasan’s stable of luminaries includes Hitler, Stalin, Idi Amin, Jesus Christ, Franz Kafka, Joseph Beuys, Mahatma Gandhi, Pridi Panomyong, as well as the artist.

(3) Tuck, Patrick, The French Wold and the Siamese Lamb- The French Threat to Siamese Independence 1858-1907, White Lotus, Bangkok, 1995, pp. 250-3 for a discussion of Siam’s management and deflection of European colonial ambitions at the turn of the 19th  century. 

(4) ed. Tarling, N., The Cambridge History of Southeast Asia, vol. 2, part 2, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1999, pp. 278-9 for a discussion of the would-be imperialist role of the United States in Southeast Asia in the 1950’s and 1960’s.

(5) Vasan has repeatedly participated in and organised public street demonstrations some of which have been brutally countered by the Thai authorities.

(6) The delegation included Senator Karun Sai-ngam the group leader, Senator Prateep Eungsongtham, Professor Charan Dittha-aphichai, the Director of Human Rights Foundation, Khun Veera Somkid ( Secretary of the delegation), Khun Warit, the representative from Thai Emergency Releif Group, Khun Niti Hassan ( Muslim Center of Thailand), Khun Harun, the Arabic interpretor, Vasan Sitthiket, representative of Thai artists, and five journalists Khun Kusuma Yothasamut, Khun Thana photographer, Khun Kanit, Khun Teera Tananunpol and Khun Tanarat.

(7) This body of 11 paintings was first shown in the Thai capital’s Bangkok Art Gallery, 29 April-15 May 2003

(8) The 1996 Blue October series commemorates the Thai government-instigated massacres of 1976. Reworking scenes of police brutality and mob violence well-documented in the press of the day, the artist depicts torture and murder in a sober, monochrome-blue narrative language that in its stillness and starkly stylised figuration is potently shocking. The paintings are both disturbing in their naked evocation of violence, and intensely beautiful in their candid pathos for the victims. Unusually for Vasan, in these works the artist’s iconographic style is reductive, his figures floating in a blue ground without detail of place or time, the distinction between thug and victim not immediately obvious save for the latter being adorned with small patches of gold leaf, badges of merit-cum-martyrdom. The images are still, stunning  the viewer their mute contrasting of barbarity with innocence.

(9) Published in April-May 2003 in Siamrath, a well-established and long-running Thai weekly review examining political and economic issues.



LIST OF WORKS ILLUSTRATING THE TEXT:
     
1. “Farmers are Farmers”
Image to come….

2."We come from the same way" (one of 50)
\'Adolf Hitler\'
Acrylic and clay on rice paper, 100 x 70 cm, 2001

3."We come from the same way" (one of 50)
\' Vasan Sitthiket\'
Acrylic and clay on rice paper, 100 x 70 cm, 2001

4. reproduction of December 2007 Artists Party electoral poster (Vasan to provide image)

5. selection of b/w photographs taken in Iraq by the artist March 2003

“Blue October” series: one of these or all.

6. "Blue October" \'For the state Security\', acrylic, blue powder, gold leaf on canvas, 150 x 150 cm, 1996

7. "Blue October" \'For whom this genocide, Death is covered by the lotus leaf, let\'s forget it ever happened\', acrylic, blue powder, gold leaf on canvas, 150 x 150 cm, 1996.

8. "Blue October" \'Thailand is the land of the Thai, Flesh and Blood\', acrylic, blue powder, gold leaf on canvas, 150 x 150 cm, 1996.
20 Mar 2008 RED PLANET: A solo show by Vasan Sitthiket
ART WARFARE: VASAN SITTHIKET’S RED PLANET

Vasan Sitthiket has been a thorn in the side of the Thai establishment for the past two decades. Prolific, formally polyvalent, and at the centre of Thai artistic life for a generation, the Bangkok and rural-based artist, poet, singer and politician shares concerns with many of the region’s most prominent cultural actors. Like a number of his contemporaries in Indonesia, Vasan targets corruption, demagoguery, and social injustice amongst other socio-political ills. Particularly aware of the influence of Thailand’s recent past on her current political malaise, he probes local collective memory and his country’s histories, real and fabricated, questioning official versions in an attempt to separate propaganda from truth. In his quest for truth, he casts his net wider than other Thai commentators, openly attacking government, army, Buddhist clergy and Thailand’s pervasive and destructive consumer culture. But though Vasan has long been dismissed as an angry trouble maker by the powers that run the country –his social activism standing in marked contrast to his countrymen’s conventionally non-confrontational approach-, even the targets of his caustic and sometimes less-than-subtle attacks can not deny the power of his artistic voice.
 
In his work, irony and satire are often bluntly wielded, bawdy sexual and scatological iconography recurring motifs in his lexicon of signs; yet Vasan’s pictorial language can be as metaphorically complex, lyrical(1) and conceptually elegant(2) as it can literal. A constant of his oeuvre however, with its wide expressive repertoire and conceptual sophistication, is its highly readability and purposeful message.

Doubtless less discussed than its sometimes provocative thrust and shocking imagery, is the visual splendour of Vasan’s art, arguably beholden, at its core, to classical South East Asian aesthetic tradition combined with a rigorous mastery of form. It is thus the superimposition of powerful social ideas and an arresting and accomplished visual language that positions Vasan Sitthiket at the forefront of regional contemporary practice. And though the artist places as much importance on the message of his art than the artistry of its message, it is irrefutable that it is the formal grandeur of his work that draws his audience to its meaning, making Vasan’s oeuvre a potentially powerful tool in the struggle for social and political renewal in Thailand.

In the last decade, as Thailand has grappled with  progress as much as regression in her quest to build democratic institutions, Vasan has emerged as one of his country’s pre-eminent visual practitioners chronicling his times and seeking an active part in the shaping of his nation’s future. And though Thailand’s status as a budding democracy in transition from an agrarian to a modern economy is echoed in other parts of South East Asia, Indonesia and the Philippines in particular, Vasan Sitthiket’s drive and willingness to put his artistic vision at the service of his concrete ambition for change, is unique.

In a climate of increasing censorship and authoritarianism, more particularly obvious in Thailand since the election of Thaksin Shinawatra in 2001 and worsening as public demonstrations against the latter’s second government (March 2005- September 2006)
ended with the military coup that exiled the ex-prime minister in September 2006, Vasan has continued his campaign against corruption, cronyism and violence. His push to exert pressure for change culminated in a bid to enter the national political arena. Founding the Artists Party in 2004, Vasan presented himself in the December 23 2007 parliamentary poll.

Yet however immersed in home-terrain concerns, Vasan does not lose sight of the global picture. Indeed, he links many of his country’s ills to parallel factors played out in other and far-flung reaches of the planet. Sensitive to the actions of the outside world, as are many Thais who recall their nation’s diplomatic balancing act in the fending-off of colonialism in the 19th century(3) as well as more recent European/American interventionism in neighboring South East Asia(4), Vasan is acutely aware of all big powers’ potential for hegemony beyond their own borders.

For this reason, he has been a keen observer of American foreign policy for many years. Though harbouring no grudge against the American people, he is critical of a U.S. government he perceives as bellicose and ideologically domineering. In the past he has targeted the import of American capitalism and cultural values to Thailand rather than America per-se. But with the escalation of tensions in the Middle-East in 2002, he turned his attention to mounting U.S. and allied nations’ call for ‘regime change’ in Iraq, a euphemism for war. Militant as Vasan may be, he fights for his causes with words, brush, performance and song. An entrenched pacifist who has already, at 50, seen far too much violence(5), as invasion loomed in early 2003, Vasan felt the urge to act, rather than merely condemn from the safety of his studio in Bangkok.

Thus began Vasan Sitthiket’s very real Iraq experience. In early March 2003 he traveled to Baghdad with an official 13-member Thai delegation that included politicians, academics, journalists, and NGO representatives from organisations such as Thailand’s Human Rights Foundation(6). The group’s objective was to show support for the Iraqi people in the face of aggression as well as experience the situation in Iraq first-hand. However, despite being part of this delegation, it was not as a protected V.I.P. that Vasan saw the country, but rather as a concerned citizen of the world, intent on making a difference and acting as on-site witness. The result of Vasan’s eight day trip to Iraq (6-14 March 2003) is the large body of documentary and artistic work Red Planet. As well as photographs recording the people of Iraq, the group includes poetry, prose writings, and 11 acrylics on canvas painted after his return to Thailand from the Middle-East(7).

As much as proposing an angry Evil vs Good narrative - which, says the artist, is part of Thailand’s cultural foundation- where a particular nation is demonised, arguably a somewhat simplistic reading of history in view of the complex reality of Iraq under Sadam Hussein, Vasan’s Red Planet is filled with pathos for the people of Iraq. Beyond some canvas’ strident polarization (Bomb for Liberty, Food for Children), a standard Vasan device for ensuring initial viewer engagement, there is a deeply-felt empathy for the people’s hopelessness in the face of their choice between the brutality of home oppression and that of an imported war. On more thoughtful inspection, many of the pictures speak less of ideological side-taking than a more universally-recognisable abhorance of the senselessness of violence inflicted on the innocent.
 
Red Planet harks back in many ways to Vasan’s seminal Blue October series of 1996(8). The latter, painted in frigid blue, offers a numbing, terse and nearly detached vision of one of modern Thailand’s most demented examples of state-sponsored butchery, the 1976 massacre. In apparent contrast Red Planet sizzles with anger, echoed visually by the canvas’ explosion of red. Yet the two series share an acutely expressed revulsion at the senselessness and immorality of violence. But perhaps more important than their probing of morality, both groupings stand as a document of history and an antidote to collective amnesia. Though Red Planet is as raving as Blue October is subdued –the first was painting within days of Vasan’s return from war-torn Iraq, whereas the second was executed 20 years after the fact- both bodies denounce the futility and hypocrisy of those perpetrating violence in the name of higher ideological goals.

New works painted by Vasan for the current exhibition return again to Iraq, 5 years on from the beginning of the war there. Though perhaps less angrily dramatic than the canvases produced in the immediate aftermath of the invasion, these stark evocations of death, dubbed Iraq war: 5 years later by the artist, are however far more darkly pessimistic. History has unfortunately unfolded as the artist presciently predicted in 2003 and has brought in its wake never ending brutality, misery and death rather than the liberation the invaders had promised. More powerful than any of Vasan’s long discursive diatribes on the theme of American-British capitalist greed and imperialism(9), this series, working as a sort of epilogue to Red Planet, is chilling in its muzzled silence and morbidity. And though all these new paintings –see especially Forget You Not and Forget Me Not- of course harbour more than a whiff of political bias, it is the bleakness of their imagery, and the implication of all humanity in their message, that gives them their iconographic and psychological strength, the artist asserting that not only are the evil perpetrators of the war guilty, but also all of us who have, through inaction, allowed it to happen. Yet despite their sometimes screamingly partisan stance, these evocations mean to tread well beyond politics and jingoism, addressing the very meaning of human depravity and its no-return implication for the world of men. The looming no-redemption-possible vision of hell is, in Vasan’s hands, all too real and tangible.

Vasan Sitthiket’s Red Planet and the series’ 2008 epilogue Iraq war: 5 years later propose paintings that are simultaneously disturbing and engaging. They demand not only their audience’s thinking approach to history and international politics, but also question all of us outside war zones enjoying life while others suffer. As a one man guerrilla Vasan Sitthiket's iconoclastic credentials are not in doubt. But perhaps the frequent insertion in his paintings of his own bespectacled and bearded likeness, alternately portrayed as victim, witness, or most ambiguously as a member of the society he is challenging, offers the most lucid commentary of all, inevitably reinforcing the painful message that we are all, starting with the artist himself, involved in global destiny. Not preaching, Vasan’s works nonetheless call upon his viewer’s sense of morality, expecting the latter to accept the responsibility necessary to formulate judgement and so empowered, proceed to action. Not righteous, Vasan’s works instead act as witness. Stridently vocal in their political stance yet also deeply and universally humanistic, Red Planet and Iraq war: 5 years later take Vasan Sitthiket’s accomplished and explosive artistic expression into active combat for the salvation of all humanity.           


Iola Lenzi, February 2008


Iola Lenzi, a lawyer by training, is a Singapore-based critic and curator specialising in Southeast Asian contemporary visual practice. She is the author of Museums of Southeast Asia as well as a contributor to art periodicals in Asia, Australia and Europe. She has curated Vasan Sitthiket in two previous exhibitions: the solo show VIP/ un-VIP & other political tales, Atelier Frank & Lee, Singapore, November-December 2002, and the 9-man show Subverted Boundaries, Sculpture Square, Singapore, June-August 2003.



NOTES
(1) Vasan’s Farmers are Farmers series, shown at Bangkok’s Tadu Gallery in 1998, is a deeply personal study of the artist’s rural origins which cryptically probes the rural/urban dichotomy contrasting the hardship of Thai rural life with the city’s consumer culture. The mainly monochrome aesthetically classical allegorical series features naturalistic portraits of farmers, including the artist’s grandparents. The works express dignity and beauty and are only subtly political in their reference to a pre-industrial rural culture of  self-sufficiency.

(2) Vasan’s 2001 series We come from the same way, originally shown at Bangkok’s Numthong Gallery, is one of the artist’s most commanding conceptual works. Illustrating the birth of both parochial and global historical icons of culture, faith and power responsible for changing lives manipulating good and evil, the paintings counter a belief in the randomness of the capacity for good and evil while conversely underlining man's responsibility for his own actions and destiny. Vasan’s stable of luminaries includes Hitler, Stalin, Idi Amin, Jesus Christ, Franz Kafka, Joseph Beuys, Mahatma Gandhi, Pridi Panomyong, as well as the artist.

(3) Tuck, Patrick, The French Wold and the Siamese Lamb- The French Threat to Siamese Independence 1858-1907, White Lotus, Bangkok, 1995, pp. 250-3 for a discussion of Siam’s management and deflection of European colonial ambitions at the turn of the 19th  century. 

(4) ed. Tarling, N., The Cambridge History of Southeast Asia, vol. 2, part 2, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1999, pp. 278-9 for a discussion of the would-be imperialist role of the United States in Southeast Asia in the 1950’s and 1960’s.

(5) Vasan has repeatedly participated in and organised public street demonstrations some of which have been brutally countered by the Thai authorities.

(6) The delegation included Senator Karun Sai-ngam the group leader, Senator Prateep Eungsongtham, Professor Charan Dittha-aphichai, the Director of Human Rights Foundation, Khun Veera Somkid ( Secretary of the delegation), Khun Warit, the representative from Thai Emergency Releif Group, Khun Niti Hassan ( Muslim Center of Thailand), Khun Harun, the Arabic interpretor, Vasan Sitthiket, representative of Thai artists, and five journalists Khun Kusuma Yothasamut, Khun Thana photographer, Khun Kanit, Khun Teera Tananunpol and Khun Tanarat.

(7) This body of 11 paintings was first shown in the Thai capital’s Bangkok Art Gallery, 29 April-15 May 2003

(8) The 1996 Blue October series commemorates the Thai government-instigated massacres of 1976. Reworking scenes of police brutality and mob violence well-documented in the press of the day, the artist depicts torture and murder in a sober, monochrome-blue narrative language that in its stillness and starkly stylised figuration is potently shocking. The paintings are both disturbing in their naked evocation of violence, and intensely beautiful in their candid pathos for the victims. Unusually for Vasan, in these works the artist’s iconographic style is reductive, his figures floating in a blue ground without detail of place or time, the distinction between thug and victim not immediately obvious save for the latter being adorned with small patches of gold leaf, badges of merit-cum-martyrdom. The images are still, stunning  the viewer their mute contrasting of barbarity with innocence.

(9) Published in April-May 2003 in Siamrath, a well-established and long-running Thai weekly review examining political and economic issues.



LIST OF WORKS ILLUSTRATING THE TEXT:
     
1. “Farmers are Farmers”
Image to come….

2."We come from the same way" (one of 50)
'Adolf Hitler'
Acrylic and clay on rice paper, 100 x 70 cm, 2001

3."We come from the same way" (one of 50)
' Vasan Sitthiket'
Acrylic and clay on rice paper, 100 x 70 cm, 2001

4. reproduction of December 2007 Artists Party electoral poster (Vasan to provide image)

5. selection of b/w photographs taken in Iraq by the artist March 2003

“Blue October” series: one of these or all.

6. "Blue October" 'For the state Security', acrylic, blue powder, gold leaf on canvas, 150 x 150 cm, 1996

7. "Blue October" 'For whom this genocide, Death is covered by the lotus leaf, let's forget it ever happened', acrylic, blue powder, gold leaf on canvas, 150 x 150 cm, 1996.

8. "Blue October" 'Thailand is the land of the Thai, Flesh and Blood', acrylic, blue powder, gold leaf on canvas, 150 x 150 cm, 1996.
03 Dec 2007 Between Generations: 50 Years Across Modern Art In Malaysia
Introduction
50 years is a long stretch in any modern art history, and indeed in any modern history. The intensity and pace of change and development, the tumultuous progress of the 20th century into the 21st, have caused most aspects of our experience of the world to transform seemingly overnight, or at least in one generation shift. Visual art practice has largely followed suit, reacting to and growing out of that experience.
 
The 50th anniversary of Malaysia’s independence is as much a time to pause and think as it is a time to celebrate. It is an occasion to reflect on the trials and lessons of our country’s nascent years, and on where we stand in relation to this now, no less in the visual arts than in any other field.
 
Between Generations: 50 Years Across Modern Art in Malaysia is not an attempt to chart a linear, evolutionary art history. Rather this exhibition explores interconnections between the modern pioneers of art practice in our new nation, and Malaysian artists, born after Merdeka, working today. Although they are really only one generation apart, they might at the outset seem to come from different worlds, due perhaps to the transformation of our environment in the past few decades, but also to the rise of new technologies, methodologies and thinking in the visual arts in general. This exhibition brings the works of 25 key modern pioneer artists face to face with a broad spectrum of contemporary works, drawing on what binds and differentiates them in terms of their ambitions and strategies, in the context of what seem to be prevailing themes and disciplines in Malaysian art practice. At the same time, we have invited a group of contemporary artists, many of whom also work as art writers, curators and administrators, to share their personal responses to the role and influence of the artists of that earlier generation. By doing so, we hope that the centrality of our roles as curators for this exhibition can be negated while the readings on the influence of our pioneers can be further personalized, expanded and enriched by the participating artists themselves. It signifies a much organic collaborative approach between curators and visual artists in providing multiple contexts for an art exhibition.
 
 
So this project is prompted, first of all, by the recognition of a need for more expansive dialogue in Malaysian art practice, and getting contemporary artists to engage with the work of their predecessors seems a step towards this. Concurrently it seems timely to assess and bring to the public light two important pioneering collections of modern art in Malaysia – belonging to Universiti Malaya and Universiti Sains Malaysia, respectively. Their historical contexts are telling. The collection at Universiti Malaya (UM) began as early as 1955, making it the first institutional collection of fine art in the c0untry (1), which was later divided between UM and what had become the National University of Singapore in 1966, after the two countries parted. Universiti Sains Malaysia’s (USM) collection was born in 1972, at a crucial, volatile, fertile juncture in Malaysian life and culture, shortly after the events of 1969. Issues of nationalism, modernity, identity were at the fore. Around the world, the 1970s marked a revolution in attitudes and ideas.
 
 
On a broader level, we hope that this exhibition and publication offers to a wide public, which includes university students from different disciplines, the opportunity to consider our modern art heritage and its relation to the contemporary, to identify and relate to the prevailing concerns that have occupied artists in Malaysia and the different ways in which they have sought to deal with them.
 
A generation of pioneers
Satu Generasi Perintis
 
While modern art practice in the country cannot be said to begin with Merdeka, it was during the short run-up to independence and the two decades to follow that saw the coming together of an idea of a Malaysian art scene, and a Malaysian art discourse.
 
Prior to the 1950s, art activity in British Malaya was predominantly centred around Chinese artists, largely new immigrants, who set up studios and artists’ associations in Penang and Singapore, and founded the first art college, the Nanyang Academy of Art (1938), while there were a few local artists like Abdullah Ariff, who had also set up a professional practice.
 
In the 1950s, various new factors began to give a firmer shape to the practice and appreciation of art around the country. Key artists’ groups emerged. Local private collectors in Kuala Lumpur began to play a supportive role for artists. UM initiated their collection of local art. An Arts Council was formed (1952) and the National Art Gallery was established (1958), spearheaded by a forward-looking committee dedicated to promoting local modern art. Promising talents were sent abroad to study art and art education, who would later come back to practice, and develop art education around the country. In the 1960s as some artists returned from studies abroad, together with other professionals, activity expanded – more exhibitions were held, reviews were published, institutions like Bank Negara and the LNN (2) (now Tenaga Nasional) began collecting.
 
The “pioneering” generation of Malaysian artists we refer to in this project were mostly born between the late1920’s and late 1940’s. Coming of age and forging their careers in the 50s and 60’s, their work developed in this busy and interesting context of the building of a nation and the shaping of an art scene, which became more complex as the nation headed into the 70s.
 
For this project, we have tried to identify 25 artists who best represent this generation, whose works have somehow become iconic in our appreciation of Malaysian art, who forged new approaches, developed original interpretations of the Malaysian subject, who through their work, organisational activities and teaching influenced their peers and to some extent the work and thinking of younger Malaysian artists.
 
We do not claim that our selection is definitive, and there are significant and interesting figures who may seem to have been missed here. Our understanding of the art scene from this period is necessarily influenced by what has been previously published, by the choices made by key institutional and private collections, and the views and recollections of the art community. One key publication we have referred to is “Modern Artists of Malaysia”, a collection of articles written by the late Redza Piyadasa and TK Sabapathy (who also edited the book), published in 1983 (3). Sabapathy and Piyadasa, through their research and efforts, have somewhat defined our picture of Malaysian art development up to the 80s. While we await further studies on the subject, we may use their findings and propositions as a template on which to posit new readings.
 
The majority of the artists we have identified are included in that 1983 publication, with the exceptions of Joseph Tan and Lee Kian Seng. While each of the 25 artists has made their individual contribution to Malaysian art practice, our point here is to look at their work in the context of the time in which they were working, representing the many different interests and developments in play. We do not mean to re-instate or reinforce a “canon” of modern Malaysian artists, but rather to enter this into discussion. The texts provided by several participating contemporary artists may serve as an appetizer for us to discuss the pioneers outside the framework of both Piyadasa and Sabapathy.
 
What did those pioneering years of the nation mean for the artists who were working then, and how did this translate into their artistic vision? What was the role or perception of the artist at the time? The very choice of art as a career must have seemed daunting in a new society with no real fine art tradition or infrastructure. Artists came from many different backgrounds, having trained abroad in the West (mainly the UK, but also the USA, France and Germany), in China or India or Indonesia, or locally in the Nanyang Academy which taught both traditional Chinese and early 20th Century European approaches, or independent study under other local artists. A nation was being born, its head full of ideals of democracy, independence, and a new patriotism. Society and lifestyles were changing as we modernised, looked abroad for ideas, set up models for governance, civic life, commerce, education. We were open to new trends in architecture, design, fashion and popular culture that had spread throughout the world. At the same time, the various communities that make up the nation wished to maintain and express their cultural identity.
  
The formation of artists’ groups must have been an important source of support, creating opportunities for the sharing of ideas, and critical exchange. Looking back, the character of these groups also tells us something about the dynamics of the early art scene. One example is The Society of Malay Artists (founded in 1949 in Singapore), with Mahat Chaadang as president. The Wednesday Art Group (founded 1952) and Penang Art Teachers’ Council (founded 1952 and later changed to Penang Teachers Art Circle in 1965) were spearheaded by British artist Peter Harris, and Tay Hooi Keat respectively. Both were educators who championed artistic freedom, encouraging their members (4) to develop individual styles and approaches, while also providing informal training in technical skills, art history and aesthetics. The APS (Angkatan Pelukis Semananjung), later known as as Majlis Kesenian Melayu and Angkatan Pelukis SeMalaysia was established in March 24, 1956 by Indonesian-born artist Hoessein Enas and Yaacob Latiff, had a different agenda, focusing on the celebration of Malay culture in figurative depictions of kampung life, Malay beauty, family and community values. Meanwhile, the Chinese Nanyang artists remained active. Another important group that emerged was Anak Alam, a haven for young Malay poets, artists and thinkers (5).
  
In his essay “Merdeka Makes Art, or Does It”, in “Vision and Idea: Re-looking Modern Malaysian Art” (6), TK Sabapathy neatly sums up the situation: “….artists in the mid-50s developed diverse, competing aesthetic positions and continued to do so at the time of Merdeka and the years following political independence”. During those years, we see the introduction of a brand of “abstract expressionism”, self-consciously adopted by some artists as the ideal mode of expressing individual freedom, or even the spirit of independence. Syed Ahmad Jamal, Cheong Laitong, Yeoh Jin Leng, Anthony Lau, Ibrahim Hussein, Latiff Mohidin and Jolly Koh made up a loose group of abstract artists who would come to be seen as the heroes of Malaysian modernism. At the same time, we also see many powerful and distinctive interpretations of the Malaysian figure and Malaysian life (in the work of Zulkifli Dahalan as just one example), artists probing cultural traditions (such as Nik Zainal Abidin) and the sort of nostalgic romanticism epitomised by Hoessein Enas.
 
The late 60s, going into the 70s, saw a new wave of groundbreaking ventures. The Merdeka honeymoon ended abruptly with the race riots of May 1969. Issues of nationalism and ethnic agendas threw a shadow over many aspects of society, not least culture, and in 1971 they convened the National Cultural Congress (7). At the same time a new group of “returnees” from art schools abroad were itching to bring something new to the local scene. The likes of Redza Piyadasa and Sulaiman Esa set out to shift approaches to art, introducing new theories and strategies, and the use of alternative media. Exhibitions like the New Scene (1969) brought this to the public eye. Nirmala Dutt Shamughalingam, and Lee Kian Seng began working with installation, photography and performance. Artists like Ismail Zain, Joseph Tan, Choong Kam Kow, Long Thien Shih to name just a few, were exploring Op, Pop and other new approaches to painting.
 
So the early decades of art in the new nation were exciting times, a melting pot of approaches and ideas. There were competing ideologies, aesthetics, the western and the local (whether indigenous or inherited) and efforts to bring these together. Our “modern pioneers” covered a spectrum that went from realistic social narratives to conceptual installations. They were interested in our people, our lives, our landscape, how we think, what our art practice should be like.
 
While a number of the artists mentioned continued doing important work through the 80s and in some cases the 90s through to today, by and large activity quietened down in the years that followed this formative period. The 80s and 90s saw the continued popularity of abstract and gestural modes of painting, producing most notably artists like Sharifah Fatimah Zubir, Fauzan Omar, Awang Damit Ahmad and Yusof Ghani. In terms of infrastructure, more money flowed into the arts, with corporations purchasing works for their buildings and even starting galleries. A few more commercial galleries began to appear. Importantly, local art education would have become quite established, with schools such as ITM (now UitM) and the Malaysian Institute of Art (MIA) generating their own conventions or innovations, particular to their modes of teaching.
 
Contemporary practice
 
It is only a short step from this point to today. How much has changed on the art scene since the Merdeka years?
 
The most notable change is one of demographics – the number of artists working today has multiplied manifold, as has the number of art students. The opportunities for these artists to show their works are also greater and more diverse, while the climate is also more competitive. The art market has grown tremendously with many new commercial galleries, and with the globalisation of the art scene, there are increasing numbers of residencies and international exhibitions that can open doors for emerging artists.
 
While, in terms of institutional infrastructure, we might lack some of the enthusiasm of the early years, there are more independent initiatives by artists. A new breed of artists’ groups, such as Five Arts (a multi-disciplinary body begun in 1984 by visual and performing artists), the collaborative Matahati which has been going since 1989, and artist-run spaces such as Rumah Penan, Rumah Air Panas, Yayasan Kesenian Perak, Akal di Ulu, Spacekraft, Gudang and Lost Generation Space, have attempted to create an alternative sphere for practice, exhibition and discussion.
 
The makeup of the artist community has by and large kept its character. While it would be harder now to define the dynamics of the scene by specific groups and agendas, the unfortunately racialised aspect of art education has drawn some divisions and hampered discourse. A number of artists still choose to study abroad and come back to practice, and continue to straddle the lessons of their overseas training, and more local concerns. However, the fact that there are now very different sorts of audiences for art – international curators, art collectors, the younger masses, the general public, for example - helps to check easy divisions.
 
Moreover, the sheer proliferation of artists, coupled with the great openness of contemporary art, with its access to new technologies, methodologies, a plethora of visual and conceptual approaches, means that independence of mind is key to artistic survival. In the current climate, issues of culture, identity and tradition, while still important, have seemingly become less “imperative”. Ironically, it has also at the same become more complex and difficult, than during the nation-building years. The Malaysian reality has changed in very many ways. Many local artists have sought ways to translate this reality, at the same time pushing the possibilities of their practice in formal and conceptual terms. Artistic production has, perhaps, lost the “earnestness” of its early years, but makes up for it in being often witty, critical and sometimes brave.
 
Our selection of contemporary works, again, does not intend to create a definition of Malaysian contemporary art. We hope they represent some of the many approaches in current practice, and we particularly chose works we felt would relate in some way to the efforts and concerns of the preceding generation of Malaysian artists.
      
For the exhibition and this publication, we wanted to move away from the chronological approach which has often been employed in the reading of modern art in Malaysia. We have therefore chosen to organise this exhibition into flexible thematic “clusters” of works from both the pioneer and contemporary generations. Artists and artworks may not necessarily be placed according to their appearance in the time-line of history, but according to certain prevailing and changing themes.
  
The “clusters” or “themes” are based on several prevalent characteristics that have surfaced across 50 years of modern art in Malaysia, such as the figure, abstraction, the landscape, sculpture, cultural traditions, the search for new strategies and social consciousness. Our selection of works began with what was held within the UM and USM collections, and was extended to works from other institutional, private and artists’ collections. We chose works which we felt best represented prominent tendencies of the artists, and also for their suitability to a chosen theme, considering also their physical condition. We particularly chose contemporary works that we felt might instigate dialogue if placed in a particular cluster.
         
We wanted to keep the exhibition modular, open-ended and fluid, to instigate multiple narratives that could be further explored in different trajectories by other curators, visitors and readers. The exercise is experimental and hypothetical, we hope it will provoke questions and different ways of reading the history of modern art in Malaysia – how certain artists or artworks can be related or associated or inter-connected in many different ways with other artists/artworks across generations, allowing for multi-dimensional, overlapping discourses.
   
We hope that the framework we have attempted reflects the hybrid, organic character that we feel has characterised the Malaysian art scene in both its founding years and today, with the proviso that we are functioning within certain limitations. We hope that the exhibition as a whole supports an argument that modern art in Malaysia has always been plural, multi-cultural, diversified, trans-disciplinary, cutting across borders (including geographical borders), and thus dynamic. That there is no frozen, monolithic, or ‘absolute’ way of representing ‘modern Malaysian art history’, or for that matter ‘modern Malaysian art’ or ‘Malaysian identity’ in either the local or the international art scene is implied by the diversity of the exhibited artworks.
  
We would like, finally, to suggest that there are many intertwining, inter-connected and inter-locking ‘faces’ of modern art in Malaysia, and that these different faces (or inter-faces) may put forward contradictory pictures, which eventually have to be acknowledged, and even celebrated and respected (or debated and contested in a civilized way).
 
Beverly Yong and Hasnul J. Saidon
Penang and Kuala Lumpur, August 2007
 
Notes
 
(1) Refers to TK Sabapathy, “Past-present : A History of the University Art Museum” in TK Sabapathy (ed) (2002), Past, Present, Beyond – Re-nascence of an Art Collection, Singapore : NUS Museums, National University of Singapore
(2) LLN is a Malay acronym for Lembaga Letrik Negara
(3) Piyadasa, Redza & Sabapathy, TK (1983), Modern Artists of Malaysia, Kuala Lumpur : Dewan Bahasa & Pustaka
(4) The Wednesday Art Group included Cheong Laitong, Patrick Ng Kah Onn, Syed Ahmad Jamal, Jolly Koh, Anthony Lau and Dzulkifli Buyong among others, and the Penang Art Teachers’ group, Abdullah Ariff, Kuo Ju Ping and Lee Joo among others.
(5) including Latiff Mohidin.
(6) TK Sabapathy (ed) (1994), Vision & Idea : Relooking Modern Malaysian Art, Kuala Lumpur : National Art Gallery
 (7) National Cultural Congress was held in Universiti Malaya in 1971
 
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25 Oct 2007 BOROBUDUR & VWFA: SOUTHEAST ASIAN CONTEMPORARY AUCTION
La Vie en Pink No. 1, 2004, C-Print, (2/10), 80 x 99cm
(Estimate: SGD 4,000 – 5,000)

 Prominent works in the sale include Manit Sriwanichpoom’s (b. 1961) “La Vie en Pink No. 1”. Arguably Manit’s most distinctive creation, Pink Man turns an ironic, cheeky yet potent gaze upon a global society obsessed with material consumption. The Pink Man was originally conceived before the Asian economic crisis of 1997. He has now become a recognizable fixture, a neon light on the contemporary art landscape. Manit Sriwanichpoom is very much acclaimed internationally—he participated in the 50th Venice Biennale (2003) and was included in Blink 2002, a showcase of 100 of the world’s most exciting contemporary photographers. Manit is due to receive the prestigious Higashikawa Overseas Photographer Award.

Shameless Gold I, II & III (detail), 2002, Cocoons, horn, gold, Size variable
(Estimate: SGD 18,000 – 20,000)

“Shameless Gold” (2002) by Mella Jaarsma (b. 1960), made from naturally goldcoloured caterpillar cocoons comments on material wealth and the extreme socioeconomic gaps within Indonesian society. Mella is internationally renowned for her elaborate costume installations out of animal skins, horns and a variety of culturally loaded materials. They are powerful metaphors of race, sexuality, authenticity and origins. Covering the body and leaving only the eyes and certain body parts exposed, are they shelter or prison, or both?

Mr & Mrs Universe, 2001-2002, Acrylic on canvas, 225 x 125cm each Estimate: (SGD 35,000 – 50,000)

Another important highlight in this sale is Nyoman Masriadi (b. 1973), a hot rising star from Indonesia. The monumental, sculptural and almost cubistic figures in the awe-inspiring diptych, "Mr & Mrs Universe" (2001-2002) is a hallmark of Masriadi\'s work. Influenced by American Pop, the cyber gaming culture and also by the flourishing consumerist society in Indonesia over the last decade, the artist\'s sociopolitical messages are nevertheless overlaid with humour. Masriadi was one of the winners of the Philip Morris Awards in 1998 and has since participated in a number of exhibitions in Indonesia and abroad, namely in Australia, the Netherlands and Singapore.

A Small Town at the Turn of the Century #34, 2001, C-Print, (3/5), 91.4 x 91.4cm (Estimate: SGD 7,000 – 9,000)

Another highlight is a work from the series “A Small Town at the Turn of the Century” (2001) by acclaimed Singapore-born, Sydney-based artist Simryn Gill. This portrait of local inhabitants of a small town in Malaysia is intriguing, humorous and unsettling all at once, referring not only to essentialist notions of Asia as an exotic and romantic place to the western outsider, but also to ideas of local origin and ethnicity. “A Small Town at the Turn of the Century” has toured to the Perth Institute of Contemporary Arts, Australian Centre for Contemporary Art, Melbourne and Roslyn Oxley9 Gallery, Sydney in 2001. It was also included in the Sydney Biennale, 2002.

Nomadic Sanctions, 2005, Acrylic on canvas, 122 x 122cm
(Estimate: SGD 2,500 – 4,500)

“Nomadic Sanctions” (2005) by Louie Cordero (b.1978) gives a good taste of the wit and audacity of a new generation of emerging Southeast Asian artists. Cordero’s grasp on contemporary culture combines urban street-wise savvy with the cosmopolitan. It stands on a unique threshold between street art and fine art, irreverently combining disparate graphic sources, heavily influenced by a distinct brand of pinoy (Filipino) pop and Western media. Since 2004, Cordero has been actively showing in New York City, San Francisco and Los Angeles. His most recent solo exhibition, "DELUBYO" was held at Giant Robots, Los Angeles in July 2007.

Sulu Stories: The Landmark 8/8, 2005, Digital print on Kodak Professional Paper, 61 x 183cm (Estimate: SGD 2,500 – 3,500)

Also belonging to this generation of dynamic young artists is Yee I-Lann (b. 1971). In “Sulu Stories: The Landmark” (2005), Yee has created a glorious narrative of the Sulu Sea region, the great maritime crossroads that lies between her native Malaysia and the Philippines by juxtaposing archival and current photographic images. “Sulu Stories” traveled to Australia and Southeast Asia and Germany as part of a project initiated by the Goethe Institute, and has been to the Noorderlicht Photofestival 2006 in the Netherlands, "Thermocline of Art: New Asian Waves" at the ZKM Museum of Contemporary Art in Karlsruhe, Germany in June 2007 and “New Nature” at the Govett-Brewster Art Gallery in New Zealand in May 2007. It was included in the 1st Singapore Biennale, 2006.

 
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External link at » http://www.borobudurauction.com
27 Aug 2007 Between Generations: 50 Years Across Modern Art In Malaysia
Introduction
50 years is a long stretch in any modern art history, and indeed in any modern history. The intensity and pace of change and development, the tumultuous progress of the 20th century into the 21st, have caused most aspects of our experience of the world to transform seemingly overnight, or at least in one generation shift. Visual art practice has largely followed suit, reacting to and growing out of that experience.
 
The 50th anniversary of Malaysia’s independence is as much a time to pause and think as it is a time to celebrate. It is an occasion to reflect on the trials and lessons of our country’s nascent years, and on where we stand in relation to this now, no less in the visual arts than in any other field.
 
Between Generations: 50 Years Across Modern Art in Malaysia is not an attempt to chart a linear, evolutionary art history. Rather this exhibition explores interconnections between the modern pioneers of art practice in our new nation, and Malaysian artists, born after Merdeka, working today. Although they are really only one generation apart, they might at the outset seem to come from different worlds, due perhaps to the transformation of our environment in the past few decades, but also to the rise of new technologies, methodologies and thinking in the visual arts in general. This exhibition brings the works of 25 key modern pioneer artists face to face with a broad spectrum of contemporary works, drawing on what binds and differentiates them in terms of their ambitions and strategies, in the context of what seem to be prevailing themes and disciplines in Malaysian art practice. At the same time, we have invited a group of contemporary artists, many of whom also work as art writers, curators and administrators, to share their personal responses to the role and influence of the artists of that earlier generation. By doing so, we hope that the centrality of our roles as curators for this exhibition can be negated while the readings on the influence of our pioneers can be further personalized, expanded and enriched by the participating artists themselves. It signifies a much organic collaborative approach between curators and visual artists in providing multiple contexts for an art exhibition.
 
 
So this project is prompted, first of all, by the recognition of a need for more expansive dialogue in Malaysian art practice, and getting contemporary artists to engage with the work of their predecessors seems a step towards this. Concurrently it seems timely to assess and bring to the public light two important pioneering collections of modern art in Malaysia – belonging to Universiti Malaya and Universiti Sains Malaysia, respectively. Their historical contexts are telling. The collection at Universiti Malaya (UM) began as early as 1955, making it the first institutional collection of fine art in the c0untry (1), which was later divided between UM and what had become the National University of Singapore in 1966, after the two countries parted. Universiti Sains Malaysia’s (USM) collection was born in 1972, at a crucial, volatile, fertile juncture in Malaysian life and culture, shortly after the events of 1969. Issues of nationalism, modernity, identity were at the fore. Around the world, the 1970s marked a revolution in attitudes and ideas.
 
 
On a broader level, we hope that this exhibition and publication offers to a wide public, which includes university students from different disciplines, the opportunity to consider our modern art heritage and its relation to the contemporary, to identify and relate to the prevailing concerns that have occupied artists in Malaysia and the different ways in which they have sought to deal with them.
 
A generation of pioneers
Satu Generasi Perintis
 
While modern art practice in the country cannot be said to begin with Merdeka, it was during the short run-up to independence and the two decades to follow that saw the coming together of an idea of a Malaysian art scene, and a Malaysian art discourse.
 
Prior to the 1950s, art activity in British Malaya was predominantly centred around Chinese artists, largely new immigrants, who set up studios and artists’ associations in Penang and Singapore, and founded the first art college, the Nanyang Academy of Art (1938), while there were a few local artists like Abdullah Ariff, who had also set up a professional practice.
 
In the 1950s, various new factors began to give a firmer shape to the practice and appreciation of art around the country. Key artists’ groups emerged. Local private collectors in Kuala Lumpur began to play a supportive role for artists. UM initiated their collection of local art. An Arts Council was formed (1952) and the National Art Gallery was established (1958), spearheaded by a forward-looking committee dedicated to promoting local modern art. Promising talents were sent abroad to study art and art education, who would later come back to practice, and develop art education around the country. In the 1960s as some artists returned from studies abroad, together with other professionals, activity expanded – more exhibitions were held, reviews were published, institutions like Bank Negara and the LNN (2) (now Tenaga Nasional) began collecting.
 
The “pioneering” generation of Malaysian artists we refer to in this project were mostly born between the late1920’s and late 1940’s. Coming of age and forging their careers in the 50s and 60’s, their work developed in this busy and interesting context of the building of a nation and the shaping of an art scene, which became more complex as the nation headed into the 70s.
 
For this project, we have tried to identify 25 artists who best represent this generation, whose works have somehow become iconic in our appreciation of Malaysian art, who forged new approaches, developed original interpretations of the Malaysian subject, who through their work, organisational activities and teaching influenced their peers and to some extent the work and thinking of younger Malaysian artists.
 
We do not claim that our selection is definitive, and there are significant and interesting figures who may seem to have been missed here. Our understanding of the art scene from this period is necessarily influenced by what has been previously published, by the choices made by key institutional and private collections, and the views and recollections of the art community. One key publication we have referred to is “Modern Artists of Malaysia”, a collection of articles written by the late Redza Piyadasa and TK Sabapathy (who also edited the book), published in 1983 (3). Sabapathy and Piyadasa, through their research and efforts, have somewhat defined our picture of Malaysian art development up to the 80s. While we await further studies on the subject, we may use their findings and propositions as a template on which to posit new readings.
 
The majority of the artists we have identified are included in that 1983 publication, with the exceptions of Joseph Tan and Lee Kian Seng. While each of the 25 artists has made their individual contribution to Malaysian art practice, our point here is to look at their work in the context of the time in which they were working, representing the many different interests and developments in play. We do not mean to re-instate or reinforce a “canon” of modern Malaysian artists, but rather to enter this into discussion. The texts provided by several participating contemporary artists may serve as an appetizer for us to discuss the pioneers outside the framework of both Piyadasa and Sabapathy.
 
What did those pioneering years of the nation mean for the artists who were working then, and how did this translate into their artistic vision? What was the role or perception of the artist at the time? The very choice of art as a career must have seemed daunting in a new society with no real fine art tradition or infrastructure. Artists came from many different backgrounds, having trained abroad in the West (mainly the UK, but also the USA, France and Germany), in China or India or Indonesia, or locally in the Nanyang Academy which taught both traditional Chinese and early 20th Century European approaches, or independent study under other local artists. A nation was being born, its head full of ideals of democracy, independence, and a new patriotism. Society and lifestyles were changing as we modernised, looked abroad for ideas, set up models for governance, civic life, commerce, education. We were open to new trends in architecture, design, fashion and popular culture that had spread throughout the world. At the same time, the various communities that make up the nation wished to maintain and express their cultural identity.
  
The formation of artists’ groups must have been an important source of support, creating opportunities for the sharing of ideas, and critical exchange. Looking back, the character of these groups also tells us something about the dynamics of the early art scene. One example is The Society of Malay Artists (founded in 1949 in Singapore), with Mahat Chaadang as president. The Wednesday Art Group (founded 1952) and Penang Art Teachers’ Council (founded 1952 and later changed to Penang Teachers Art Circle in 1965) were spearheaded by British artist Peter Harris, and Tay Hooi Keat respectively. Both were educators who championed artistic freedom, encouraging their members (4) to develop individual styles and approaches, while also providing informal training in technical skills, art history and aesthetics. The APS (Angkatan Pelukis Semananjung), later known as as Majlis Kesenian Melayu and Angkatan Pelukis SeMalaysia was established in March 24, 1956 by Indonesian-born artist Hoessein Enas and Yaacob Latiff, had a different agenda, focusing on the celebration of Malay culture in figurative depictions of kampung life, Malay beauty, family and community values. Meanwhile, the Chinese Nanyang artists remained active. Another important group that emerged was Anak Alam, a haven for young Malay poets, artists and thinkers (5).
  
In his essay “Merdeka Makes Art, or Does It”, in “Vision and Idea: Re-looking Modern Malaysian Art” (6), TK Sabapathy neatly sums up the situation: “….artists in the mid-50s developed diverse, competing aesthetic positions and continued to do so at the time of Merdeka and the years following political independence”. During those years, we see the introduction of a brand of “abstract expressionism”, self-consciously adopted by some artists as the ideal mode of expressing individual freedom, or even the spirit of independence. Syed Ahmad Jamal, Cheong Laitong, Yeoh Jin Leng, Anthony Lau, Ibrahim Hussein, Latiff Mohidin and Jolly Koh made up a loose group of abstract artists who would come to be seen as the heroes of Malaysian modernism. At the same time, we also see many powerful and distinctive interpretations of the Malaysian figure and Malaysian life (in the work of Zulkifli Dahalan as just one example), artists probing cultural traditions (such as Nik Zainal Abidin) and the sort of nostalgic romanticism epitomised by Hoessein Enas.
 
The late 60s, going into the 70s, saw a new wave of groundbreaking ventures. The Merdeka honeymoon ended abruptly with the race riots of May 1969. Issues of nationalism and ethnic agendas threw a shadow over many aspects of society, not least culture, and in 1971 they convened the National Cultural Congress (7). At the same time a new group of “returnees” from art schools abroad were itching to bring something new to the local scene. The likes of Redza Piyadasa and Sulaiman Esa set out to shift approaches to art, introducing new theories and strategies, and the use of alternative media. Exhibitions like the New Scene (1969) brought this to the public eye. Nirmala Dutt Shamughalingam, and Lee Kian Seng began working with installation, photography and performance. Artists like Ismail Zain, Joseph Tan, Choong Kam Kow, Long Thien Shih to name just a few, were exploring Op, Pop and other new approaches to painting.
 
So the early decades of art in the new nation were exciting times, a melting pot of approaches and ideas. There were competing ideologies, aesthetics, the western and the local (whether indigenous or inherited) and efforts to bring these together. Our “modern pioneers” covered a spectrum that went from realistic social narratives to conceptual installations. They were interested in our people, our lives, our landscape, how we think, what our art practice should be like.
 
While a number of the artists mentioned continued doing important work through the 80s and in some cases the 90s through to today, by and large activity quietened down in the years that followed this formative period. The 80s and 90s saw the continued popularity of abstract and gestural modes of painting, producing most notably artists like Sharifah Fatimah Zubir, Fauzan Omar, Awang Damit Ahmad and Yusof Ghani. In terms of infrastructure, more money flowed into the arts, with corporations purchasing works for their buildings and even starting galleries. A few more commercial galleries began to appear. Importantly, local art education would have become quite established, with schools such as ITM (now UitM) and the Malaysian Institute of Art (MIA) generating their own conventions or innovations, particular to their modes of teaching.
 
Contemporary practice
 
It is only a short step from this point to today. How much has changed on the art scene since the Merdeka years?
 
The most notable change is one of demographics – the number of artists working today has multiplied manifold, as has the number of art students. The opportunities for these artists to show their works are also greater and more diverse, while the climate is also more competitive. The art market has grown tremendously with many new commercial galleries, and with the globalisation of the art scene, there are increasing numbers of residencies and international exhibitions that can open doors for emerging artists.
 
While, in terms of institutional infrastructure, we might lack some of the enthusiasm of the early years, there are more independent initiatives by artists. A new breed of artists’ groups, such as Five Arts (a multi-disciplinary body begun in 1984 by visual and performing artists), the collaborative Matahati which has been going since 1989, and artist-run spaces such as Rumah Penan, Rumah Air Panas, Yayasan Kesenian Perak, Akal di Ulu, Spacekraft, Gudang and Lost Generation Space, have attempted to create an alternative sphere for practice, exhibition and discussion.
 
The makeup of the artist community has by and large kept its character. While it would be harder now to define the dynamics of the scene by specific groups and agendas, the unfortunately racialised aspect of art education has drawn some divisions and hampered discourse. A number of artists still choose to study abroad and come back to practice, and continue to straddle the lessons of their overseas training, and more local concerns. However, the fact that there are now very different sorts of audiences for art – international curators, art collectors, the younger masses, the general public, for example - helps to check easy divisions.
 
Moreover, the sheer proliferation of artists, coupled with the great openness of contemporary art, with its access to new technologies, methodologies, a plethora of visual and conceptual approaches, means that independence of mind is key to artistic survival. In the current climate, issues of culture, identity and tradition, while still important, have seemingly become less “imperative”. Ironically, it has also at the same become more complex and difficult, than during the nation-building years. The Malaysian reality has changed in very many ways. Many local artists have sought ways to translate this reality, at the same time pushing the possibilities of their practice in formal and conceptual terms. Artistic production has, perhaps, lost the “earnestness” of its early years, but makes up for it in being often witty, critical and sometimes brave.
 
Our selection of contemporary works, again, does not intend to create a definition of Malaysian contemporary art. We hope they represent some of the many approaches in current practice, and we particularly chose works we felt would relate in some way to the efforts and concerns of the preceding generation of Malaysian artists.
      
For the exhibition and this publication, we wanted to move away from the chronological approach which has often been employed in the reading of modern art in Malaysia. We have therefore chosen to organise this exhibition into flexible thematic “clusters” of works from both the pioneer and contemporary generations. Artists and artworks may not necessarily be placed according to their appearance in the time-line of history, but according to certain prevailing and changing themes.
  
The “clusters” or “themes” are based on several prevalent characteristics that have surfaced across 50 years of modern art in Malaysia, such as the figure, abstraction, the landscape, sculpture, cultural traditions, the search for new strategies and social consciousness. Our selection of works began with what was held within the UM and USM collections, and was extended to works from other institutional, private and artists’ collections. We chose works which we felt best represented prominent tendencies of the artists, and also for their suitability to a chosen theme, considering also their physical condition. We particularly chose contemporary works that we felt might instigate dialogue if placed in a particular cluster.
         
We wanted to keep the exhibition modular, open-ended and fluid, to instigate multiple narratives that could be further explored in different trajectories by other curators, visitors and readers. The exercise is experimental and hypothetical, we hope it will provoke questions and different ways of reading the history of modern art in Malaysia – how certain artists or artworks can be related or associated or inter-connected in many different ways with other artists/artworks across generations, allowing for multi-dimensional, overlapping discourses.
   
We hope that the framework we have attempted reflects the hybrid, organic character that we feel has characterised the Malaysian art scene in both its founding years and today, with the proviso that we are functioning within certain limitations. We hope that the exhibition as a whole supports an argument that modern art in Malaysia has always been plural, multi-cultural, diversified, trans-disciplinary, cutting across borders (including geographical borders), and thus dynamic. That there is no frozen, monolithic, or ‘absolute’ way of representing ‘modern Malaysian art history’, or for that matter ‘modern Malaysian art’ or ‘Malaysian identity’ in either the local or the international art scene is implied by the diversity of the exhibited artworks.
  
We would like, finally, to suggest that there are many intertwining, inter-connected and inter-locking ‘faces’ of modern art in Malaysia, and that these different faces (or inter-faces) may put forward contradictory pictures, which eventually have to be acknowledged, and even celebrated and respected (or debated and contested in a civilized way).
 
Beverly Yong and Hasnul J. Saidon
Penang and Kuala Lumpur, August 2007
 
Notes
 
(1) Refers to TK Sabapathy, “Past-present : A History of the University Art Museum” in TK Sabapathy (ed) (2002), Past, Present, Beyond – Re-nascence of an Art Collection, Singapore : NUS Museums, National University of Singapore
(2) LLN is a Malay acronym for Lembaga Letrik Negara
(3) Piyadasa, Redza & Sabapathy, TK (1983), Modern Artists of Malaysia, Kuala Lumpur : Dewan Bahasa & Pustaka
(4) The Wednesday Art Group included Cheong Laitong, Patrick Ng Kah Onn, Syed Ahmad Jamal, Jolly Koh, Anthony Lau and Dzulkifli Buyong among others, and the Penang Art Teachers’ group, Abdullah Ariff, Kuo Ju Ping and Lee Joo among others.
(5) including Latiff Mohidin.
(6) TK Sabapathy (ed) (1994), Vision & Idea : Relooking Modern Malaysian Art, Kuala Lumpur : National Art Gallery
 (7) National Cultural Congress was held in Universiti Malaya in 1971
 
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15 Aug 2007 Romulo Olazo: The Truth is Still in the Beautiful & Jonathan Olazo: Memoir
Valentine Willie Fine Art have the privilege to bring to Jakarta for the first time the works of senior Filipino artist Romulo Olazo (b. 1934), this coming August. A deeply accomplished painter and printmaker, Olazo’s career has spanned over forty years and a wide range of artistic approaches, earning him a significant reputation in the Philippines art scene. It is, however, long overdue that his unique contribution to art, and especially abstract art, should be recognised and properly considered outside the Philippines and in the Southeast Asian region.
 
Olazo began his career as an artist at a critical juncture, when the foundations of a modernist tradition were being laid, by key figures such as Vicente Manansala, Victorio Edades, HR Ocampo and Fernando Zobel. Olazo first came to the fore as a printmaker who made striking innovations in this field. This fed into the development of his Diaphanous series, a unique body of abstract paintings that “are veritable visions of light. They have been likened to dragonfly wings, sheets of gossamer veil or gauze, and even a symphony.”
 
The exhibition “Romulo Olazo: The Truth is Still in the Beautiful” brings together over fifty works from different periods of his career, including large major paintings and smaller paintings as well as a selection of works on paper – prints, watercolours, pastels, ink and charcoal drawings. The exhibition explores Olazo’s approach to form – through his famous Diaphanous and Permutation series of abstract paintings but also in his lifelong study of the female form and the local landscape in drawings and watercolours.
 
Running concurrently with this exhibition, is Jonathan Olazo’s “Memoir” – an installation of paintings and drawings as homage to the work of his father, and a reflection on his own experience and responses as “a painter’s son”. A graduate of the University of the Philippines, Jonathan Olazo (b. 1969) is one of Manila’s most daring young artists, recognized for the profundity of his investigations into the issues of art-making and its meaning.
 
There will be an accompanying catalogue to “The Truth is Still in the Beautiful”, with essays by Victoria T Herrera, and curators Jonathan Olazo and Beverly Yong. Meanwhile, Lena Cobangbang writes on “Memoir”.
Both exhibitions run from 15 August to 1 September.
30 Jun 2007 Selamat Datang ke Malaysia

A River Flows Through It

By Kam Raslan

Quite a few years ago I had the good fortune to be able to fly over and around Kuala Lumpur in a helicopter, and things looks very different from up there. On ground level you get used to the concrete, cars and roads of a modern metropolis but if you can ascend you discover that Kuala Lumpur is surrounded by jungle. It should be obvious, but you forget. From above you can see a stark fault-line between the ever expanding city and the jungle that in some directions stretches on and on. Years of continual logging has meant that the trees are smaller than they once were and who knows if there are any large animals still alive down there but many if not most of Malaysia’s urban centres are still encircled in this way. It’s clear from above that the city and the jungle have nothing in common, they are a threat to each other and it’s hard to see how they are able to inhabit the same land. But with the tropical sun directly overhead the light glints on the element that binds the two together – the rivers. Despite the fissure on the land there is still something that flows through.

As a nation Malaysia would appear to have more apparent fissures than connections. It’s split between an east and west, separated by the South China Sea. East Malaysia is split between Sabah and Sarawak. Western peninsular Malaysia (where the majority of us live) is also split between an east and west, separated by a jungle covered mountainous spine. Our landscape is split between the urban and the jungle that still covers most of the country. As a people we’re split racially between Malay, Chinese, Indian, Ceylonese, Iban Kadazan, aboriginals, Nyonya, and a myriad of others, and each group in turn can be split into regional, ethnic or language sub-groups. We’re split between the secular and the, er, not so secular. Our history can be split between postcolonial and colonial, the interpretations of which have split us from our memory (the pre-colonial is rarely mentioned). And yet something has so far managed to bind us together, some unifying principle has kept us going in this grand experiment. It must be something like our rivers, the once essential element of our human and physical landscape that are now treated like glorified monsoon drains. They start in the mountains, flow through the jungle, emerge ignored through the towns and cities and then flow into the sea, which was once as much a part of the landscape as the land itself. Some kind of river must still be flowing through us. Well, most of us.

You won’t find much landscape in Malaysian art. The homes of regular folk might have paintings of village scenes with coconut trees, water buffalo and rice fields, or there might be a Taiwanese waterfall complete with flashing lights for good luck, but even these are human landscapes. Artists have by and large searched in the urban landscape for the unifying principle even though the jungle can still be seen from most places. The jungle has been a resource and a hindrance in recent human history, filled with spirits, dangerous animals and disease. For the major races in present day Malaysia it is not wood that has created the landscape but metal. Gold, silver and above all tin ores washed down from the mountains and traded around the world have created cities where there was once nothing but those pesky trees in vast swathes of land that nobody owned. Now cars, motorcycles and the steel and glass of the Petronas Twin Towers (paid for with oil and gas that lie even deeper below the surface) are the obvious symbols of today’s Malaysia. We live bright shiny lives smelted from this new landscape.

The gaps that lie between the various races have, perhaps, helped hold this strange split-up nation together. As long as people stay inside the box of whatever race they are apparently from then the contradictions can be understood and balance maintained. But there are always people who feel not entirely at home in the archetype of their skin. There are those who wonder what they are: Malay? Chinese? Malaysian? Other? And what does it mean to be Malay, or Chinese, or other? And in a nation that was created by globalized trade, commerce and industry, is there something else? And what about all the other people that make up this nation, with whom we may or may not share a language – who are they? Do we have anything in common with them?

When we look at the faces from the photo studio in Yee I-Lan’s work we search for connections. Maybe they look like somebody we know, somebody we once were, maybe they look like us. They have come to this photo studio, these Malaysians of different backgrounds, to commemorate the same moments that we have had: birthdays, graduations, just because. They look just like us, we’re just like them. We are connected. Except we’re not entirely, we’re all very different.

In this mixed-up, split-up landscape of Malaysia we search for our identity and our own space where we can be safe and at home. We’re all so different and our artists must be our rivers.

22 Jun 2007 Processing The City
Introduction
Some recent events have forced us to re-consider what really is appropriate for our cities. 
 
This exhibition sought to explore reactions to the urban environment in Malaysia. It naturally grew to present a range of approaches that provides a platform to cultivate dialogue on today’s urbanity. 
This group of diverse artists and urban designers offer viewers insights into the concept and experience of the Malaysian city via their thoughts and observations. Using the city as a context, it is an opportunity for displaying new works within this urban space.
02 Aug 2006 VALENTINE WILLIE FINE ART @ MELBOURNE ART FAIR
This August 2 nd-6 th 2006, Valentine Willie Fine Art will mark its presence for the first time at the prestigious Melbourne Art Fair in Australia. VWFA will be the only Southeast Asian gallery to be invited to this year\'s Art Fair to exhibit together with top established and cutting-edge galleries from Australia, East Asia, Europe and the USA.

At the Art Fair, Valentine Willie Fine Art will be showcasing local Malaysian talents Nadiah Bamadhaj, Jalaini Abu Hassan, Wong Hoy Cheong and Yee I-Lann. True to the gallery’s area of specialization, VWFA will also be exhibiting new works by Geraldine Javier from the Philippines, Manit Sriwanichpoom from Thailand, and Putu Sutawijaya and Mella Jaarsma from Indonesia. These selected Southeast Asian artists will be shown alongside internationally-acclaimed Columbian-born artist Fernando Botero and Greek sculptor Sophia Vari.

Established in 1988, The Art Fair is the premier fair and public exposition of contemporary visual art in the Asia Pacific region. The Art Fair will showcase over 2500 works of contemporary art from over 900 artists represented by 80 galleries from around Australia; as well as China, Germany, Italy, Japan, Korea, Malaysia, Netherlands, New Zealand and Taiwan. The Art Fair will be held from the 2 - 6 August at the World Heritage Listed Royal Exhibition Building in Melbourne.

Valentine Willie Fine Art @ Melbourne Art Fair
Booth No. A63
Royal Exhibition Building
Melbourne, Australia
2 - 6 August 2006

beverly@artsasia.com.my
www.artsasia.com.my
www.melbourneartfair.com

External link at » http://www.melbourneartfair.com
29 Sep 2005 Valentine Willie Fine Art @ Art SIngapore 2005
VWFA travels down south end September to participate in this year’s edition of ART SINGAPORE, the 5th Contemporary Asian Art Fair. Being the only international art fair in SE Asia, visitors will have an excellent opportunity to see a gathering of the most recent and exciting artistic creations from the region and beyond.

For its fourth participation in the fair, VWFA will be featuring the works of 15 outstanding artists. They are: Chang Fee Ming, Jalaini Abu Hassan, Nadiah Badmadhaj, Wong Hoy Cheong, Wong Perng Fey, Yee I-Lann from Malaysia; Agus Suwage, Mella Jaarsma, Nindityo Adipurnomo from Indonesia; Kamin Lertchaiprasert, Manit Sriwanichpoom, Natee Utarit from Thailand; and Emil Goh (born Malaysia), Lindy Lee from Australia.

External link at » http://www.artsasia.com.my/offsite/05artinsingapore/index.htm
29 Jun 2004 Wong Hoy Cheong
Wong Hoy Cheong at the National Art Gallery, Kuala Lumpur
29 Jun 2004 Chang Fee Ming: Mekong a touring exhibition
Fee Ming’s depiction of the Mekong world brings us a bit of its past, present and uncertain future. With its shadowed history, the Mekong River has slipped from the imagination and attention of many in Southeast Asia. Isolated from modern progress, many of its people have maintained a traditional way of life that has scarcely altered over two centuries. With today’s forces of development, progress and tourism, the survival of the peoples traditional customs are under threat; many grappling with the meaning of a modern identity and finding new strategies of coping with change

External link at » http://www.changfeeming-mekong.com
29 Jun 2000 Faith + The City: a survey of Contemporary Filipino Art
Curated by Valentine Willie. Exhibition venues since 2000 include: Earl Lu Gallery LASALLE SIA College of the Arts (Singapore), National Art Gallery and ABN AMRO House, Penang (Malaysia), Chulalongkorn University, Bangkok (Thailand); Metropolitan Museum, Manila, (Philippines). Comprehensive website with information and works by all artists involved, as well as essays by Emmanuel Torres, Ana P. Labrador and Jessica Zafra.

External link at » http://www.artsasia.com.my/offsite/faithnthecity/indexframeset.htm
 
 
 
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