Art KL-itique

Centuries ago, what did visual art illustrate? Reverential icon? Metaphorical lessons? Decaying reminders? Can an artwork be defined as, a material object representing subjective truths? Standing outside this art gallery in Sentul, I face an oil painting, of one Roman philosopher’s marble bust from the Musei Capitolini. Inside the gallery, a sculpture family of porcelain pigs exhibit grotesque expressions. Nearby, large hangings display one peeing dog in a barren landscape, and a picture of a dead elephant being feasted on by vultures. A giant tombstone, and a taxidermy crow perched on a hoe, lie among a long patch of soil. Facing it are three acrylic paintings of monkeys in funny poses. How should the visitor look at these depictions of animals, and who is that in the window?

Installation snapshot of See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil (2013/2017)

After some looking, I conclude that the exhibited paintings are drawn from images found on the internet (the exception being ‘Dogged’, a work completed 15 years ago). Ahmad Fuad Osman is well-known as a painter, and although his signature bold brush strokes remain, these paintings look like mere impressions of digital images. In a radio interview, the artist revealed that the two philosophical quotes seen at “PRIMITIVE”, were shared to him via WhatsApp texts. The quote on the epitaph shown here, is from Ayn Rand’s novel Atlas Shrugged, which hidden preceding sentence states that “(m)oney is the barometer of a society’s virtue.”

Installation snapshot of [l] Dogged (2003); [r] Mak Bapak Borek Anak-anak pun Rintik (2015/2018)

Less we think that the artist is quoting Objectivist philosophy as truth, I note that Ayn – who espouses “the concept of man as a heroic being” and rational individualism – also wrote in Capitalism: The Unknown Ideal that, “(c)ollectivism is the tribal premise of primordial savages who, unable to conceive of individual rights, believed that the tribe is a supreme, omnipotent ruler, that it owns the lives of its members and may sacrifice them whenever it pleases.” The tombstone exhibit ‘Déjà vu’ is made from lightweight insulation foam and engraved PVC boards; Visually the object & text combination is heavy, yet in fact both things have been taken out of context in its presentation.

Installation snapshot of [foreground] The Birth of Tragedy (2014); [background] Déjà vu (2017)

That ‘Déjà vu’ lies near an exhibit referencing Friedrich Nietzsche and biblical murder, amplifies the ethical conundrum one encounters when trying to interpret the work. The suspicion of fake news being propagated here, is confirmed after a Google search. White laser-cut acrylic letters spell out a quote about “taught falsehoods” by Plato, which should be attributed to George France Train, a former railroad mogul who campaigned to be the President of the United States in 1872. Displayed together with the bust portrait in golden frames under the title ‘Plato (427 – 347 BC)', the conceit is complete. Diving down the rabbit hole, I further suspect the original bust – a copy, no less – already had its nose broken off, and this mimicked image is a digital restoration…

Installation snapshot of Plato (427 – 347 BC) (2017)

While curator Syed Muhd Hafiz opines in his catalogue essay, that “PRIMITIVE” deals with the lack of a (Malay) ‘hero’, I think Fuad’s exhibits are an investigation into the authority of the visual image. The pairing of beautiful object (or looks like), with words of wisdom (or sounds like), project a strong commentary that abnegates the visual mode. How does an artwork look like, what it really is, what does it mean – and everything that is not. Fake news is a symptom, blind trust in human expression is the disease. The three wise monkeys, which origins are traced to the Japanese expression 見ざる, 聞かざる, 言わざる (with no references to ‘evil’), offer a good reminder about human nature. Ignorance and fallacy are human, primitive traits as they are.

All That Is Solid Melts Into Air (2018)

"Plato was discoursing on his theory of ideas and, pointing to the cups on the table before him, said while there are many cups in the world, there is only one idea of a cup, and this cupness precedes the existence of all particular cups. "I can see the cup on the table," interrupted Diogenes, "but I can't see the cupness". "That's because you have the eyes to see the cup," said Plato, "but", tapping his head with his forefinger, "you don't have the intellect with which to comprehend cupness." Diogenes walked up to the table, examined a cup and, looking inside, asked, "Is it empty?" Plato nodded. "Where is the emptiness which precedes this empty cup?" asked Diogenes. Plato allowed himself a few moments to collect his thoughts, but Diogenes reached over and, tapping Plato's head with his finger, said "I think you will find here is the emptiness."

- Anecdote from Aelien, Varia Historia

Déjà vu (2017) [picture from "PRIMITIVE" exhibition catalogue, p.29]

In this age of political correctness and woke-ness, a six-months project which commissions five artworks to “represent marginalised voices”, sounds like an inadequate premise for an art exhibition. In Malaysia, however, the existing political hegemony and societal imbalance render such initiatives necessary, where voices of the underrepresented are drowned within a globalized and mainstream social media. The setup in “Merata Suara” successfully levels the presentation dynamic – none of the five individuals working with location partners (representatives from marginalized groups) identify themselves as a full-time artist, and the exhibition (including performance acts and community gatherings) takes place at Projek Dialog’s office in Ara Damansara.

Snapshot of exhibition space, with Eleanor Goroh - Fabrication in the background [picture taken from Suzy Sulaiman's Facebook album Merata Suara: Changing places from office to art.]

To produce artwork via collaboration, each individual intercession becomes tenuous; After all, the exhibition title explicitly states its intent to “even out the voices”. Suzy Sulaiman emphasizes in her curator’s statement, “(i)n order to perpetuate a porous border; one needs to exercise an artistic strategy that is fair to both sides.” To mitigate the risk of a foisted presentation, Suzy mentions in a radio interview, that “…these art pieces were more of catalysts, of a conversation and inquisitions…” Eleanor Goroh’s ‘Fabrication’ greets the visitor into the upstairs shop lot, its combination of state anthems and cultural icons, leading me to further discover melodies utilised for nationalist propaganda. Artists grappled with cultural differences in their engagements; This struggle now transfers to the audience facing exhibited artworks.

Installation snapshots of Yana Rizal - Komuni[s]kasi

Flipping through tabbed Form 3 and Form 5 Sejarah textbooks, then browsing handwritten anecdotes copied behind sheets of past year exam questions, it is revelatory to see what was taught about the Malayan Communist Party then. Despite its naïve presentation approach, Yana Rizal’s ‘Komuni[s]kasi’ unpacks a state-sanctioned historical misrepresentation across two makeshift classrooms. Recorded interviews with surviving guerrilla members (Jane Chin Leong, Kwei Ling, and Lean Thai), and documents from the National Archives, contribute to information overload. Counter-narratives are always interesting, but a sense of hopelessness persists when one posits this knowledge within the contemporary Malaysian political consciousness. How long does it take, for one to un-learn taught mistruths? Why is it so hard to acknowledge violence, as a prerequisite in nation-building?

Installation snapshots (taken while sitting on the ground) of Okui Lala: [l] Ingatan Welding (Welder’s Flash); [r] Perjalanan bersama Desi (A journey with Desi)

Okui Lala’s ‘Ingatan Welding (Welder’s Flash)’ projects from a television screen on a raised floor platform, while a video recording of three interviews with a Perodua Myvi driver loops on the wall. Shining a tiny torch on bound statements, I learn that the former’s actions is one ex-welder’s (Ayu) hand movements for protecting herself from sparks. A speechless recollection by an empowered individual, are juxtaposed against the lively chitchat about daily affairs in the latter work, where Desi the domestic worker speaks with the artist, Sofi the factory worker, and Nasrikah who runs an organization that “aims to network the Indonesian migrant worker community in Malaysia.” For one day, Okui offers interested persons the opportunity to experience her awkwardness in conversing with Desi, while driving around Ara Damansara. “(A)n artistic strategy that is fair to both sides”?

Installation snapshots of Poodien - Bulat Tanah Lengkang

In ‘Bulat Tanah Lengkang’, Poodien draws head portraits from behind, of womenfolk at Kampung Gebok, Mantin. His lines are clear, yet the vivid colours of the illustrated hair and skin, denote a sense of alienation. On a BFM program, the artist admits the realization of “an unequal artistic format” in his output. Hung at eye-level in a circle, the audience never gets to know these portrayed people. The social distance in this collaboration is affectingly presented, and complements the exhibits in a wonderful manner. Absence as a visual strategy, is further pronounced by the fact that I did not attend the silat-poetry performance ‘Silat-tru-rahim’, a collaboration initiated by Victoria Cheng with silat teacher Kak Ji (Norzihah Kasim) based in Gurun, Kedah.

Snapshot of Silat-tru-rahim performance [picture taken from Rodney Anolin Simon's Facebook post dated 24th February 2018]

In an incidental allusion to the theme Belas at the ongoing KL Biennale, Projek Dialog’s founder Ahmad Fuad Rahmat writes, that “(c)aring stands out in it all (…) no way of avoiding at some level the work of caring that makes the core of our social being.” Representing the marginalized is an anxious effort, and this exhibition includes several artful approaches. Combining visual propaganda with women’s work, presenting historical documents with current evidence, letting one’s words and actions speak for themselves, and visually illustrating the inadequacies of such representation – each approach has its attractions, and limitations. Does showing them all together “even out the voices”? Probably not, but just giving the platform for a curious audience to understand a bit more about the other, brings one that bit closer to understanding the multicultural society we live in.

Exhibition snapshot of "Hari Serantau" event [picture taken from Okui Lala's Instagram page dated 26th February 2018]

Two large institution exhibitions showcase abstract art within the context of Malaysian art history, which overlapping choice of artists and modern aesthetic offer much to see, but little to reflect upon. With 100+ paintings exhibited, Bank Negara Malaysia Museum and Art Gallery’s “The Unreal Deal” boasts “what is probably the largest ever display of abstract art in the country”, notwithstanding the absence of sculptures. Helmed by three relatively unknown curators, its display demarcated by decades project a lazy arrangement, exacerbated by dry catalogue essays keen on name-dropping and describing perceived styles. The thick catalogue bizarrely includes quotes by Edgar Degas and Francis Bacon, while the museum director’s statements that “(t)his is timeless and placeless art”, and “the definitive exhibition in its field”, compromise further my viewing experience.

Ibrahim Hussein – Freeze (1965) [@ Sasana Kijang]

At ILHAM, “Gerak Rupa Ubur Penyataan 1957–1973” presents works by seven artists who participated in a 1967 group exhibition, i.e. GRUP, whom are now recognized as pioneers of Malaysian modern art. The timeline stated in the exhibition title, however, refers to a sideshow about the development of arts infrastructure, which exhibits are culled from “Manifest: Modernism of Merdeka” held at Galeri Petronas three months earlier. Worth noting also is the show “reGRUP – 30 years on” held at Valentine Willie Fine Art two decades ago, which gallery namesake is now the creative director of ILHAM. Within the exhibition, another sideshow features a collection of Latiff Mohidin’s “Pago-Pago” drawings – some belonging in Valentine’s collection – that coincidentally fits nicely with the exhibition’s curatorial theme to “…(trace) the emergence of modern art as a cultural phenomenon.”

Cheong Laitong – Malaysia Merdeka (1962) [@ ILHAM]

In an interview with BFM, co-curator Simon Soon speaks about the emergence of the “full-time professional artist” during this time, thereby providing an instructive lens in viewing this exhibition. Wong Hoy Cheong wrote in the “reGRUP” catalogue essay, about “…a yard-stick for success is something less tangible – the artist as a mythical hero and art as a mystical venture. All the artists in the disbanded GRUP have cultivated this aura to varying degrees…” Between the lavish celebrity of Ibrahim Hussein (implied via ‘Paul’ displayed at the beginning of the gallery hang), and the poetic hippiness of Latiff (one known to trade-in works to maintain his livelihood in the late 1960s/ early 1970s), the remaining exhibiting artists attain social statuses via roles as art educators, bureaucrats, or in Cheong Laitong’s case, a lengthy career as the creative director of an international tobacco company.

Installation snapshot: [foreground] Anthony Lau – Spirit of the Fire (1960), [background, from l to r] Jolly Koh – Wanda II (1969); Syed Ahmad Jamal – Timang (1963); Ibrahim Hussein – Red and Purple Interludes (1973) [@ ILHAM]

Soft colours in Jin Leng’s dull paintings aside, mysterious qualities manifest in most exhibited artworks. I gaze into the cracks of Anthony Lau’s wooden ‘Spirit of the Fire’, and reflect upon the use of diamond shapes in constructing the metal ‘Cockerel’. Three of Lai Tong’s paintings diverge in style but united in its enigma – the dirty rough texture of ‘Bird Forms’ that recall Chen Wen Hsi, ‘Malaysia Merdeka’ and its sinister crevices, and the definitive brushstrokes depicting ‘Life, Public & Private’. Comparing Latiff’s oil painting ‘Tropika’ with its much smaller watercolour sketch, I notice the differences that bring into focus the artist’s ongoing attention, towards drawing the interior/ exterior of things. Hung opposite is the unexpectedly contemporary-looking ‘Mindscape IV’, its oblong-shaped cut-out depicting the silhouette of mobile phone screens.

Latiff Mohidin: [from l to r] Tropika, Kuala Lumpur (1968); Tropika (1969) [@ ILHAM]

The calligraphic stroke is the subject matter in Syed Ahmad Jamal’s ‘Tulisan’, the most intriguing display at ILHAM. In Izmer Ahmad’s and Elham Shafaei Darestan’s enlightening essay The Calligraphic Subject: The Body and Social Power in Malaysian ‘Abstract Expressionism’, gestural expression (evident in many exhibits here) is described as “…rooted in an affirmation of social power that seeps into the body and animates the painter.” ‘Tulisan’ employs the naskh cursive Arabic script, found also on the Batu Bersurat Terengganu. Looking at the incongruous colours and crude marks, it becomes clear what the essay espouses is true, that “(t)he painter’s gesture on the canvas is proof of the body that is offered to ideological force of calligraphy that domesticates the body into a community.” One’s writing, is a product of one’s training, is a product of one’s ideology.

Syed Ahmad Jamal – Tulisan (1961) [@ ILHAM]

“The painting does not present a recognizable symbol but appears to be what would generally be termed as expressive or spontaneous. It hardly resembles its prototype, the letter ج. (…) What is important is the act of painting the letter itself, hence the title Tulisan. This assertion seems to undermine the formalist ideology of the cursive script and convey a full authority of the painter over his ‘creation’. However, such view is nullified by the notion of ‘cultural habit’; what appears to be ‘expressive’ and ‘spontaneous’ notation is in fact a manifestation of a convention at work. The form that Tulisan assumes is grounded in a practice known among Islamic calligraphers as mashq, the disciplined scribbling or constant application of an interrupted movement. The act defines the foundation of calligraphy, for “the constant application of mashq improves the hand writing”.”

– Izmer Ahmad and Elham Shafaei Darestani. 2017. The Calligraphic Subject: The Body and Social Power in Malaysian ‘Abstract Expressionism’. Wacana Seni Journal of Arts Discourse 16: 35–68.

Installation snapshot of ‘The 1980s’ section: [from l to r] Syed Ahmad Jamal – Tun Mamat Mendaki Himalaya (1984); Sharifah Fatimah Syed Zubir – Like a Piece of Sunshine (1981); Yusof Ghani – Siri Tari V (1985) [@ Sasana Kijang]

At his exhibition of recent works in White Box, Publika, Jolly Koh proclaims, that “Modern Art in Malaysia is 100% foreign influence.” In the subsequent radio interview, the artist says that “this is the best show Malaysians will be able to see in a long, long time”, and “…the curator’s job is not very difficult”. The timing of Jolly’s solo show coincides with “The Unreal Deal” at Sasana Kijang, and “Gerak Rupa Ubur Penyataan 1957–1973” at ILHAM, where his earlier works are also on display. Sidestepping questions about curatorship, quality, and art history, the display of large collections of Malaysian art is still a welcome sight, insofar the interested visitor can make informed aesthetic judgements and expand one’s understanding of the Malaysian art canon. Personally, the 1960s paintings with hard-edged swathes of colours, are easily Jolly’s best work.

Jolly Koh – Road to Subang II (1969) [@ ILHAM]

As compared to displays from the 1970s, paintings such as ‘Road to Subang II’ and ‘Wanda II’ feature unnatural forms and less conventional mix of colours. These works highlight Jolly’s composition skill in creating pictorial harmony, and remain visually relevant within Malaysian art’s current glut of painting (including the artist’s recent decorative works). Such cross-exhibition looking is the greatest joy I garnered, from abstract-themed exhibitions showing in town at the same time. Mentally oscillating between the pictures seen at Sasana Kijang then ILHAM, I conclude that Yeoh Jin Leng was uninspiring, Cheong Laitong is consistently good, Syed Ahmad Jamal was a late bloomer, and the Oxford Blue hanging at the former gallery is the best I have seen from Latiff Mohidin’s “Langkawi” series. Unfortunately, Ibrahim Hussein works presented at both places fail to impress.

Yeoh Jin Leng – Human Rot (1968) [@ ILHAM]

Jolly recalled that only two works sold in the 1967 GRUP exhibition; Curiously, no current exhibit is indicated to be from that exhibition. 1967 was also the year Valerie Solanas published the feminist SCUM Manifesto in New York, where Ibrahim resided at the time. “The Unreal Deal”, then, is the delightful patterns by Sivam Selvaratnam, hung between works by Syed Ahmad and Laitong. Along with Sharifah Fatimah Syed Zubir, these two are the only female artists featured in this survey show. While one can suggest the link between American Abstract Expressionism and machoism as a reference point, it appears to myself as plain lazy curatorial efforts. That an explication of potential subject matter related to Malaysian abstract art – overseas education, Merdeka euphoria, collector demographics, religious teachings, Robert Rauschenberg – is entirely absent in this survey, is abysmal.

Sivam Selvaratnam – Symphony (1969) [@ Sasana Kijang]

Twenty years ago, Wong Hoy Cheong wrote in the “reGRUP” catalogue essay, that “(t)he beliefs of these artists in the quintessential and authentic might appear archaic and naïve in this age of cyberspace and genetic cloning. However, what they propagated, formulated, and instituted were significant because for the first time in the history of the visual arts and art education, a set of reference points and pedagogic tools were made available to be appraised or debunked.” In both exhibitions, pedagogical lineage marks the continuity and relevance of abstract representation, a deficient notion given that many renown local artists are still turning out homogenous works for frivolous collectors.

Installation snapshot of Awang Damit Ahmad: [from l to r] Essence of Culture "Ingatan Waktu Kecil (1987); E.O.C Series "Childhood Memory" (1988) [@ Sasana Kijang]

‘The 2010s’ section presents attractive contemporary interpretations. Mesmerizing compositions and visual beauty describe mature expressions by Sabri Idrus and Hamidi Hadi. In contrast, poor choice of works (surely better material can be culled for a museum display?) by Shafarin Ghani and Yeoh Choo Kuan, under-represent the skilful approaches of both artists. The most interesting display belongs to Ajim Juxta. ‘Tugu: Gelap Misteri’ combines painting techniques seen in preceding exhibits – expressionist strokes, blended colours, splashed dots, monumental forms, geometric outlines, and ripped canvases. Ajim’s works are showcased at international art fairs and local museums, but are also found at neighbourhood cafés. Is it decorative? Is it evocative? is it ground breaking? Whatever one’s answer, the fact that Ajim’s work is categorized as abstract has absolutely nothing to do with it.

Ajim Juxta – Tugu: Gelap Misteri (2017) [@ Sasana Kijang]

In the exhibition statement, Chang Yoong Chia reveals that “…I feel the ideas and beliefs I have held about art are unravelling.” Utilizing his “childhood memory of looking into a well” as a point of departure, the mid-career artist displays sketches, paintings, and poems, which dwell on this evocation. Yoong Chia’s signature painting style and favoured iconography persist – wide-eyed creatures amalgamated into a monochromatic backwood, with the occasional text or object forcefully embedded via plays on visual forms, and a wonderful sensitivity towards countenances. From the arrangement of exhibits, to tiny drawings, one recognizes a face (or a display that looks like one) every time one turns towards his works.

[l] Installation snapshot (2017) of Candy Candy's Left Eye; Candy Candy (Poem); Candy Candy's Right Eye [r] Detail snapshot of Candy Candy's Left Eye (2017)

Sidestepping the familiar, this show offers a repository of Yoong Chia’s responses, to the act of looking and representing. Beginning with the illustration of the physical distance between viewer and well’s bottom (‘Study Note I’), and a depiction of the perceived well (the exhibition namesake), the artist’s compositions then move away from the real to the figurative– distorted portraits in mirror images (‘Mirage’), loved ones emerging from the shadows (‘Cuticle’), reflection of what’s behind the onlooker (‘Cat In The Sky’), amplified echoes of turbulence (‘Beacon’), and eventually, the horizontal expansion of a circular well to encompass one’s lingering (‘The Crab’s Claw (For Capturing Artists)’). Hair is a continuous line, and leaves and wrinkles are exaggerated representations.

Installation snapshot: [top] The Crab's Claw (For Capturing Artists) (2018) [bottom, l to r] Portable H.A.Y.I.A.W II (2017); Portable H.A.Y.I.A.W I (2017)

The black & white presentation intensifies the repressed stillness on show; Fortunately, a couple light-hearted depictions offer respite. ‘The Well Is the Nipple Is the Eye’ presents a straightforward visual illusion, while ‘The Apple Well’ hung nearby, recalls a bunch of human sensations – sweetness, musk, pleasure, guilt, touch, bonding… Unfortunately, none of the animal-related allegories (a regular motif in Yoong Chia’s paintings) struck a chord, which I attribute to the regular occurrences one encounters animalistic references at the same gallery space. As quoted in ‘The Giraffe (Poem)’ (noting too the opportunistic use of Xu Bing’s typeface), “The Giraffe knows not the problems of men (…) it drinks from its image, it does not give a toss”. Keeping a distance from the subject matter is an involuntary episode, when one is un-well.

Beacon (2017)

Among art projects that memorialize the now-demolished Razak Mansion, both Dhavinder Singh’s “Recollēctus”, and the collaborative display “Framing the Common”, sustained my interest more than Leon Leong’s paintings. Dhavinder, who grew up in Razak Mansion, recorded visual fragments from his recollection via found objects and geometric forms, the scale and distance between things translating into intriguing collages. At the architects’ exhibition in Port Commune, the attention to build detail and living spaces, are drawn out and presented in a well-designed set up. While Leon’s works are not any less significant than the two collections of exhibits, his approach is elaborate yet contrived, where emotional response trumps thought-out expression.

Taukeh by Day, Undertaker by Night (2017) [link to artist's texts 'Mixed Rice Uncle']

Leon’s approach started with renting a place at Razak Mansion, six months before the scheduled demolition. The artist subsequently socialized with several inhabitants, then painted these individuals and their lived environs. Despite a realistic impression, most works are visually inert, the straightforward depictions seemingly rushed in its execution. Pictures with clearly portrayed faces – such as ‘Taukeh By Day, Undertaker By Night’ and ‘Aunt With Nephew and Niece’ – project empathy, yet one encounters too detachment in the blank eyes of ‘Boy Returned From Quran Study’. The emptiness is due to the artist’s use of perforated pegboards, which corroborates the installation’s title “Cracks in the Wall”, and draws attention to other exhibits in the same installation.

“Revealing Naga” is a series of transferred images, from murals done onsite based on Leon’s perception of the brick structures, that functioned as brise soleilfor the Razak Mansion apartments. Along with one block of debris, two video screens, and 21 charcoal sketches, the entire setup is exhibited in an open-top gallery with striking turquoise walls. Easily the most Instagram-friendly among KL Biennale exhibition spaces, I observed that visitors were preoccupied taking selfies, and ignoring the wall texts which introduced Razak Mansion and stated the artist’s intention. I noticed substantial engagements only on the third visit, where the addition of booklets with stories of the painted individuals, offered interested visitors a brief insight about the displays.

‘The Departure’ was not up during my last visit, a painting mentioned in a March 2018 article, which supposedly is the final work included in “Cracks in the Wall”. This evolving exhibit contrasts starkly with the still-under-police-investigation “Under Construction”, showing/un-shown behind the wall. In addition, is it not ironic – that an art project memorializing demolished public housing, is displayed in the KL Biennale under the sub-theme Belas Warisan (‘Love for Heritage’)? That the artist, who recounts the “collaboration” with residents, is showing imagined dragon scales on paper parchments in golden frames? Perhaps, these are the cracks in the wall, that one should be looking at.

[l] Evening Routine Of A Bank Programmer (2017); [r] Detail

The lack of electronic security, feels like an aberration, in this city-state. Having stayed in different hotel rooms for four consecutive nights, turning a door knob becomes an unfamiliar act, before stepping into another room with view(s). Spotlights illuminate a floor plan and dark azure walls, while the glow from five video projections irradiate acrylic constructs resembling furniture. Seductive neon colours disperse across the room, creating a mysterious enclosure that describes Sarah Choo Jing’s installation “Accelerated Intimacy”. Each video is 5:55 minutes long and runs simultaneously, where one first hears a line from The Godfather, then a violin composition (played by a boy in concert getup), and ends with a cacophony, then a synchronized door knock.

Installation snapshot

Listening in for a while, it becomes apparent that the dialogue is spliced from famous films. Quotes from Tootsie, Lost in Translation, The Conversation, Skyfall, Leon the Professional, Avatar, are interwoven with one-liners from Taxi Driver, Jaws, The Shining, A Clockwork Orange, etc. In ‘Gerald’, a rotund man sits slouched in front of a flickering television, a black suit and a large trunk lying on the bed (are those pills on the bedside table?) The protagonist picks up the telephone and speaks in a soft, barely audible voice, declaiming screen dialogue from Dead Poet’s Society, In the Mood for Love, Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon, As Good as It Gets, monologues from Citizen Kane and Her, then rambling on with lines from Inception, Schindler’s List, Fury, Back to the Future, and Macbeth.

Snapshot from Accelerated Intimacy: Veronica Foo [picture from exhibition catalogue]

The audio hotchpotch draws attention, to the images portrayed. Besides ‘Gerald’ and boy-with-violin ‘Joshua’, the other characters consist of sexy ‘Brenda’ in shorts and stilettos, typical jeans-and-t-shirt dude ‘Matthew’, and the elegant ‘Veronica’ clad in laced dress standing in a luxurious bathtub. One pentagon-shaped window in ‘Veronica’ identifies the backdrop as The Ritz-Carlton Millenia Singapore; Other room features contribute to stereotypical perceptions of each character. The artist relays in an interview her fascination with hotel rooms – “(t)he anonymity of strangers living next to each other, and that intimate moment of being in the same hotel and different rooms, and wondering about the narratives and the people you’re sharing the space with.”

Installation snapshot

This exhibition features a pop-up bar and a vinyl record player, yet I unexpectedly stumble upon Sarah on a Sunday afternoon, at the gallery counter. The artist recounted about her painting training, how she used watercolours to create a distinct atmosphere, and confirmed the use of emotive movie quotes in her videos. I passed on the thought, of asking the artist for a drink at the bar. My busy Chinese New Year schedule had displaced me sufficiently from the familiar, and I needed to return to my hotel room soon. From the static wide-angle perspective, to an active engaged view. From scripted dialogue, to colloquial language. From painted-over set pieces, to peeling and chipped furniture. From closed distance, to open proximity. From digital, to analogue.

Snapshot from Artist talk on 22 February 2018 at Pop Up Art x Whiskey Bar (with Louis Ho) [picture from astromelian Instagram page]

As implied by its exhibition title, “Accelerated Intimacy” immerses the visitor into a virtual experience, yet the simulacra amplify questions about perception and reality. Is mystery invoked and perpetuated by oneself, worth deliberating upon? Will witnessing gestures and expressions, fill the hollowness of the onlooker? The hotel room becomes a container for experience; Are art galleries not the same? A generic enclosed space thrusts people in it, to seek for a familiar sense. Without shifting, the intimate is found, then lost when one moves again. Watching what is imagined, in a society watched by the imagined. As ‘Brenda’ quotes, with reference to The Prestige, “are you watching closely?”

Installation snapshot

The cavernous Galeri 3A houses a collection of artworks, that purports to be an exhibition titled “Malaysian Geometric Abstracts, and a couple pieces that don’t fit into the other Biennale galleries”. Greeting the visitor is the magnificent acrylic painting ‘Semangat Ledang’ by Syed Ahmad Jamal, and the walls flanking it showcase equally colourful and solemn works dedicated to one’s religious beliefs. Sharifah Fatimah Syed Zubir’s “Mihrab” series features textured collages arranged in sublime compositions; Mohd Noor Mahmud’s creations are caked in layers of pigment-based colours. Along with large creations by Sulaiman Esa and Anuar Rashid, the collection of works in this area invokes a deep conviction that seeing is not knowing, but seeing does help in knowing.

[l] Sharifah Fatimah Syed Zubir – Mihrab Nusantara (Tribute to Sharif Hussein) (2006); [r] Detail snapshots

From the spatial displacement between protruding pyramids in ‘Dinding’, to the woven gold textile patterns in ‘Mihrab III’, to the calculated distances between sunlight/peak/stars in Syed Ahmad’s painting, internalised space is preserved as the space where one encounters the Almighty. Amidst enjoying these displays, I notice a famous acrylic painting by Ismail Zain hanging in the same area, at which point one is compelled to ponder upon the rationale behind such arrangements. As stated in the wall text, ‘Ku Bunoh Cintaku’ is “aiming for artistic detachment” while its ornate patterns highlight “decorative sensibilities”. Is the curator intentionally conflating a Malay-Nusantara aesthetic, with expressions of the Islamic faith, despite the weak religious connotations in Ismail’s work?

[l] Mohd Noor Mahmud – Dinding (2009–2011); [r] Detail snapshot

Subsequent exhibits fall into the general category of “geometric abstracts”. Saiful Razman’s sterile ode to Syed Ahmad, presents toilet paper and medical gauze in triangular and rectangular shapes. Optical illusions and gestural expressions fascinate the uninitiated, while Tan Tong’s sensual triptych ‘Yin Yang Symphony’ is hung far apart for reasons unknown. Tripping over a floor-to-ceiling batik painting by Fatimah Chik, the visitor then encounters a series of sparse and abstruse illustrations by Fuad Arif. Walking past some unattractive tondos, K. Thangarajoo’s paintings attract via its floating orbs, snake-like spirals, and well-spaced compositions. As the artist states in the wall text, these works “encourage viewers to appreciate the diversity of patterns and the underlying philosophies of abstract art…”

K. Thangarajoo – Atomic Dance (2017)

The walkthrough follows into a room-sized installation by Hayati Mokhtar. A blown-up text reproduction is plastered onto the feature wall, its contents about the Malayan Union taken from history textbooks. Monotonous photographs of schoolchildren, with disconnected speakers embedded within the photo frames, line the other two walls. The silence is deafening, as one wonders how this untitled work relates to the exhibition theme Belas Kerohanian (‘Be Loved Spirituality’), an observation applicable to many other exhibits. One’s expectation is tempered, after I read the wall statement: “(i)n interpreting art, we normally ignore spiritual values and scientific approaches.” In appreciating art, one should ignore the wall text, and enjoy the colours, shapes, and spatial projections, on show.

Syed Ahmad Jamal – Semangat Ledang (1999)

When the inaugural KL Biennale’s theme "Belas/ Be Loved” was revealed, cynics deride it as fatuously sanguine and bereft of ideology, as compared to other international biennales. Curator Faizal Sidek remarks in an interview, “(m)ost biennales held around the world revolve around lofty themes that the normal man in the street wouldn’t be able to identify with. We wanted to be different (…) The concept originated from Professor Hasnul Jamal Saidon…” In late 2016, Hasnul (with the National Art Gallery) initiated an outreach program “gemaBELAS”, in which “Belas can contribute in exploring the healing potentials of creative practice.” How much of that noble intention carries over to this biennale is not clear, although Hasnul is in the selection committee.

Installation snapshot of Siti Zainon Ismail – Rumah Waris Uwan (2013) and Kasih Bonda Kampung Paya Kami (2008/2015)

Single-word non-“lofty” biennale themes are not uncommon, as one looks across the Causeway. For its inaugural event in 2006, C.J.W.-L. Wee wrote that“(t)he challenging nature of the Singapore Biennale’s theme (“Belief”), at one level a seemingly universal and global topic, actually escapes the grasp of (secularist) transnational, postcolonial and contemporary cultural theory…” While I appreciate the intent to engage an imagined public, the organizer’s posturing that we are different is off-putting. This difference manifest in the first exhibit I encountered in this biennale – one red room with the silhouette of a cat framing its entrance. Not an animal lover, the story of a saved street cat told through murals and amateurish videos, left me bewildered of its inclusion into this landmark exhibition of contemporary art.

Installation snapshots of Ahmad Sanuri Zulkefli – Merah (2017)

‘Merah’ is a segment from "Stories of Love”, a exhibition category that functions as an “entry point for the audience to experience and appreciate the stories about love…” These segments are typically collaborations with non-artists, and highlight acts of empathy. Some are staged poorly, like the room-sized Ismail Hashim tribute within Galeri 3B. Nonetheless, the results are rewarding when done right, an example being ‘A Row of Beautiful Smiles’ in Galeri 2B. The latter is a collection of household items and photographs, which documents livelihood at a Penan community. In the video ‘Thank You Mr. Tan’, a girl narrates the contributions by artist Tan Wei Kheng to her locale. The acknowledgement is heartfelt, and one assumes that Wei Kheng’s committed engagement contributes to his stunning painted portraits of indigenous people, environs, and objects.

Installation snapshots of ‘A Row of Beautiful Smiles’

Another enriching exhibit is ‘Kanou Moung Hilo Bawang’ (‘Let’s Go to The River’ in Dusun), which greets visitors into Galeri Tun Razak. The installation depicts “(t)he efforts to improve the condition of Sungai Moroli (that) were initiated by the late Jefferin Majangki. Known as the father of tagal, he introduced the tagal system to the Department of Fisheries in Sabah.” I learn that Tagal is a practice to stop fishing activities and promote marine biodiversity, which has since contributed to new eco-tourism activities along river streams in Ranau. Bubble-shaped depictions by Jerome Manjat, overlay a background of sinuous forms by Long Thien Shih, who facilitated the creation (together with Lai Chan Shiang) of two woodcut prints relating to this topic, together with the students and teachers from SMK Bandar Baru Sentul.

Snapshot of Tan Hui Koon speaking in front of: Jerome Manjat – Okon Nopo Itikou Isai Po’Di (Kalau Bukan Kita, Siapa Lagi) (2017); and Long Thien Shih – Water: The Source of Life (2017) [picture from klbiennale Instagram page, in post dated 10th November 2017]

This is the same school where “Gerakan Seni” happened, and one can imagine only positive exposure for schoolchildren, who worked with local artists to create visual entry points for meaningful initiatives. Curator Tan Hui Koon also maximized the installation for the subsequent exhibits that feature fish/water/rocks, resulting in a coherent display at the beginning of this gallery. While not all “Stories of Love” were presented successfully – and wall texts describing love and hope made me cringe – the collaboration with non-artists is a commendable effort. It is unfortunate that these segments do not strike me as obviously demarcated within exhibition spaces (I cannot recall whether “Cracks in the Wall” qualifies as a Cerita Belas, for example), which otherwise would help sceptics look harder beyond the potentially inane biennale theme. Gema Belas!

Installation snapshots of “Kanou Moung Hilo Bawang’”

“Cakap terus-terang je la ya. Sebab kita ni sakit! dan selalunya suka sgt 'cari penyakit' (termasuk yg tulis ni). Ya, sebab tahap kesihatan mental kita kritikal walaupun ramai taknak mengaku. Ada yg suka tunding pd org lain, atau hanya pandai komen, ulas, membahan, men'spin' dan viralkan kes2 mental tak sihat ni saja, selalunya dari satu sumber saja dan tanpa usul periksa. Masalah kesihatan mental menyerang semua org tanpa mengira label di dahi - budak2, org2 muda, tua, org seni, org sains, ahli2 politik, org2 yg mengaku alim, pemimpin, pendidik, pelajar universiti, dll.
Kita semua amat perlu 'saling-menyembuh', sekarang, setiap sekarang. Belas itu menyembuh. Belasah itu membunuh. Ihsan dan memaafkan itu menyembuh. Jomla gemakan belas, bukan belasah. Moga kita semua sejahtera dlm dakapan kasih dan belas. Sentiasa osem, anda semua!”

– Blog post addressing “Kenapa #gemabelas2017?” by Hasnul Jamal Saidon, dated 4th June 2017

Installation and detail snapshots of Shamsu Mohamad – Earth Story (2017)

While KL Biennale organizers were lackadaisical in managing its website and social media platforms – the person responsible for reviewing (not posting) each post should be held accountable – the web content posted by the public presents more care. A hat tip to each of these YouTube channel users (perhaps offering also an insight into what the public is interested in):

‘KL Biennale at the National art gallery’ by BulanLifestyle, published on 12th December 2017

‘#JujueVlogs 🎥 KL Biennale 2017’ by Zulaika Shamin, published on 16th December 2017

‘KL BIENNALE 2017’ by Nur Izz Damia, published on 29th December 2017

‘KL Biennale 2017 || VLOG - 27/12/2017’ by anis sofea, published on 30th December 2017

‘KL #3 | KL Biennale 17'/18'’ by Liaaa, published on 17th January 2018

‘WeekendVlog: KL Biennale 2017’ by syahira rose, published on 22nd January 2018

‘KL Biennale 2018’ by Han Hanan, published on 2nd February 2018

‘KL Biennale’ by meelasia, published on 9th February 2018

Cerita Belas‘Kanou Moung Hilo Bawang’ greets the visitor into Galeri Tun Razak, which exhibits the biennale sub-theme Belas Alam. I wrote in an older post, “(c)urator Tan Hui Koon also maximized the installation for the subsequent exhibits that feature fish/water/rocks, resulting in a coherent display at the beginning of this gallery.” After appreciating Shamsu Mohamad’s beautifully moulded and glossy ceramic pieces, I turn the corner to admire Jamil Zakaria’s dramatic wire mesh sculpture ‘Lubok’, which references a number of Malay proverbs (‘Ada air, adalah ikan’, ‘Bondong air, bondong ikan’, ‘Bagai ikan pulang ke lubuk’, ‘Lain padang lain belalang, lain lubuk lain ikannya’). Three fishing “Traps” by Anassuwandi Ahmad command one’s full attention, so too the sensory pleasures of virtually touching a large rock, as engineered by J.C. Tan.

Snapshots of author’s hand on J.C. Tan – “Techure” (2017)

Tourists and new audiences get to appreciate good examples of Malaysian modern art in the subsequent gallery; It is always enjoyable to re-look at Ibrahim Hussein’s venereal painting ‘Genting’, Joseph Tan’s flat rocks in “Memories of Dungun”, Anthony Lau’s upturned metal forks, and the wonderfully droll figures of Zulkifli Dahlan. Inclusion of the latter’s ‘Satu Hari di Bumi Larangan’ denotes an expanded interpretation of the exhibition theme, and extends legitimacy to Toccata Studio’s and Marisa Diyana Shahrir’s urban-themed black box installations nearby. Nevertheless, the unassuming centrepiece of this gallery space, belongs to the superb installation ‘13/∞: Sg. Gombak’ by Saharuddin Supar, which won the juror’s prize at the Bakat Muda Sezaman in 2000.

Installation and detail snapshots of Saharuddin Supar – 13/∞: Sg. Gombak (2000)

Investigating the pollution of water from its source to the urban centre, the artist documents his findings via an arrangement of maps, leaves, photographs, vials, and charts. The careful choice in the relative size of its exhibits, results in a tidy and easy-to-read experience (except for the small images that are stuck too high up on the wall). Looking at pieces of rock and encased liquids in an art gallery, I recall the typical exhibition that intends to highlight environmental concerns, that are cluttered with information; Saharuddin’s installation provides an outstanding example on how to do such installations in an effective manner. The cynical visitor may relate this work as drawing parallels to zero-sum corruption and politics, but I prefer to see it as a straightforward outlay of a research process.

Fauzan Omar – Fire Gutted Landscape (2009/2010)

The stage is thus set for Bibi Chew’s cut-outs of state boundary lines and riverways, which offer an interactive yet meditative presentation about ground & habitat, and the state of the nation. Multi-faceted works by Lim Kok Yoong and Chris Chong Chan Fui lie in the background of this gallery filled with direct engagements, while technical showcases such as Fauzan Omar’s leaves on burnt plywood, and a lush forest acrylic painting by Johan Marjonid, dazzle visitors. Subsequent exhibits present equally impressive individual output – stunning ceramic bounded seeds by Mohamad Rizal Salleh, Krishna Murthi’s meditative two-channel video about silat practitioners, and the absorbing wall of monochromatic amorphous forms by Tetriana Ahmed Fauzi. These powerful works validate the relatively abstract paintings of Zheng Yuande and Rafiee Ghani, as being representative of the Belas Alam theme.

Tetriana Ahmed Fauzi – Solid Peel Spring Breathe (2017)

Tetriana’s ‘Solid Peel Spring Breathe’ consists of magnified “micro images of seeds, pollen, pistil or stamen from plants and flowers (…) arranged on layers of (semi transparent) industrial or construction related materials.” Her concise presentation contrasts with Atul Bhalla’s installation nearby, which utilizes a typical biennale presentation of filling one large space with objects. ‘To Dvaipayana/ Looking for Dvaipayana (“You always step into the same river”)’ employs an archival approach to depict a personal relationship between the artist (as cultural representative), his home city Delhi, and water. Near-headless portraits and photographs of a funerary procession are visually interesting, but by then I was jaded with the documentary approach in art presentation, which strikes one as superfluous when compared to the preceding single-work exhibits.

Hamidi Hadi – Tanah, Air, Api, Angin (2016)

A sense of sublimity describes the final group of exhibits in this gallery. Hamidi Hadi’s resin blob and cracked paint, recalls a mid-afternoon observation of water spots on arid ground. Like historical relics, Chang Yoong Chia creates objects which aesthetic and utility functions, are transmuted into narratives and time-bound meaning-making. Behind a wall text inscribed with the words Nature is myth where death create life, lies Nur Hanim Khairuddin’s encased manuscript on a rehal. Exhibited sheets depict English and Jawi script describing illustrated Malay talismans and medicinal plants. Another version of this “Grimoire” series takes the form of an accordion-fold book, which “features colourful abstract drawings painted on copies of an old manuscript of Malay talismanic and medical arts…” Unfortunately, the contents were barely legible behind the Perspex screen.

Detail snapshots of Nur Hanim Khairuddin – Grimoire II (1997)

Opposite it, a painting by Thai modernist Thawan Duchanee is given the Bahasa title ‘Tertawan Oleh Tuhan’, its ripping central figure posed in an anguish expression. Do medicinal containers contain a remedy for mental illness? I never figured out Shooshie Sulaiman’s seminal installation ‘Kedai Ubat Jenun’, hence it is always good to look at it some more. Galeri Tun Razak ranks as the second-best display on show at this KL Biennale, after Niranjan Rajah’s installation ‘The Gift of Knowledge’ at Piyadasa Gallery. The selection here features social collaborations, modern masterpieces, interactive zones, spectacular paintings, environmental awareness, multimedia installations, meditative portraits, absorbing works by international artists… If only more galleries in Balai were just as gratifying.

Installation and detail snapshots of Susyilawati Sulaiman – Kedai Ubat Jenun (1997)

For the interested visitor, the second floor KL Biennale exhibition area in the National Art Gallery, presents an incoherent and challenging display. The immersive “Cracks in the Wall” presentation by Leon Leong greets those walking up the stairs. A draped “Under Construction” installation greets one walking up the rotunda, its censored form and state, not made known to the uninformed. Siti Zainon Ismail’s “Rumah Waris Uwan” proposes a visit to one kampung house six kilometres away, that cannot be found on Google Maps, thereby decreasing the prospects of proposed trip. Entering Galeri 2B next, pastel-tone photographs of “Swedish Dads” cuddling their offspring, and other works featuring children are displayed. While Zakaria Awang’s solemn ‘Warkah Buat Anakanda’ is undoubtedly the centrepiece within these small galleries, the remaining presentation is disjointed.

Installation snapshot of Zakaria Awang – Warkah Buat Anakanda (2012)

The cavernous Galeri 2A projects a better first impression, with a presentation of 80-years old paintings by O. Don Peris, along with photographs taken by his son Eric Peris. Unfortunately, Eric’s “Flower Does Not Talk” series is displayed in lightboxes which require the gallery to be dimmed, thus rendering works from the senior Peris illegible (or was this done due to preservation concerns?). The immediate galleries to the left changed its displays between November 2017 and December 2018, revealing the unrealistic timeline curators and artist representatives were working towards. In the final presentation, H.H. Lim’s expressionist painting, surreal cage, and fishing video are displayed, along with two wall hangings that depict human suffering. At this point, it is worth pondering the relevance of exhibits, with regards to the gallery’s biennale sub-theme Belas Insan.

Installation snapshot of Amir Zainorin – Tong Tana (2017)

Small photographic portraits by Diana Lui and Jeffrey Lim captivate, while subsequent white & black box galleries include a variety of public engagement evidence. Before a common thread between these exhibits is established, the show veers off to works categorized under the sub-theme Belas Warisan. Three wooden sculptures by Tengku Sabri Ibrahim stand unsure of its positions, its blurry shadows wavering underneath the spotlight. Patterned constructs and paintings of traditional motifs surround a suspended fabric sculpture by Yim Yen Sum, while selected prints from Ilse Noor’s “Warisan Nusa” series are hung around the corner. The short walkway then continues into, a dark room showing Nasir Baharuddin’s large video projection ‘NT Ext Neuro’. This interchange of sub-themes in the middle of the gallery layout, disrupts an already tenuous flow, which implies a tentative exhibition strategy.

Installation snapshots of Mahen Bala – 222KM (2016–2017)

Squinting at Novia Shin’s tiny creations at the corners of the black box gallery, it is apparent that some exhibits are at risk of being a space filler, rather than a space disrupter. The final two gallery spaces, connected by a passage covered in brown paper, attempts to portray Malaysia as a culturally diverse place. Many works are excellent if evaluated standalone, but as a group, the presentation fails and appears contrived. This area is anchored by Ismadi Salehuddin’s collage of a Malaysian flag, made from wooden scraps. The symbol is as broken as its visible gaps, and casts a sinister light on neighbouring works by Sabah & Sarawak-born artists, and a spectral display memorializing Pudu Jail by K. Azril Ismail. In the preceding gallery, heroic sculptures by Raja Shahriman Raja Aziddin, coexist uncomfortably with paintings of indigenous motifs by Kelvin Chap. What was made from loss, and what is lost from made?

Installation snapshots of Galeri 2A, with works by Kelvin Chap, Shia Yih Yiing, Raja Shahriman Raja Aziddin, and Mad Anuar Ismail

I visited the National Art Gallery 3 times in 3 months, during the inaugural KL Biennale. Among offsite exhibition locations, I was at Piyadasa Gallery twice – once to visit Niranjan Rajah’s installation, and another time to attend the artist’s talk. I spent 30 minutes trying to locate Siti Zainon Ismail’s ‘Rumah Waris Uwan’ within Kampung Bandar Dalam. I did not find it, even after enquiring at multiple warungs along the way. At my first visit to Balai, one usher prompted me to register as a visitor by pen on paper, which I assume was the organizer’s method in tabulating the number of visitors, which target was announced as 250,000. I was not asked to register, in subsequent visits. In the first week of November, the elevators were undergoing refurbishment, two galleries were closed, and the open galleries had different exhibits than what I saw during my final visit in February.

[foreground] Bashir Makhoul – Shift (2017); [background] Syed Ahmad Jamal – Lencana Balai Seni Lukis Negara (1984)

In To Biennale or Not To Biennale, Sunitha Janamohanan writes about the “origins and rise of biennales within the context of Malaysia’s aspirations for a world-class international visual art mega-exhibition.” Her two-part essay is concise, and poses the pertinent question, that “(t)o be engaged in a global conversation about contemporary art in Asia is not a metaphorical statement; why stage a biennial if not to participate, and, indeed, steer a conversation about art and art history, and about social issues of local and global relevance? For both arts community and audience, a biennial affords opportunities for intellectual reflection – it is an opportunity to gather not just artists, but leading curators, thinkers, academics and public intellectuals, to ruminate on pressing global issues. Will the Kuala Lumpur Biennale do this? Can it?”

Bayu Utomo Radjikin – Mata Musafir Hati (2007)

As a member of the public, the opportunity “to gather…” and “a global conversation” seems absent here. In Biennials: Four Fundamentals, Many Variations, Terry Smith writes about the distinctive features of global biennales, which include “(b)iennials as infrastructure builders”, and “(b)eing events, rather than primarily an assembly of art objects on display, is what makes biennials contemporary.” Despite its long list of sponsors and partners, it appears that this event is under-budgeted. Program booklets were non-existent, relatively few auxiliary events were organized, and new commissions were minimal (a shocking revelation: a biennial is typically defined as a “mega-exhibition of contemporary art”). If refurbishing an old elevator shaft can only be done via holding a significant event (such as a biennial), that speaks volumes about the role of Malaysia’s art institution under this administration.

Tengku Sabri Tengku Ibrahim – Banteng Paca Donata/ The Demi-Gods Blockade (2017)

KL Biennale’s chief curator is Zulkifli Yusoff, who is a well-respected and reputable artist, but does not possess significant curatorial experience. In television and radio interviews, members of the curatorial team speak about the six months, given to them for preparing the exhibitions. Assuming the biennial was first announced two years prior to the actual event, this preparation timeline is ridiculous. The resulting output was uneven, and it is difficult to single out any curator for praise or criticism, because it is not stated anywhere who curated what. The Belas/ Be Loved theme (and its five sub-themes) proved to be a difficult but decent choice, although the organizers did not get to justify the selected theme, since the biennale produced no curatorial writings. As for documentation, one relies on a lousy website and its outdated design, and generic social media postings. @klbananaleh!

Screenshot of KL Bananaleh? Instagram page

The lack of published writings would have been my biggest bugbear about the inaugural KL Biennale, if not for the “elephant in the room”. Suzy Sulaiman’s account of Pusat Sekitar Seni’s “Under Construction” installation, and the (self-)censorship debacle arising from it, ends with a plea for “an empowered (art) ecosystem”. That turn of events deterred myself, from thinking and writing about the KL biennale, during its exhibition run. Displaying typos on artwork signages is one thing; Displaying no accountability for exhibits at one’s premises, is another. Although there are more visitors than usual in my trips to the National Art Gallery, any proclamations that this biennale is a success, will be seen as a bureaucratic and empty achievement. I am reluctant to see another KL Biennale take place, at least not until the organizers project gestures representing Belas. Start with an apology, perhaps.

Snapshot of Under Construction covered in black netting [photo credit: The Star/M. Azhar Arif, taken from star2.com]

“Ajim Juxta’s fourth solo exhibition arkologi: gelap, is an on-going and progressive questioning of the world we live in, and more importantly a reflection of an artist’s questioning of humanity and what it is that drives us. (…) His evolving narrative continues to warn us. With his 2014 Matikatak exhibition, he told us to listen to frogs, or rather reminded us that we have ceased to hear croaking frogs in our padangs, a sign that flora and fauna are rejecting our ways of building and living. Following, his 2016 Unknown Plus exhibition further drew out penghuni distopias, a mirror onto a future where we adopt and assimilate technology to achieve an optimum self.”

- Sharmin Parameswaran, catalogue essay for “arkologi: gelap”

Penghuni Distopia X (2018)

A reflective mood sets in, after reading the above paragraph. Not about dystopian living, but about one’s journey in art. Ajim Juxta is the first full-time artist I met in person, when I first stumbled upon Malaysian (contemporary) art. His illustrations still hang at Artisan Roast TTDI, where I first encountered both the artist and his works, six years ago. Ajim was a prominent regular at the café – which long black is still one of KL’s best – playing the ukulele while taking breaks from sketching. Once, I expressed interest in his work, and the artist gladly showed me a few architecture-influenced drawings, which fascinated me. I frequented the café a lot less, after moving away from TTDI the following year. Since then, my understanding of Malaysian art has deepened too.

Installation view of: [from l to r] (2018) tugu: sarang serabut; tugu: gerbang; tugu: selepas pertembungan

In a radio interview, curator Sharmin Parameswaran speaks about the time, she first met Ajim then invited him to show in a group exhibition, which incidentally was the artist’s first experience displaying his work at a White Box gallery. Over time, Ajim’s presence continues to be felt at the art mall Publika. Apart from participation at its weekend art markets, Ajim proceeded to set up Galeri Titikmerah along Art Row (with Adeputra Masri and Latif Maulan), and now works together with Artemis Art gallery, who carries his works to international art fairs. The artist’s involvement with the Sembilan Art Residency Program, active internet presence, and recent Khazanah-sponsored London residency, has progressively elevated his profile within Malaysian art circles.

tugu: gali (2018)

This exhibition features “Penghuni Distopia” illustrations, some presented at the previous solo; Ajim’s paintings attract me less than his drawings. ‘tugu: gali’ is a notable exception, its clear lines, washed-up colours, and scraped effect, contributing to a crumbling-but-not-collapsed aesthetic. Nonetheless, it is remarkable to observe the artist’s growth over the years. Never part of the establishment, Ajim’s DIY ethos and persistence has resulted in his work now being found on walls in cafés, homes, galleries, store rooms, museums, and fairs. In an egoistic manner, I identify my affinity with Ajim as rooted in our outsider status, where we may never breach the inner circles of Malaysian art. This journey thus far – learning about Malaysian art, for me – has been tremendously rewarding. What holds, in the following six years?

[l to r] (2018) Penghuni ii; Penghuni i; Penghuni iii

How much Malaysian art created up till 9th May 2018, will be put aside/thrashed/repurposed by artists? Should all commercial galleries stage a "pre-GE14" show, for displaying works created before 9th May 2018?

Where will the references to an oppressive regime stop, and to an uncertain future begin?

How many Birkin and cunning animal images will be purged, and how many frogs and AirAsia planes will be depicted? Will political party flags be the new rage?

Who will self-censor, and who will censor? Will big noses and black eyes, replace clowns or a man of steal?

Can Balai finally have a decent website, and a transparent acquisitions committee?

How many histories, can be re-written?

Installation snapshot of Hasnul Jamal Saidon - Kdek! Kdek! Ong! (1996)

This momentous change in government, will shift one’s mindset from a reflex to oppose, to a moment’s pause, for one to assess and evaluate. This pause, short as it may be, will be the biggest change for Malaysians, before expressing oneself. This pause alone, I believe, will help Malaysian art evolve. I do not harbour any hope in politicians, but I do hope that a new post-election art world, will make one practice that bit more care, in addressing Malaysian art as we know it.

Blog post title reference: BFM A Bit of Culture (12th May 2018 episode) “A New Post-Election World”

Nik Zainal Abidin Nik Salleh - Corak Bendera (1970)

Upon conclusion of the inaugural KL Biennale, the National Art Gallery proceeds to hosts several exhibitions, that collaborates with commercial galleries. Happening at the same time, questions abound about the selection process. What was the criteria for galleries invited to participate? How are costs shared, in the staging of an exhibition? What did Balai get out of this endeavour, apart from delegating its exhibition schedule to private companies? As outmoded as the notion is, the museum as institutional recognition is still a notion, worth considering while viewing these shows. From tiny works by international artists, to selling and non-selling thematic showcases, to a memorial/ clearance of sorts, each display is distinctly different. The following jottings are about each presentation, including one opportunistic display by Balai itself…

Exhibition posters at the lobby of the National Art Gallery; Final opportunity to see 1Malaysia logos on art show posters?

“Kuala Lumpur International Miniprint Exhibition 2018”(Segaris Art Centre): A miniprint is defined as a work not larger than 20 x 20 cm, and executed via a conventional printmaking technique (relief, intaglio, planography, and/or serigraphy). This definition is provided by the organizers of the Jogja International Miniprint Biennale, who also played a part in staging this display of 200+ prints by 90 artists. For eyes accustomed to graphic design on monitor screens, the majority of exhibits fail to register a second look. Figurative depictions in series by Mansoor Ibrahim and Derek Michael Besant offer visual continuity, while dramatic pictures by Loo Foh Sang and Samsudin Wahab appear primed to complement imagined storybook narratives.

Samsudin Wahab – Keramat (2018)

“Optimism is Ridiculous”(Richard Koh Fine Art): Natee Utarit writes in the exhibition statement, “(f)or me, Western-style art is (…) everything which exists in its Western contexts (…) My paintings are no different.” Therefore, looking at ;realistic paintings of animals, hung in a dark and air-conditioned museum gallery, appropriates a Western form of art appreciation. The subject matter is posed and creates a shallow perspective, its lush surfaces projecting a sheen on the flat canvas. Selected short phrases are etched upon thick custom-made dark grey frames, the solemn presentation heightening a sense of reverence, that was transmuted from the Western church to the Western museum. Its market value aside, Natee’s paintings portray art which is repressed, a muffling of self-expression tendencies in a self-proclaimed democratic world. Optimism, is indeed, ridiculous.

Natee Utarit – Innocence is Overrated (2012)

“The Unconventional Sculptor: The Works of Vong Nyam Chee 1956 – 2017”(G13 Gallery): The gallery pays tribute to one recently-deceased self-taught artist, better known by the moniker Cheev. The artist constructs dancing figures by gluing wood fragments together, where such additive assembly approach appears amateurish and naïve, especially after one has seen sculptures from the National Collection in another gallery downstairs. More interesting are vitrines filled with hands and carved faces, that emphasize the craft behind the making. The lack of wall texts and round stickers (that indicates sales), offers a stark contrast in presenting art by a single artist, as compared to…

Installation snapshot at “The Unconventional Sculptor”

“Aku: Dalam Mencari Rukun…”(Core Design Gallery): Husin Hourmain creates large paintings that refer to religious commandments, whose previous solo exhibition in 2013 is “…acknowledged as a watershed moment in (…) the genre of contemporary Islamic calligraphy...” The unctuous wall statement continues to describe this body of work as a “philosophical series”, as sketchbooks, mason jars, and large preparatory paintings, contribute to the show’s maximising aesthetic. Isolating a geometric form – cubes, in this case – to express doctrinal reflections appear restrictive, while expressive brushstrokes tend to draw the looking eye, from its centre to the edges of the painted canvas. Which then directs attention to the many round stickers (that indicate reserved/sales), and the hilarious repeating typo ‘Modelling Pace’ in describing the works’ medium (instead of ‘paste’).

Installation snapshot at “Aku: Dalam Mencari Rukun…”

“Meraikan Pago-Pago”: Latiff Mohidin’s celebrated series is the subject of a current display at the Centre Pompidou, which exhibition was co-ordinated by National Gallery Singapore. Balai – who does not have the resources to execute a similar partnership – takes the opportunity then to exhibit its “Pago-Pago” holdings from the National Collection. The 3rd floor exhibition presents more newspaper snippets than actual work, and it is striking how consistent the language of art writing is and has been, across five decades. Chronological facts, artist soundbites, and/or personal adulation. Nabilah Said’s recent review of the Paris show offers more food for thought – “Latiff’s paintings may bear suggestions of totemic structures, but to insist on their primitiveness is to ignore the capacity of modern societies to build new forms of religion, and the dangers these can bring…”

Latiff Mohidin – Pago-Pago Bangkok

“When I went to tribal villages in the interior long ago, everyone was so warm. They invited me to their homes even though they did not know me. They cooked for me. These are the old folks I want to paint. Their beauty is something I want the whole world to see. I feel sad that this beauty is slowly vanishing. Ancient practices in tribal adornment are only seen among tribal men and women whose faces are etched with time: tattoos, extended ear lobes, hair styles, accessories, head gear and elaborately decorated outfits. I hope my canvas can capture all this beauty before they fade away. The new generation has changed. City folk. No longer practicing the ways of the old. The treasure I present to you are moments when I was touched by the natural beauty of elderly folk from tribes in Sarawak.”

- Artist statement for “Forgotten Beauty”

Portrait of Iban Man (2016)

Tan Wei Kheng displays 17 painted portraits at a Bangsar house gallery, the elderly individuals depicted being from “indigenous Iban, Kenyah and Kelabit tribes, among others”. Each painting shows the chest upwards, some close-ups cropping off the top of one’s head, and a couple pictures featuring raised hands for visual impact. The artist’s signature photo-realist style is highlighted via his subject matter – physical textures like deep wrinkles, bright eyes, protruding bone structures, are further embellished by cultural markers such as elongated earlobes and shell-shaped ornaments, woven headgear, tattoos and necklaces. Mimicking a high-resolution photograph is an honorary gesture; The viewer must note the painterly subjectivities to appreciate these works beyond photo-realistic copies.

Portrait of Kelabit Lady (2016)

“Jungle Beauties” present black & white portraits of womenfolk, their clothing illustrated with broad brushstrokes and dripping paint, its stylistic difference from the realistic faces denoting a diminishing culture. Less literal and more effective are the full-coloured portraits with a plain single hue background. Static poses highlight one’s wizened countenance or intricate ornaments, while dynamic postures – a spear covering the left eye of ‘Bulo Engan’, and ‘Jawa Sega’ lighting a joint, in particular – convey an active mode that engages the viewer. These engaging compositions, however, resemble a crossover between fashion photography and National Geographic snapshots. The pictures are clearly attractive, but its visual appeal is drawn upon photographic conventions.

Portrait of Penan Man - Jawa Sega (2016)

As such, I gravitate more towards the portraits painted in profile. ‘Portrait of Iban Man’ and ‘Dotun Ngir (Penan Man)’ present prominent head features in a black setting. Most captivating is ‘Portrait of Saban Lady’, its soft brown background setting off the hardened skin and pursed lips of one relatively unassuming face. Her tight knit cap is carefully recreated, along with the shadow at the back of her head, that lends a noble air to the person illustrated, reminiscent of 16th century painted portraiture. That a realistic painting can confer significant dignity to an ordinary person, reflects upon Wei Kheng and his noble intentions to depict “their beauty”. In these quiet profiles, the beauty shines through sheer care in the act of painting, and it is truly mesmerizing to see.

Portrait of Saban Lady (2016)

A century ago, Piet Mondrian wrote in his essay Natural Reality and Abstract Reality, that “(t)he new plastic idea cannot, therefore, take the form of a natural or concrete representation, although the latter does always indicate the universal to a degree, or at least conceals it within. This new plastic idea will ignore the particulars of appearance, that is to say, natural form and colour. On the contrary, it should find its expression in the abstraction of form and colour…” This abstract sensibility is now deeply ingrained in the typical consumer, who chooses a paint that “reflects up to twice as much light, makes the room brighter & more spacious”, to cover one’s interior walls. The English half of Liew Kwai Fei’s solo exhibition title refers to a product line of emulsion paints that boasts the aforementioned product feature; 得意忘形 describes the satisfied customer, but am I hear to buy house paint or look at paintings?

Installation snapshots of L&S-C3 (2017-18)

In a brightly lit gallery space with mosaic floor tiles, painted geometrical canvases are propped up and hung low along the white walls. The canvases are rectangular, triangular, square, L-shaped, trapezoidal, and a tiny pyramid included for good measure. C-clamps and F-clamps hold together wooden stretchers, upon which linen canvases are mounted. Each canvas is painted with multiple coats of a single colour, the emulsion paints utilized having product names such as Romance, Red Orange, Frosted Dawn, and Daring Blue. These manufactured emotional reactions do not surface, while one looks at the artist’s arranged objects, simply titled “L&S” after the exhibition title. Are these enlarged colour swatches in a pop-up showroom (highlighting samples)? Or are these pop-out showpieces in an imagined neutral space (sampling highlights)? Is the emphasis on modularity, or uniqueness?

Installation snapshots of L&S-C9 (2017-18)

Such contradictions, and perceptive flip-flops, are amplified when one treats these displays as art. Kwai Fei’s works that I last saw at the same gallery space, were medium-sized acrylic paintings. Here, the painting is not flat, the sculpture is not free-standing. What artistic tradition is he working from – minimalism or conceptualism? Is artistic validation drawn from Redza Piyadasa’s painting-sculpture output of the 1970s? Not forgetting too the artist’s creations within his oeuvre, which include many geometric paintings in flexible configurations. In comparison with the latter, these exhibits feature clamps that are hidden only if one stands directly in front of the arranged painted canvases. Looking from another standing position, and its protruding pieces will compel the viewer to move instinctively, or even urge those with a re-tooling habit to reach for the clamps itself.

Installation snapshots of L&S-C8 (2017-18)

Like the casual game Tetris, these modular exhibits engender a desire to create structure or fill gaps, which in turn prompts the viewer to recognize familiar forms from the displayed configurations. A sailor standing on the bow, waving nautical flags. A Milo packet drink, with its short straw protruding slightly. A folded rectangular table placed on its side, with an open leg just waiting to be kicked in. Irritated by these imagined forms, I withhold my thoughts and note the painted surfaces, and its soft muted colours instead. In spite of the gallery's white walls, these colours fade into the background in photographs, an especially undesirable trait for people used to treating art objects as Instagram subjects. It is instructive then, to refer to the folded exhibition pamphlet – which includes droll poetic dedications based on the product names of utilized house paints – and consider a photograph within.

Image of the artist assembling a set of modular paintings, from the exhibition pamphlet of Light & Space 得意忘形

The photograph shows the artist hunched over, his face looking downwards while joining a long piece, to the outside of a larger rectangular piece set on the floor. The artist uses his right leg to support the larger piece, while the white wall and square tiles suggest a living room space. Arranging these paintings requires substantial bodily effort, and each form is joint together tenuously. Its concept can only be executed to a point where practical improvisation is required, hence the usage of clamps. When encountered in person, the work is remarkably solid, despite its two triangular shapes balancing atop one big rectangle. Its inherent sculptural qualities point to the objecthood of painting – as wall hanging, as paint on canvas in frame; Yet typical painting qualities such as composition of forms are emphasized as sculptural 3-dimension constructs.

Installation snapshots of L&S-C11 (2017-18)

This wavering sense between the familiar and the unfamiliar, is crucial in appreciating Kwai Fei’s works. Viewers should restrain any thoughts, that these compositions resemble something, and dwell on the exhibits as art objects. Art history and the ontology of art, are useful starting points to ponder upon, but not necessary. Resisting the notion of art as collectible object, the artist appears determined to make audiences reflect about art itself. Teetering at the intersections of minimalism and conceptualism, this body of work’s greatest strength is also its greatest weakness. An infinite loop of irony may present the ultimate artwork (that resists a single interpretation in any time and space), yet its continuous self-negation as an art object also makes it impossible to comprehend. In the age of digital binaries, this artistic approach feels like a lost cause, albeit an avant-garde victory.

Installation snapshots of L&S-C5 (2017-18)

“The point is that modernism is always on the lookout for the moment, or practice, to which both descriptions apply. Positive and negative, fullness and emptiness, totalization and fragmentation, sophistication and infantilism, euphoria and desperation, an assertion of infinite power and possibility or a mimicry of deep aimlessness and loss of bearings. For this, I think, is modernism’s root proposal about its world: that the experience of modernity is precisely the experience of the two states, the two tonalities, at the same time. Modernism is that art which continually discovers coherence and intensity in tentativeness and schematism, or blankness lurking on the other side of sensuousness. And not on the other side, really – blankness as the form that sensuousness and controlled vivacity now actually take on.”

– T.J. Clark, The Painting of Postmodern Life?, Lecture delivered at Museu d'Art Contemporani de Barcelona in 2000

Installation snapshots of L&S-C13 (2017-18)

At Publika's Art Row, the papu x titikmerah pop-up store provides a lengthy distraction, as its wonderful wall of prints and swag merchandise offer much to see. Mei Kei Ho's sterile take of "Pendidikan Malaysia" is exhibited steps away at Galeri Titikmerah, along with small paintings by Lina Tan taken from "Google Street View". Lina's re-creations of dated images seen on a screen, composed from moving images taken from a car, present a multilayered reality that informs our daily digital experience. Its bright colors and overlapping brushstrokes draw my visual attention, while the pictures itself invoke a long reflection about the ontology of a Google Street View image. A real place is memorialized and validated, by a tech behemoth executing a mapping exercise. This mechanical act is potentially unethical, yet do I second-guess when I type-search a location that I have been to before?

Installation Snapshot

The artist's selected locations are seemingly random, although the paintings can be loosely grouped into three. The first group features buildings in downtown Kuala Lumpur, where architecture take precedence over people and transportation, that occupy the source images. Relatively close takes of buildings - Istana Budaya, The Exchange 106 under construction, a corner-lot warehouse in SS4 - form a second group. A third collection of paintings depicting highways, or buildings seen from elevated roads, are my favorites. Being a regular driver and Google Maps user, it is the long roads where one takes a breather from paying attention to the phone's navigation voice-over. These are the times where the scenery outside is a bit clearer, even if there's not much to see. Google provided this opportunity for me to look, and it is only logical, that I resonate with Google's image of that journey.

Installation Snapshot

With works created across 35 years on display, Sutra Gallery presents a retrospective of sorts for Renee Kraal, a former member of the famed Wednesday Art Group. A number of pieces capture my attention on the first walkthrough, only for me to realize that these works were all made in the early 1980s. Prominent figurative outlines and a palette of complementary colours depict visual idioms, a rather simple painting approach that effectively conveys the artist’s sentiments. From the shadows in ‘City Hall, Where Were You?’ and ‘Forest Devas’, to legs tiptoeing on eggshells, an expression of yearning for justice is apparent. In ‘Prejudice and Discrimination’, a bulky & bruising male body spreads his arms wide, effectively blocking out the face of one female body. His line of sight takes the form of a black horizon; how many female artists have Malaysian art historians left out in its canonizing efforts?

Prejudice and Discrimination (1982)

PRIMITIVE @ A+ Works of Art

Merata Suara @ Projek Dialog

Unreal GRUP (I): Dealing with Abstracts @ ILHAM

Unreal GRUP (II): Dealing with Abstracts @ Sasana Kijang

How Are You? I Am Well @ A+ Works of Art

KL Biennale (III): Cracks in the Wall

Snippets: Accelerated Intimacy @ Yeo Workshop, Singapore

KL Biennale (IV): Belas Kerohanian

KL Biennale (V): Cerita BELAS (AHistoric) Stories of Love

KL Biennale (VI): YouTube Vlogs

KL Biennale (VII): Belas Alam

KL Biennale (VIII): Second Floor Galleries

KL Biennale (IX): First, and Last, Impressions

arkologi: gelap @ Artemis Art

A New Post-Election (Art) World

Gallery Partnerships, and a Pago-Pago @ National Art Gallery

Forgotten Beauty @ Richard Koh Fine Art

Light & Space 得意忘形 @ OUR ArtProjects

Google Street View @ Galeri Titikmerah

A-Ha Moments @ Sutra Gallery