Art KL-itique

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)

Dominating an exhibition space is one thrilling aspect when appreciating Chong Kim Chiew’s work, and his latest solo show does not disappoint. Visitors are greeted immediately by small bits of litter on the floor, that one may perceive mistakenly as faeces from the gallery owner’s pets. Upon closer inspection, each ‘Pupuk Kandang’ piece constitutes a dismembered finger fused with a piece of dung. Are these sculptures condemning keyboard warriors, and the amplification of fake news on social media? More likely, it is a satirical take on artworks infused with double-bind meanings and interpretations, that grab attention via a violent representation. The work is attributed to a Zaskia Roesli; Are we looking at a stereotypical creation by an Indonesian artist?

Installation snapshot of Zaskia Roesli - Pupuk Kandang (2018)

The installation-exhibition statement presents the artist’s intent, where as “more international curators cast their attention on the region, presenting its culture within the framework of “Southeast Asia”, Chong questions the validity and authenticity of such projects, but also sincerely wonders whether we can indeed gain insight from outsider perceptions.” Following on his last solo show, personas are created with names conforming to stereotypes of regional artists. Laugh, at one’s own peril. We know that Kim is an American-born Taiwanese – Are Cruz, Aziz, Kuedbut, referring to artists from Filipino, Malay, and Thai descent? The most amusing avatar belongs to its curator Doppelgänger Labor, a literal jab at curators acting as an extraneous burden to artists’ presentations.

Installation snapshot of Liam Smith - We Have Never Change #1 - #4 (2018)

The viewing continues with close-up photographs of mannequins donning Malay headgear, by a Liam Smith – an English resident in Singapore, perhaps? “We Have Never Change” highlights the Caucasian facial features of these dummies, which pictures were shot at the Muzium Kesultanan Melayu Melaka. The portraits collectively pose the obvious question – must presentations of local traditions be supported by a Western framework? Or is there a larger problem, about this question being posed by a Caucasian? Next, one encounters a big inflatable eyeball by a Paithoon Kuedbut, this balloon being one spectacular example about looking – the viewer looking at the artwork, the artist’s creation looking back at the viewer. ‘Paithoon’ translates roughly to cat’s eye in Thai, and points to the metaphysical characteristics inherent in many Thai artists’ works.

Paithoon Kuedbut - Planet (2018)

Descending from a celestial plane (‘Planet’) to something more grounded (‘Inclined 60 Degree – A Space Within A Space’), an upside-down wooden house follows. Visitors are cramped then forced to bend down, just to walk through this work within the gallery space. The construct recalls recent house-sized installations at the Singapore Biennale, where inaccessible spaces are the focus of a work. Aptly, this makeshift woodshed is labelled Muzium Negara Sementara, thereby proclaiming itself as a piece of contemporary art. Produced by an Emran Aziz – curiously quoted as a Bruneian – one assumes this construct presents a critique about local/regional museums needing a shake-up, in all its different connotations. Or is it about the sideways interpretations of artsy-fartsy subject matters, that lack originality beyond its impressive façade?

Installation snapshot of Emran Aziz - Inclined 60 Degree – A Space Within A Space (2018)

The exhibition culminates behind one wall in ‘The Traversal Landscape’, where a 3-channel projection allows visitors to cross within videos through folds in the hung cloth. The South China Sea is often referred to as the unifying element among Southeast Asian (SEA) countries, and this geographical fact acts as a metaphorical trigger to reflect upon national identities and migratory cultures. A snapshot of Kim’s skin flashes occasionally on the third video, which is a slow-motion take of the second channel, that itself is a reverse playback of the first video. Attributing this work to a Filipino (Alon Vedasto Cruz) seems opportunistic rather than planned, as one’s walkthrough from the gallery entrance to the final projection, presents a narrow-to-general view of “Southeast Asian contemporary art.”

Installation snapshots of Alon Vedasto Cruz and Kim - The Traversal Landscape (2018)

Whimsy is deployed as an approach towards the question on hand – how does artists in this region portray oneself, especially when one is swept along international art trends, by assertive curators and bigwig collectors? Kim Chiew’s exhibition title intimates a half-serious attempt at coming up with a curatorial concept for a museum show, that is as vague as it is absurd. Such jibes at institutional looking and presentation, are exacerbated in the form of plastic sheets that demarcate the gallery space, which literally blur the lines of cultural identity and aesthetic inclinations that characterize the Southeast Asian artist. That this installation is located within a relatively new gallery with regional aspirations, only makes the artist’s critique even more potent. Do not/ go into/ the mist do not/ Go back/ To the dark/ Do/ Not stand/ Still

Snapshot of plastic sheet demarcating the gallery exhibition space

“Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

– Do not go gentle into that good night, Dylan Thomas, In Country Sleep, And Other Poems, 1952

Opening the second layer of 'The Traversal Landscape' to peek into its third layer

After its victory in Malaysia’s 14th General Election, the new government and its leaders have been accorded a honeymoon period by most rakyat based on goodwill, to establish better policies and administration. Such forgiving attitudes should extend to the Malaysian art enthusiast, who is swamped with images of new art made with literal references to harapan, and to colours of the national flag. Following on the 2018 Balai program featuring gallery partnerships, Wei-Ling Gallery revel in this opportune moment to present highly relatable works by artists it represents. The exhibition statement reads, “…to explore the symbolic power of the flag as a means to reflect on and extend the rich and complex story of the ‘Jalur Gemilang’ as a potent symbol and a marker of identity, unity, belief, and division.”

Exhibition snapshot

A sense of post-GE14 elation prevails upon entering Galeri 3B, as I look at Ivan Lam’s large, four-panel interpretation titled ‘The Death of a Nation / The Birth of a Nation’. Consisting of strips from its 16 state & territory flags, forms that shape the Malaysian flag is delineated and filled with charcoal, which composition also attempts to highlight the racial make-up of the country. In the confines of an institution recently bogged down by (self-)censorship events, one cannot help but dread another unwelcome incident. In Line Dalile’s succinct curatorial essay, she writes, “(d)oes the act of cutting apart the flag disrespect it as national symbol? Or does it remind the viewers that it is through our minds that we bring national symbols to life and into power?”

Hamidi Hadi – Hari Ini Dalam Sejarah, 9 Mei (2018)

More shabby flags are seen in creations by Fauzan Omar and Hamidi Hadi, although the latter’s ‘Hari ini Dalam Sejarah, 9 Mei’ evokes more patriotic fervour with a message that appeals to the contemporary Malaysian visitor. Cutting up the centre of stretched canvas, indicates a puncture in our hegemonic history. How much of that change is due to suara rakyat? Employing an out-of-the-box approach is Sean Lean, who breaks up the Jalur Gemilang into two paintings and a few railings, which set-up invites visitors to “colour in” the work by leaving cloth hangings. The artist effectively demarcates the wall space into symbolic areas of royal/ ruling/ working classes, which similar intent is evident in Cheng Yen Pheng’s ‘No Colour’. A scroll drawing of monochrome Malaysian-looking people, is joined by thread to another scroll featuring foreign-looking labourers – who is our people?

Snapshots of Cheng Yen Pheng – No Colour (2015)

For its first episode of “Everyone’s A Critic”, BFM radio presenters rightfully noted that the exhibition lacks representation from Sabahan or Sarawakian artists. This public perception is useful, as casual visitors are unlikely to find out, that neither space provider or organizing gallery can be at fault, if inclusiveness was not laid out initially in the exhibition concept. Discussed also are the uncertainty of when exhibits were made (I suspect only three were completed post-GE14), the relevance of Rajinder Singh’s images of Caucasian-looking people with saffron-coloured highlights, and the evocation of “home” in Sulaiman Esa’s large weaving ‘One God Many Paths’. (This piece) “…also fit in with the idea of the teh tarik, of different cultures, and of different people (…) coming together in a space, because the shape of it literalizes a Malaysian space…” Everyone’s a critic!

Sulaiman Esa – One God Many Paths (2018)

Another work that qualifies for a teh tarik analogy is ‘Jemputan’ by Anurendra Jegadeva. Vivid characters posing in traditional getup, present a straightforward picture about modern Malaysian livelihood, although it is unclear to me whether torn marks on the paper are intentional. Less cheery are the hanging ‘Transparent Flags’ by Chong Kim Chiew. Forms of historical Malay(si)an flags are etched on PVC film, which translucent qualities point to a deliberate inconspicuousness, in the Malaysian collective imagination. It is easy to make out the colonialists and the national flag, but who knew that we once had a flag with Belgian colours and a tiger at its centre? And that it was used as the flag of the Federated Malay States, and the Malayan Union? What about the Federation of Malaya flag with only 11 stripes? Was Singapore represented by the white or red stripe, before its expulsion?

Anurendra Jegadeva – Jemputan (2018) with close-up snapshots

The most potent and mesmerizing exhibit, belongs to Hayati Mokhtar’s 17-minutes long ‘No.55 Main Road’. Projected side-by-side on 3 monitors, the centre screen presents a static take of an old house’s interior, while flanking screens project tracking shots along the shophouse, and close-ups of nostalgic objects. Its artwork label provides a remarkably concise statement, but I recommend viewers to spend time meditating on these moving images. Blinding reflections from the two golden 福 ideograms on the wall. Mechanical fan whirring as time passes, interjected by sounds from heavy vehicles, passing by on the trunk road. Beautiful textures of wooden panels and wall outgrowth, with beautiful architectural forms in a decrepit space. The motorbike and the television set, once objects of necessity for a modernising society. Who is going to have teh tarik with ‘Uncle’ Chang?

Installation snapshot of Hayati Mokhtar – No.55 Main Road (2010)

What is the difference between looking at a painting, and an image of a painting? A huge difference, it seems. I walk briskly within Galeri 3A to see its life-sized backlit projections of Caravaggio paintings, pausing only occasionally to reminisce on how some exhibits look better in real life. Produced as a collaboration between the KL Italian Embassy and the National Art Gallery, this travelling show of reproductions is undeniable a crowd-puller, and a cultural export exercise. With the Italian artist’s distinct style, his dramatic life story, and less than 50 surviving authenticated works, many visitors would be familiar with these images. What can we learn from these backlit pictures – is it the scale in compositions? The drawing of muscles, and facial textures? The oscuro (i.e. darkening of shadows)?

Exhibition Snapshot of San Matteo e angelo (1602)

To better understand chiaroscuro– the style Caravaggio is famous for – and his application of coloured oils, one has to look elsewhere. As a pilgrim to the Cappella Contarelli, I had knelt in front of ‘The Inspiration of Saint Matthew’ and prayed the rosary. The red of the saint’s robes, the abyss underneath the table, and the flesh tones of the angel, have a significantly deeper hue, than the one displayed here in Balai’s gallery. Even ‘Boy With A Basket of Fruit’, with its glowing neck and almost 3-D projection of exquisite fruits, looks like a virtual reality replica from the painting hanging at the Galleria Borghese. These pictures are diluted, and the textbook descriptions that accompany it, add up to a dull walkthrough. Perhaps, the real difference is that I am lucky to have experienced Caravaggio’s works in real life, and seeing backlit replicas of it, just will not cut it.

Exhibition Snapshot of Cattura di Cristo nell' orto (1602)

The gallery’s publicity statement for “Yang Lain-Lain” touts Donald Abraham as a Sabah-born street artist, pointing out the artist’s lack of formal training, and “YAK” graffiti tag as his signature. Most exhibits are acrylic paintings on canvas or board, some with collaged snippets, effectively marking this a typical gallery showcase. In an interview with the local newspapers, the artist admits, that “(i)t’s a daunting challenge to go down the gallery path. But it’s a natural career progression”. Visitors are greeted by ‘The Green Monster’, its arrangement of cynical symbols indicative of the literal and boring characteristics, that typify Malaysian paintings making political commentary. Fortunately, this is the only poor example, in this exhibition of fantastic works.

Drifting (2016)

For one with a signature style – his murals within Publika’s indoor walkways are immediately recognizable – there is an amazing diversity in Donald’s drawings of people & things. Numerous characters populate his canvases, and just looking at the depicted heads & faces is sufficient to sustain one’s visual interest for a considerable time. Some are depicted as looking at the viewer, some are in profile, some are from the top, some are turned away. No box heads, animal heads, or rocket heads, are the same. Pursed lips or teeth-baring mouths, are attached to hooked noses or nostrils pointing upwards, while a variety of eyes bear the expressions of shock, calm, detached, alert. A significant feature is the size of drawn figures, which make the works as easy to see as a comic strip, and the symbols utilized are seldom too vague or too specific.

3 Scenario (2014)

The comic strip is used as an illustrative narrative device in ‘Drama’, an approach also seen in one exhibit currently on show at Menara Maybank. “Yang Lain-Lain” includes Donald’s output from 2012 to 2018, which provides the viewer an insight into the artist’s aesthetic experiments. From ‘3 Scenario’ (2014) – a depiction of “childhood, adolescence and adulthood” – to works completed in 2015, its characters adopt a fleshy pink-orange hue and leave more empty space between them, as compared to other exhibits. Perhaps, the artist’s young child was born during this period? White parallel lines reappear in ‘Chop Suey’ (2018), a dense picture where every figurative motif and expressive motive is cramped onto a single canvas. Brick walls & sculpted waves are apparent also in newer works, and the white fill-ins in ‘Street Workers’ present a fresh scheme for colouring figures.

Street Workers (2018)

Such observations are made possible, when contrasted against the three large and bright works completed in 2012. Donald’s approach is described in a recent interview, where he “…imagined what he wanted to paint before putting the base colours in first. He completed the painting by accentuating the characters with black outlines.” This simple statement betrays the multiple layers of design that cover each work, which injects Donald’s work its characteristic style and aesthetic appeal. ‘Untitled (Pompodon)’ is a good example of this approach, where faded neon colours draw connections or patterns in the background, while in the foreground of outlandish figures are illustrated in dark outlines. The immediacy of images recalls a mural quality and its association with street art, yet the inherent contrasts in tone attract the viewer to linger then roam visually in front of the paintings.

Untitled (Pompodon) (2012)

‘Playground’ (2017) presents an evolving and maturing approach, where visual depth is crafted via diagonal planes, and the relatively fewer figures are balanced by a more focused and purposeful depiction. Who is asleep, and who is awake? What do the dark blue and dark green characters (including a Ninja Turtle and a bearded sage) represent? Why is only half the yellow face shown, and where is the handheld revolver pointing at? Motifs with corresponding scale & colour present surface layers, that clusters characters & things into an interconnected whole, which the viewer can then freely interpret. Despite its landscape format and numerous subject, one does not get overwhelmed by what is presented, as there is order in the chaos.

Playground (2017)

My favourite works in this exhibition, are unquestionably the square paintings from 2016-2017. In ‘Drifting’, luminous heads – including a Trump-like profile – surround a bald figure with a paper ship on his head. Alert eyes dart in different directions, yet a sense of melancholy pervades as the spectral character drifts among the crowd. A similar sense of finding one’s way appears in ‘100s of Line’, where a pink character surfs through a larger crowd on a #skatedog, the apparent bravado also projecting an outsider detached from one’s surroundings. This approach reaches its zenith in ‘Running Boy’, where the crowd of figures are densely packed and seem to join and form out of each other. Donald’s design is organic yet forceful, which style approaches a continuous line of stream-of-consciousness drawing. Stress-inducing expectations are a feature of modern urban life, and there is no running away.

Running Boy (2017)

Donald’s images do not nullify, but complement each other with its symbolism and formal properties, a mean feat which many Malaysian artists strive for but do not attain. In a response to a journalist’s question about his personal favourite work, the artist states, “I don’t have a favourite. I love them all. My art contorts reality as I express my subjects spontaneously. This world is vast. And my repertoire is to sing along, capturing its beauty, funny moments and hard facts onto my canvas. But I’m no soothsayer. I just love what I’m doing.” Vivid & colourful, intricately layered, full of character, and well-drawn motifs – there is plenty to enjoy and like in Donald Abraham’s art. By promoting it as street art, the gallery has sold these works short. In short, this is good art, whenever it is shown, and wherever the artist hails from.

Detail snapshots

Billed as “Malaysia’s first photography exhibition by the visually impaired”, the second-floor space features snapshots by seven individuals with differing severities of low vision. How does one who is visually impaired, makes use of the photographic medium to capture an image? What is captured, if composition and technical qualities are put aside, and for what purpose? After the first walkthrough, it is apparent that most pictures possess an oddball quality absent from a typical show featuring amateur photographers. The angle of snapshots taken is lower. Things appear off-centre, yet the focus is intentional. Perhaps most surprising is that photographs do not display dramatic contrasts, a relatively simple approach towards creating visually attractive pictures.

(clockwise from left) Snapshots of Ahar bin Tabe - "Cycle", tactile photography exhibits, "Journey"

What triggered my reflections about photography as a medium, are the displays placed along the windows. 3-dimensional collages made with different textures – hair, rubber, plastic, leaves, etc. – represent the photo exhibits, while visitors blindfold themselves and listen to instructions via a portable set of headphones. When was the last time I looked at a picture of a cat, and thought of the softness of its fur? Or the sharp edges and risk of bleeding, when glancing a picture with rusted nails? Or seeing a picture of a road, a tree and its fallen leaves, that rekindle a memory of a pitstop at a rural town, complete with humid air and light blue sky?

(from l to r) Snapshots of Rashidi bin Abdullah - tactile photography exhibit, "Refleksi"

Organizer Ken Goh, representing the social enterprise Plus Community Partnership, was on hand to brief me about the 10-weeks program undergone by exhibition participants. The lessons – taught by David Lok – dispensed with the history & technical aspects of photography and went straight to cues which participants could learn immediately. A course about light & shadow talks about feeling heat and temperature differences, to deduce the lighting source and which direction is it shining from. Another course relates emotions to music, while identifying textures in making snapshots become a practical task. Understanding this background gave me the A-Ha moment, when marvelling at Jamaliah Mohd Yasin’s (a 60-years old who lost her vision completely) poetic captures taken at the recent KL Marathon.

Ahar bin Tabe - "Kembar"

Collectively, this exhibition provides a fascinating insight, into the potential of the photographic image, beyond its formal or atomic characteristics. What is captured in a photograph, beyond reflected light atoms on a rectangular surface? Beyond its physical subject matter, its cropped compositions, and its colour filters? In contemporary art, photographs typically function as symbolic containers or narrative devices, which formal aspects are utilized for visual appeal. In this age where everybody wields a mobile camera, the idea of photographs capturing a moment in time, seems romantic. In this exercise, one wants to take a good photograph, without considering the formal elements typically associated to a good photograph. What kind of seeing, is believing?

(clockwise from left) Snapshots of Vivian Kuek Chu Lan - "Chinese Art", "Drama Hari Ini", tactile photography exhibits

Who needs a Gallery Weekend, when the Malaysian art scene can self-organize a string of exhibitions and events in a couple of weeks, that highlight Malaysian art? Centred around the annual Art Expo Malaysia, this year’s art fair features a distinct layout, more schoolchildren, and some high-profile regional artists & private collections. Visitors pay RM 10 to enter – a cheap fare for a pop-up Instagram-friendly show, complete with neon signs of local political slogans – and are immediately treated upon entrance to Chen Wei Meng’s subtly beautiful local landscapes of dirt & plains. Tarpaulin maps by Chong Kim Chiew and old paintings by Chin Kong Yee make up the remaining displays at Wei-Ling Gallery, whose inaugural participation in this local event literally occupies both its entry and exit points.

Stewart Macfarlane - Lady Bay (2018)

The Brickfields gallery’s outpost at The Gardens Mall compels visitors with an intriguing ‘bipolar’ showcase by two international artists, where one first admires Stewart Macfarlane’s vivid and superbly-composed paintings, then pass through a dark curtain to ponder upon Dadang Christanto’s grave portraits memorializing victims of a 1965 massacre in Central Java. At art mall Publika, Segaris Art Centre organizes a huge group exhibition with the opportunistic theme “Malaysia: Rebirth”, while its own gallery hosts a tiresome collection of new works by Tajuddin Ismail. Walking past the glut of Malaysia Baru-inspired art, The Sliz’ ‘Mindsweeper’ proves to be the exception and only outstanding work. The rules of the game remain the same, we can choose to restart the game, or exit the game altogether. Click, click, click… boom!

The Sliz - HRÐİ_01_mïNd$W€Ép3R (2018)

Segaris stages a booth at Art Expo featuring four senior artists who are former and current UiTM lecturers, all whom recently had solo exhibitions except for Zulkifli Yusoff. Between Jalaini Abu Hassan’s bitumen applied on canvas, and Ramlan Abdullah’s joints in vertical constructs, there is a sense that the full potential of materials utilized is not realized. A better exposition of art mediums can be found at the short-duration and misleadingly-titled Shah Alam Biennale 2018; Better and nearer, one can visit excellent sculptural and installation art at the “Minta Perhatian” exhibition in the National Art Gallery, while captivating new works by Malaysian artists are displayed in the third floor galleries, via the institution’s collaboration with Wei-Ling Gallery and Fergana, respectively.

Installation snapshot at Segaris Art Centre booth at Art Expo Malaysia 2018

At “Tekad Enam Dekad” in Balai’s Galeri 2B, visitors are treated to more artwork gems from the National Collection, in one winding display that looks back at the collection’s own roots and becoming. There was no shortage of art on show during this extended week, if one knows where to go. For those with art-world connections, private collections were open for viewing, be it in Shah Alam or Ampang. Adventurous photography enthusiasts can travel to Petaling Jaya for a look at Nirmala Karuppiah’s black & white snapshots, or head downtown to 2 Hang Kasturi for a preview of Kenny Loh’s “Born In Malaysia” portraits. Interested persons are spoilt for choice, at a time when landmark museum exhibitions are also held at ILHAM ("Pago-Pago") and Bank Negara Malaysia Museum and Art Gallery ("Seni Cetakan: Lasting Impressions").

Samsudin Wahab - Pohon Kehidupan (2018)

The latter show features prints by Pangrok Sulap, whose solo exhibition at A+ Works of Art includes two large works that embroiled its makers in a (self-)censorship debacle 19 months ago. The Sabah-based collective is rightfully celebrated for its community engagement initiatives, and one could learn much from tuning into two BFM interviews, to understand their views aligning village life with punk rock philosophy (!!). Unfortunately, Kuala Lumpur viewers have unwittingly cast Pangrok Sulap as figures representing anti-censorship in the arts, where the gallery too is guilty in emphasizing this point in its marketing efforts. Aesthetically, the new works with snakes and ladders motifs is kitschy (perhaps denoting that many collective members had a hand in it), as compared to the striking images in the “Ma=Fil=Indo” series shown adjacent.

Installation snapshot of Pangrok Sulap - Sabah Tanah Airku (2017)

The Sentul gallery also represents Chang Fee Ming, whose high-priced paintings hang (and sell well) at its Art Expo booth with a curious cross-shaped layout. Richard Koh Fine Art's booth nearby features scroll paintings on copper by Seah Zelin, which colour palette resembles Dun Huang cave murals. The visual feast turns up a notch at its Bangsar gallery showing Hasanul Isyraf Idris’ third instalment of his “HOL (Higher Order Love)” series, which is less serious than its previous iteration. Symbols taken from video games, food stuff, fine art, and toys coalesce with mesmerising patterns, which wacky result culminates in the wonderfully irreverent aluminium sculpture of one vertical slice of salmon… That is a lot of Malaysian art to see over a weekend (plus some). Who needs the government or a private gallery, to organize a ‘Malaysian Art Week’?

Hasanul Isyraf Idris - Offshore Bar (2018)

For his third solo exhibition, Sean Lean utilizes a presentation format – the triptych – as a starting point to explore subject matters in painting. The exhibition statement describes the triptych as “a pictorial convention within the Christian tradition where a central panel is adjoined by two subsidiary but associated ones…” In a concise and descriptive essay, Line Dalile writes that the artist “…sought to challenge and disrupt its inherent symmetry. Size, style, and treatment of individual panels vary in attempt to create a space of tension and ambiguity, yet still maintain a unifying line of thought, both visually and conceptually, between the three panels in each triptych. Tension is inherently built into the format of the triptych, with each individual panel vying for attention or complementing and illuminating the other, if not both.”

3 (2018)

Case in point: ‘3’, with its left panel a trippy combination of overlapping pink, blue, and yellow circles; the alphabets ‘T’ and ‘W’ seemingly etched on a rusted rectangular centrepiece; and a shortened right panel – approximating the golden ratio – depicting a facsimile of the Googled definition of triptych. The images read from left to right like a visual sobering process – from high saturation pop, to a mundane wash of brown, to language described on a desktop screen. Another form of sobering – to plunge into the depths of dark water – takes place further down the same wall. ‘carpe diem’ pairs one scene of a splashing good time, with a Scorpène-class submarine underwater. Seizing the day, has never meant more to voting Malaysians accustomed to financial scandals and corrupt politicians.

carpe diem (2018)

Sean’s playful takes continue with ‘Prosperity’, the diamond-shaped centrepiece flanked by two scroll-like accompaniments, presenting a crossover of visual cues from Western painting and Chinese tradition. Instead of an antithetical couplet, the pair features paintings of a chubby kid riding a merry-go-round, and sumptuously-painted pig heads hung on a skewer. Is prosperity signified by children, mechanical horses, or abundant food? Is the cost of prosperity, the freedom to capture scenes representing absurdities in modern life? Pleasant live human and gruesome dead animal are not equated or juxtaposed, but act as a visual counterpoint around the title concept. As indicated by the yellow and pink colours in the 福 panel, positive and negative spaces are equally filled in a titular word, and it is up to the reader's interpretation for making individual meaning.

Prosperity (2018)

Confidence & determination, and the opposite traits of doubt & deliberateness, are on full view in ‘Self-Portrait’. Sandwiching all-black and all-white portraits of the artist’s father and himself, is a painting-sized vitrine of certificates and awards. Both portraits appropriate mugshots, as the artist depicts both individuals as equally responsible and guilty, for this relationship gulf. Are achievements on paper good enough to bridge human relationships? Personal desolation turns to news-worthy outrage in ‘BANG BANG’, which depicts a monk holding a rifle, and ready to shoot at a gallery of sitting Tibetan monks. Separating the shooter from his target is a quote from the Theravāda Buddhist scripture Vinaya Pitaka, where choice letters are highlighted in red to visually connect the gun-shaped triptych. The face-off marks a moment of silence, and questions what it means to practice one’s religion.

BANG BANG (2018)

Sean also customizes the “3” format to approximate his subject in ‘The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom’, that dominates the opposite wall. The effectiveness of this formal play is maximized in this floor-to-ceiling work, which towering scale recalls too the origins of the triptych in Western religious painting. A stunning profile painting of a golden seated buddha forms the base, while its head’s silhouette is rendered via a pattern mimicking the buddha’s coiled hair. William Blake’s proverb completes the middle, yet the work’s fuzzy top and visually-appealing bottom, betrays its own sage-like quote. Will the abundance of iconography inspire a reflective viewer, or has stylistic clichés occupied the overzealous mind? This thought persists in the interpretation of ‘Copies’ hung nearby, which three panels feature a print, a painting of the print, then a scan of the painting.

Installation snapshot of The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom (2018)

While the artist is obviously broaching questions of authorship in ‘Copies’ – recall Gan Siong King’s “The Horror, The Horror” project which the artist painted 12 instances of Alan Turing’s portrait – the subject matter here makes for more compelling contemplation. The identical image in all 3 panels, is a portrait-sized cut-out of a video snapshot, taken from Andrei Tarkovsky’s film Andrei Rublev. Played by Anatoly Solonitsyn, the great medieval Russian orthodox icon painter (whose most famous work is ‘Trinity’!) is characterized as a single-minded artist confronting his social reality of chaos & repression. The independent will and to do what one desires, seem to describe Sean too, whose autobiographical imprints are evident in his oeuvre. When an image has been transmuted across multiple mediums, what is left of it? When a painter paints a world divorced from his reality, is he a responsible artist?

Copies (2018)

In retrospect, “3” ranks among the top painting exhibitions I have seen to-date in 2018. Sean’s paintings always project a luscious tone – which colourful underpainting can be seen in work-in-progress snapshots on the artist’s Instagram– while its glossy flatness denote Ivan Lam’s influence. Displaying only eight triptych works, the attractive aesthetic and experimental verve coalesce into a brilliant exhibition, where a variety of themes from East-West dichotomies to political events, can be read more simply as painted structures and formal arrangements. Working exclusively with Wei-Ling gallery only, the artist has not made a splash in the Malaysian art scene, but he deserves far more recognition. After “3”, one wonders what will be the theme for Sean Lean’s fourth solo exhibition – perhaps death (‘4 死’ in mandarin)?

Self-Portrait (2018)

Stepping foot into PAM Centre’s lobby, one encounters broken bricks painted in black, where few pieces stand upon pedestals among its dense arrangement. The horizontal layout denotes a building plan (or an urban sprawl), while its vertical structures raise the visitor’s eyes to a background with two monochromatic paintings hanging on a concrete wall, where square apertures function as windows. For those unfamiliar with Ajim Juxta, the exhibition title states explicitly the artist’s concerns. “TUGU|UGUT” illustrates a disdain for built monuments and dominance hierarchies, yet its wordplay denotes too the conceptual limits of the artist’s expressions. Looking at charcoal-like objects clustered on the floor level, I imagined a thumping bassline to accompany these impressions of detritus, and wondered if moss would grow on these bricks as time passes.

Installation snapshot on the ground floor: (2018) [foreground] Datar; [background, l-r] Tugu: Kubu; Tugu: Menara

It is a surprising coincidence to read in an interview then, that Ajim thought to explore the inclusion of audio elements in this exhibition, but ultimately did not do so due to resource constraints. With works hung across seven stories, this is already an ambitious show; Riskier still are the artistic collaborations Ajim undertakes with fellow artists, poets, and designers. Curator Sharmin Parameswaran describes this element of collaborations, as the artist “passing on his work for it to progress and change in the mind or hands of other artists and collaborators, which inevitably gives or feeds back to him (or not). An experience that also questions of how we relate to each other, the give and take of relationships.” This knowledge exchange results in writings and poems included in the exhibition publication, and formal manipulation of art mediums displayed at the show’s top floor.

Snapshot of jotting with anagrams

The magnificent venue invites visitors to use the staircase, and the hanging of Ajim’s works follow this recommended walking path. Works from the “London Series” – done when he participated in the Khazanah Residency Programme late 2017 – are presented along the stairwell of the first two floors. Ajim’s ink drawings are particularly attractive, where built structures are fused with skulls and living postures. The imagined Babylonia of ‘Sometimes I Kneel’. The gleaming towers in ‘Tugu & Cerombong’. The resting forms of ‘Hunger Strike’. The posed mannequins in ‘Patung-Patung’. The grand curved roof of ‘Worship’. There appears to be a recognition that architecture can inspire awe, yet we need to equally acknowledge the human costs attached during its construction, and its inevitable decay… and fade to black (which visually transmutes to Ajim’s paintings).

Hunger Strike (2017)

While the idea of exhibiting art criticising monuments, in an architectural headquarters is a subversive one, the displays and building features complement each other aesthetically. When appreciating two “Raksasa” portraits, its reddish blood stains are accentuated via the ochre walls visible through windows. The same square openings let in sunlight, which gleaming brilliance is juxtaposed against Ajim’s white or black paintings, inducing visitors to step up to the hung works for a closer view. For the entire length of the fifth-floor corridor, small colourful paintings (‘Asas-Asas’) line its concrete walls, thereby infusing forms and colours into one robust but basic aesthetic. At this point, seeing a painting with red shades (‘Tugu: Tanah Merah’) displayed on a red brick wall, and above an ochre (modernist!) architectural model, feels like an inside joke.

Installation snapshot on the second floor: (2018) [foreground, l-r] Harap; Kelam; Gelap

Jottings of anagrams are interspersed among exhibits; Notwithstanding philosophical inquiries into signs and language, anagrams offer a simple alternative lens both for the creative artist, and for the receptive audience. Several exhibits have titles that allow flexible interpretations, most notably the second-floor paintings – ‘Harap’ /parah, ‘Kelam’ /lemak, ‘Gelap’ /pegal, and ‘Rangka Pegal’ /karang gelap. Critically serious hope? Gloomy & fat? Stiffness in the dark? Such witty titles offer audiences entry points into Ajim’s abstract representations, where straight white lines cut through typically dark canvases, pointing to the presence and wilful annihilation of constructed structures. Collage is sometimes present, colours are overpainted in black, and painterly gestures & effects appear relatively muted. Some large paintings stand out for its visual power, among them ‘Penghuni Distopia: Anak’.

Monomania: Ugut (2018)

This spectral picture, with nearby exhibits consisting of the artist’s stuff in glass jars, result in a fifth-floor display that signposts the show’s walkthrough. Starting from the ground level, one follows an ascending path that builds upon the monumental theme – walking past sketches, drawings, abstract/wordplay, onto metaphorical demons and ruinous phantasms, then an introspective volte-face with “strong fundamentals” (small paintings titled ‘Asas’ /sasa), and the culminative undertaking of collaborations exhibited at the highest floor. The overall presentation resonates superbly with the artist’s intent of neutralizing dominance hierarchies, where the individual ego is intentionally let go at the figurative summit of art creation. That all collaborative pieces refer to the ground and its enduring quality – Syahbandi Samat’s “Tanah Pecah”, for example – contributes to the thematic coherence.

Installation snapshot on the fifth floor: (2018) [middle, foreground] Khazanah Siapa?; [middle, background] Penghuni Distopia: Anak

‘Penghuni Distopia: Rakus’ – one short, wide depiction of tangled bodies – hangs over “Batu Nisan” /ubat insan, the latter a series of works done collaboratively with Sliz. Sprayed graphics and stuck prisms adorn concrete slabs, the assemblages presenting a light-hearted jab at (digital) death, and the act of erecting a monument to memorialize death. “All bodies expire like cities. /Tombstones are the only way…”, begins Afi Noor in her poem After the Myth. Returning, and remembrance, are the concluding thoughts of a conceptual engagement that begins with monument, and threat. In one BFM interview, Ajim remarks, that “…whatever we do now, will end up in a museum…” Here, the monument is the creative act, and the threat, is the forgetting of the construction that makes up the monument. LUPA\PULA

Installation snapshot on the sixth floor: (2018) [top] Penghuni Distopia: Rakus; [bottom] Batu Nisan (x Sliz)

Cult Gallery organized “Halal Haram”, a fundraising show that features a stellar line-up of 26 Malaysian artists. Many exhibits resonate with the chosen theme – from Umibaizurah Mahir Ismail’s ceramic cake adorned with a skull and flowers, to Ahmad Zakii Anwar’s faceless portrait of one in heels & kebaya holding a whip, to Chong Siew Ying’s delightful painting ‘Ceci Nest Pas Un Rambutan’ – each work effectively draws upon a familiar image as a starting point, thereby visually triggering viewers to contemplate on social norms. Striking also is ‘Kipas’ by Yee I-Lann, a bamboo weave made together with Julitah binti Kulinting, that features a cultural motif, paired with a flat black silhouette. One imagines the lively yet serious atmosphere while the weaving is worked on, underneath the breeze of a creaking ceiling fan, where the winds of change follows the rhythm of community. A rump in the lull, hah…

A post shared by Cult Gallery (@cult_gallery) on Nov 17, 2018 at 1:55am PST

After visiting a basement filled with neon lights, then a gallery display filled with busy installations, the walk from Medan Pasar to Jalan Sultan feels like a calm visual breeze. Clouds shield one from the blazing sun, as the coolness continues in Lostgens’ upstairs shophouse gallery. Ceiling fans blow at coloured papers, the hissing sound accompanying occasional photographs of Kuala Lumpur hung on the wall. “Can / Cannot” is an outcome from Maike Häusling’s three-months long residency, and offers a lo-fi yet effective record of the urban cityscape. “Stick colour paper on the wall cannot be called art la…” “Can la, already on the fan mah, got Goh Lee Kwang soundtrack somemore…”

Installation snapshot at “Can / Cannot”

One assumes that more visitors will step foot into an art gallery, located in the lobby of Malaysia’s largest commercial bank headquarters. Yet the weekday lunchtime crowd is oblivious to its presence. Or is it because the exhibition title is too obscure? Most words in “PURE Painting: An Exposition of Non Figurative Art” is incomprehensible to the corporate worker; “UNTITLED: Abstract Paintings” is perhaps a more inviting title. Most exhibits are predictable non-figurative expressions, i.e. colourful all-over paintings with gestural brushstrokes, or geometric compositions. Memorable displays include Lyne Ismail’s immersive “Birth” diptych, and the flat and quirky works of Liew Sze Lin. Despite a marked difference in the application of paints, depicted forms by both artists appear to be abstract shapes, and a synthesis of personal moments transmuted onto a two-dimensional canvas.

Liew Sze Lin – SR135/WPKL/18/AP1 (2018)

Another upstairs shophouse gallery Wicket Art Space hosts “MY[MORY]”, a group exhibition organized by Studio Mekar, featuring 12 artists, and performances from Jalan Dalam scheduled daily. Among the paintings, videos by Chua Kay Lynn screening on small television sets catch one’s attention. In ‘A Childish Bath’, the artist (I presume) covers her face in a round mirror while donning a bodysuit with large dots. The set-up recalls voyeuristic horror, an element markedly different had the performance was done in front of an audience. As a son and a father, the idea of seeing oneself in a child is poignant, thereby surfacing an unbearable truth where actions and thoughts are embodied within the other. What is learning, if knowledge is determined by adults only?

Installation snapshot of Chua Kay Lynn – A Childish Bath (2018)

Having ascended one flight of stairs, the visitor is greeted by a small video recording of a car drive, taken from a dashboard camera. There is nothing much to see, of course, but it is worth considering where Liu Hsin-Ying gets her inspiration from. Drawings & paintings cover the gallery, the purposeful forms and bold colours illustrating (what the artist calls) “…allusions to forms of primitive power, such as caves, forests, mountains, lakes, dwellings, paths, women and red triangles.” A raw sense of urgency, makes up for several works lacking in visual coherence. Most captivating is the “Landscapes”, where green, pink, and yellow lines, draw rich terrains of abstract forms. These pictures pulse with vibrant energy, where shades of hues coalesce with thick lines and deep points. As the artist writes in her exhibition statement/poem, “(t)o fill is an act of painting, direct, touching, and substantiating”.

Liu Hsin-Ying – Landscape I (2018)

There were a dozen 2018 art exhibitions that I would have liked to write about in-depth. But the impetus to document observations about local visual arts has waned significantly, as my interest shifts (again) towards philosophy & aesthetics. It is fitting then, that this shift is triggered by a show itself – Games and Politics at Lostgens’ in May 2018. Organized by the Goethe-Institut, this interactive exhibition of political games, offered a level of visitor engagement that the typical contemporary artist can only yearn for. Its exhibition catalogue includes many insightful essays, which eventually led me to learn more about game mechanics & rules-modding, game designer Ian Bogost and media & cultural studies, then I ended up reading about object-oriented ontology, which then led me back to Plato’s forms, Hume’s copy, Schopenhauer's sublime, Deleuze’ differences… (my brain is fudgy now).

Screenshots of games [clockwise from top-left]: Dys4ia; Orwell; Killbox; Yellow Umbrella

Politics is a valid source of inspiration for art-making, yet it is expected that Malaysian artists’ response to the government change remains muted. The best solo exhibitions are accumulations of creations done over the past few years – as I recall beautiful paintings of faces (Tan Wei Kheng’s Forgotten Beauty), 40-years old expressions of feminist intent (Renee Kraal’s A-Ha Moments), wonderful layers of whimsical characters (Donald Abraham’s Yang Lain-Lain), and the endlessly thought-provoking set up of a triptych (Sean Lean’s 3, likely the best ‘painting’ exhibition in Kuala Lumpur recently). A special mention also to Juhari Said’s sculpture-installations included in Go Block, which wonderful individual qualities of his art-objects, appear extremely incongruent when displayed in the prosaic space of a Kelana Jaya commercial gallery.

Installation snapshots of Lith Ng Yee Leng - In Defence of Pleasure: [left] at In Defence of Poetry, Urban Culture rooftop; [right] at #reimaginekl, 2 Hang Kasturi

A+ WORKS of ART continues to be the most experimental, in terms of offering artists the opportunity to re-tool its gallery space, which Ahmad Fuad Osman and Chong Kim Chiew did so successfully in their respective solo exhibitions. Outside the conventional white cube, group shows In Defence of Poetry (July) and #reimaginekl (November) are notable for its wide variety of exhibits, that reflect also the diverse & overlapping group of participating artists and their art-making concerns. Sophia Kamal’s vivid paintings and Lith Ng Yee Leng’s translucent condom-shaped pieces starred in both exhibitions, and both artists are due solo presentations. Back at the institution, Patani Semasa and Latiff Mohidin: Pago-Pago are educational endeavours organized by ILHAM; The former is especially poignant when one reflects upon the proximity of conflict, and shared identities of people, in this region.

[left] Jehabdulloh Jensorhoh - The Beauty in the Dark Pattani 5; [right] detail

The National Art Gallery, which began 2018 with the lacklustre KL Biennale and a questionable series of exhibition partnerships with local galleries, ended the year on a high with several laudable presentations. Teh Tarik with the Flag (Wei-Ling Gallery) and Di Antara Itu dan Ini (Fergana Art) are two of the longer-running gallery presentations, and well worth multiple visits. The latter show features outstanding works by the likes of Sharmiza Abu Hassan and Lim Kok Teong, while one series of “dark” drawings by Tengku Sabri Tengku Ibrahim recounts the artist's recovery from a stroke, that mesmerizes with its antagonistic narrative and sardonic humour. In Galeri Tun Razak downstairs, Sharmiza’s 1996 creation ‘Retrospect’ – a wall-hung series of compressed train carriages with impressions stuck on its surface – is among the fantastic sculptures shown at Minta Perhatian: Arca.

Tengku Sabri Tengku Ibrahim - The Dark Drawings (2018): [left] 6. Urutan Pertama dan Jin Ahmar; [right] 5. Tersungkur

While the “Minta Perhatian” shows offer a great introduction to non-painting works from the national collection, Tekad 6 Dekad presents itself as “sustaining a collective memory”. Notable sections in the latter exhibition include a room about Frank Sullivan, Loke Wan Tho, and the ‘pioneering spirit’, snippets about H.N. Ridley & the rubber industry, thematic presentations about ‘social contexts’ & ‘Reformasi’, and a final room commemorating ‘The Skin Trilogy’ and art performances. Most of the shows I enjoyed in 2018, were not popular within the established art world, as I continue to question the motivations of local art enthusiasts. The raving support for Pangrok Sulap, for example, is rooted in a made-belief perception of the group as defying censorship, but less attention is given to the group’s DIY activist tactics in engaging & sustaining rural communities.

Chan Teck Heng - Bust of Frank Sullivan

For what it’s worth, I sense an increased interest in local art, evident from seeing more people during gallery visits, and the emergence of Art Seni, who runs paid gallery-hopping tours around town. Local media covering exhibitions have turned up a notch, thanks to Sharaad Kuttan who now interviews artists on Astro Awani, and BFM’s Sharmilla Ganesan who started a program called Everyone’s A Critic. Given the dearth of writings, I created an Instagram account for this blog to document my reading, which also exposed myself to how images & news travel within the local art scene. It remains unfathomable personally, how people can buy or judge art via Instagram, and how many artists seem intent to use it as a marketing tool. Nonetheless, as a new beginning beckons, writing about art seems like a luxury, but it is perhaps a luxury worth striving for.

[left] Sharmiza Abu Hassan - Retrospect (1996); [right] detail

https://rkfineart.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/05/RKFA_Minstrel-Kuik_Merdeka-The-Lonesome-Club.pdf

During my first visit to "Leonardo Opera Omnia" at the National Art Gallery, I was startled by the crowd in attendance. A year ago, the Italian Ministry of Foreign Affairs has staged reproductions of works by the the superior Italian painter Caravaggio, in the same Galeri 3A. The number of visitors then were the usual, i.e. less than 10 persons in a single gallery, including tourists. Queuing up to look at La Gioconda – whose back-lit eyes do not follow this observer – I found the atmosphere pleasantly joyful. Guided tours in Bahasa Malaysia. Observers quoting Dan Brown while comparing Virgin of the Rocks. Baffled onlookers gazing intently at da Vinci's left-handed mirror writings. Who said Malaysians are not interested in art? A different question: are these light boxes, art?

National Art Gallery visitors in front of a back-lit life-sized reproduction of Leonardo Da Vinci – Il Cenacolo (1495–1498)

Famous Renaissance Man aside, the marketing campaign worked, regardless of WhatsApp group chat misconceptions that the real Mona Lisa was on display. Free entry (and free parking). Fully air-conditioned. Cultural sophistication. School holidays. A full day dedicated to seminars about "Leonardologics", a terrible portmanteau that implied art is implicitly irrational. Reports cite upwards of 7,500 visitors a day, for its one-month run. Certainly this is the first visit to Balai Seni Negara ('Balai') for many, and the event coincides nicely with Bakat Muda Sezaman (BMS 2019) exhibited across all three floors in the building. What a great opportunity for the Malaysian public to appreciate artworks by young local artists! Or so i thought.

Snapshot from @tukkura91 Twitter feed on 19th August 2019

During my second visit two weeks later, I was again startled, due to less joyful observations. After walking through the Young Contemporaries galleries, it was apparent that a number of exhibits were rosak, or its presentations altered due to physical interventions. Amar Shahid's songket-covered arcade game was out of order. No ripples formed in Anwar Suhaimi's Jury prize-winning 'Delan'. The LOL-inducing fly I glimpsed on Afiq Faris' mask was no longer found. Nizar Sulaiman's arrangement of stand-fans was noticeably out of position, while a couple of wooden contraptions by Yong Kiam Sam buzzed no more. A stark reminder that most visitors did not even bothered to look, what more see, is when I noticed no one stood in front of my favorite artwork from BMS 2019 – 'Isn't This the World that We Love?' by Syafiq Nor – despite the triptych being displayed prominently in Galeri Tun Razak.

Mohd Syafiq Mohd Nor – Isn't This the World that We Love? (2019)

Social media confirmed that works at the Bakat Muda Sezaman exhibition, have been damaged by clueless visitors caught up in taking snapshots. The pictures & stories are wince-worthy – folks sitting on the vivid constructs of Haffendi Anuar, a thumb drive removed from a video installation, people moving wall hangings, and repeated sightings of paintings being touched or bumped. Even Grand-prize winner Samsudin Wahab was not spared, where the artist's mud-caked ladder was popular fodder to be literally stepped on. The most frightening episode is where one's desire to impress, can lead a person to unnecessarily risk one's life, to sit on a mirror with a rock hanging over one's head. Any instance of these recorded events would make headlines, but not in Malaysia.

Snapshot taken from Facebook post on 19th August 2019

As I am less precious about artworks, what draws my ire is that Balai is not held responsible when a BMS 2019 work is damaged during its exhibition run. It is illogical that a gallery space be not responsible for the exhibits it hosts. Time & again Balai has demonstrated that it has no will (and no power), to be a custodian for local cultural output. Keyboard warriors questioning the lack of gallery sitters, are oblivious to normal operations at the National Art Gallery, where there is no demand for such jobs. Perhaps, it is time the gallery/museum considers charging for admissions, to bring in additional revenue for the upkeep of cultural artifacts. "Leonardo Opera Omnia" was executed as a cultural diplomacy activity. Right now, I am not sure what aspect of Malaysian culture we can exchange in return.

Choo Yan Xin - Colour Rhythm (2019)

The exhibition title and its curatorial thread, derive from a conversational text between friends Noordin Hassan and Ismail Zain, published in the catalogue of the latter's 1988 solo exhibition "Digital Collage". The former questions the use of the word collage in this body of work, in which Ismail clarifies that collage here does not refer to the simple juxtaposition of images, but about "how borrowed fragments of the signified can be summarised in one form or another many characteristics." He goes on to quote two examples which perhaps fit his intention - the Malay pantun with its "pembayang maksud", and the "intellectual montage" coined by Sergei Eisenstein. I imagine seeing a landscape of paddy fields & coconut trees, followed by a 'Tumpal' painting by Syed Ahmad Jamal, which then conjures one packet of nasi lemak bungkus in my mind... or maybe, I am just hungry.

The Wayang Affair - Yield It! Yield It! (1970)

Outside Galeri 2B, a video loop shows local cultural luminaries recollect fondly their interactions with Ismail Zain, the cultural bureaucrat and patron of the arts. Ismail also stands out in Malaysian art history as a writer, with a compilation of bounded texts lying on the table outside for interested visitors. His art output is comparatively small, though significant. Creations done before 1985 are characterised by amorphous shapes and figurative forms, floral motifs and expressive colours describe large abstract paintings done after 1985, and the "Digital Collage" body of work represents a unique & mythical category. While viewing these exhibits, I recall two proclamations by the artist in an undated interview – "Contrapunctal relationship or paying attention to counterpoints and relating them together is the central issue to all my work since 1970." And, "If there are nuances in my work, they are deliberately introduced."

Sketch for "Anak Tiong Suite" (1967) and detail

Befitting the format of a survey, Ismail's early works can be seen as precursors to his post-1985 output. The hard-edged grids of 'Surface Painting No.3' affixes a formal structure, on top of expressive strokes. Brilliant complementary colours in 'Sketch for "Anak Tiong Suite"' demonstrates an accomplished colourist, while yellow flowers collaged on the female figure's dress hints at an early use of "borrowed fragments". One wall of purposeful juxtapositions centres upon the etching 'Monument', and highlights the inherent vertical attribute of a portrait-sized wall hanging. An untitled etching from 1966 presents irregular forms and small bubbles in a landscape orientation, the odd yet significant combination just enough to make one interesting picture. Amorphous shapes appear in 'Japanese Cinema', and recur in 'The Wayang Affair - Yield It! Yield It!', the latter painting resembling a television more than a wayang kulit screen.

Untitled (1966)

Perhaps, the imagined aura refers to the "transmission of inner quality of being", a description Ismail uses when writing about traditional cultural practices as a parallel reality. The parallels drawn here are indicative of his art-making motivations, and his belief in Marshall McLuhan's maxim "the medium is the message". Nevertheless, Ismail is keenly aware that the structures & factors that bring about art extends beyond its medium. He says in a 1986 speech, "Penekanan yang terlalu kuat kepada manifestasi kebendaan, atau kesan lahiriah tanpa mengetahui atau mengambil kira tentang unsur-unsur yang memungkinkan manifestasi lahiriahnya dalam konteks kesenian tradisional adalah juga faktor yang membangkitkan pelbagai masalah." Adapted Hindu mythologies being a popular narrative in Malay Wayang Kulit performances, is a fact surely not lost on Ismail Zain.

Woman Crossing the Stream – After Rembrandt (1968)

While 'D.O.T' offers a complex entry point into the "borrowed fragments" that characterise his later digital prints, 'Woman Crossing the Stream – After Rembrandt' is more straightforward. The Dutch master's work is copied onto a standard sized 4:3 board, the vivid primary colours and spontaneous brushstrokes exaggerating its painterly expression. The model is portrayed off-centre, and together with the colour strip on the left, give the impression that the painted image references a picture from a book. As compared to the original, this figure's legs are cut short and soaked in a scarlet red stream, in turn lending an air of absurdity to a famous image. Rembrandt's 300-years old painting was thought to depict his wife, yet make reference to mythologies of female beings spied upon. Consequentially, Ismail's woman coexists with Rembrandt's image and its lineage, yet could well be one lifting her baju in a nearby rainforest stream.

Untitled (1988) and detail

"Istilah 'arabesque' adalah digunakan oleh ahli-ahli sejarah seni bagi mencirikan suatu jenis ragam-hias berulang yang dikaitkan dengan seni hiasan Islam 'amnya (...) Kemuncak dalam kesenian ini, yang sama ada terdapat pada lukisan didinding, pahatan batu, ukiran dan sebagainya ialah suatu motif geometri yang diulangkan mengikut suatu formula matematik. Ulangan motif ini melahirkan suatu sifat yang dinamakan dalam saikologi Gestalt sebagai "figure-ground configuration", dalam mana positif, negatifnya tidak bersifat mutlak. Disamping itu, pengaruh Islam juga telah menghilangkan entiti unit itu dengan memberi penegasan kepada kesuluruhannya. Arabesque adalah merupai suatu imajan tanpa rujukan kepada yang lain daripada yang menjadi hakiki kepadanya dan berfungsi sebagai penglahiran persekitaran yang khusyuk tanpa makna ikonografi."

– 'Arabesque, bentuk geometri yang berulang', description of the cover art for Seni dan Imajan, Ismail Zain, 1980 –

Gilded Butterfly (1988)

One presumes the repeating motifs in Songket textiles, appealed to Ismail Zain as an exemplary arabesque; Such patterns are spray-gunned onto many of his post-1985 paintings, the artist utilising table mats as stencils. Labelled abstract and decorative by Redza Piyadasa, this body of work was primarily commissions for hotels and corporate offices, which explains its large scale and expansive layout. Shapes of birds, flowers, and architectural flourishes populate these creations, its presence complementing the always-pleasant-to-look-at colour strips. The apparent flatness calls out the object's purpose as an interior decorative wall hanging, and increases its status as commodity, which irony probably delighted its maker. Departing from the norm are the figurative portraits in 'The Marriage of Sultan Mansor Shah', Ismail's last work before he passed away. One can only speculate the artist's intention at this point...

Untitled (1990) and detail

...In his tribute essay titled A Protean Appearance In Malaysian Art, Krishen Jit surmises that "Digital Collage (...) might well be an ironic strategy for Ismail wishes to raise consciousness about how in the decoding strategies of extracting meaning, observation is amalgamated with the observer." This task of decoding is mediated through the Macintosh SE, one boxy personal computer with a 9-inch monochrome display, also the cutting edge of consumer electronics in 1987. Ismail undertakes a pioneering move by exhibiting framed dot matrix printouts on gallery walls, thereby transmuting the binary bits of digital signals into art. This is an outdated concept in the age of Instagram creatives; Nonetheless, clear outlines ease one to dwell upon Ismail's visual semiology approach, and reflect on the appeal of the framed portrait-sized image that we consume through mobile phones, the cutting edge of consumer electronics now.

Vincent (1988)

Published reviews of this show to-date, reify the artist’s intention to make “user-friendly” pictures. Receiving mentions are works foregrounded by Bruce Springsteen, the cast of Dallas, and ‘Malaysian Gothic’, an appropriation of a familiar picture from the American art canon which approach harks back to 'Woman Crossing the Stream'. In ‘Vincent’, the sensual appeal of famous paintings are negated via its low-resolution recreation. Repeating grotesque figures and a posing lady (with Van Gogh completing her formal dress from the waist down!), poses a droll inquiry into the status society confers to masterpieces, and amazingly foretells the recent phenomena of art selfies. Another pioneering move is apparent too when Ismail Zain pairs a Rumi quote with six fading mangosteens, or presents coloured birds flying out from Munch’s Scream, each projecting meme-like aesthetic and humour.

1988 memes: [left] Al-Rumi; [right] The Scream II

Katherine Mansfield's short story The Garden Party portrays class consciousness through a non-linear narrative structure, Ismail's work of the same title featuring masked figures foregrounded by lilies. In a radio interview, organising curator Jaafar Ismail interprets this work as poking fun of the art exhibition opening, an event where the simple question "what do you think?" poses the most discomfort. Exhibited nearby is a curiously related work, 'Tetamu Senja' drawing a collection of disparate images that begins with an invitation to a wedding banquet. Seven pictures are encased in a thick frame that resembles a motherboard, and a clock counts down in each panel as evening sets in. The work's droll effect is at odds with A. Samad Said's ruminative sajak of the same title, and one suspects that this difference is a purposeful subversion on the artist's part.

The Garden Party (1988)

Exhibits outside Galeri 2B offer more examples of Ismail’s deliberate work. Two copies of Roy Lichtenstein’s ‘Drowning Girl’ – itself a mimicry of comic book images and its mass produced medium – have similar speech bubbles but different texts. 'Wanita Lemas' and 'Aku Rela Tenggelam' have nuanced differences, and propagate discrete takes on individual agency. The former acknowledges that it is a (willing) local copy, whereas the latter asserts its status as a (possible) artwork. Hung on the same wall is a newsletter for the Malaysian Artists Association, which absurd pictures and ludicrous art-historical commentaries follow a rich tradition of satirical publications that are especially potent in this post-truth world. 'Backbenchers: saga looks too Japanese' critically dissects a political statement by literally drawing an opposing perspective, this scene/screen-setting a go-to approach within Ismail's oeuvre.

[left] Wanita Lemas (1988); [right] Aku Rela Tenggelam (1988)

One such invisible screen delineates 'Utamaro and Marilyn', where its large shunga illustrates the increasing cultural influence of Japan over America, at a time when the Look East policy was fashionable. The import of consumer products, is concomitant with the import of its cultural output. Ismail injects a local element, by including batik prints into 'Fesyen Antarabangsa Untuk Anda' and 'Kagemusha and The Wax-Resist Caper'. The latter invokes hilarity, where the elaborately-dressed body double is set upon, by pixelated shapes manifest in the patterned fabric. Doubling flower (jasmine? osmanthus?) motifs in bold outlines swirl around the daimyō, as a pair of ganders look on. Ismail's approach in picture-making is analogous with the wax-resist technique, and the splash of red mimicking the crackle effect, exaggerates the point where visual semantics blend then project sensually out to the viewer.

Kagemusha and The Wax-Resist Caper (1988)

Projected shadows 'On A Clear Day You Can See The 14th Floor' infers another non-confrontational USA-Japan battle (i.e. who sells the most cars?) which conjecture I made after glancing the archival materials exhibited. The silhouette of a yellow catfish ('Ikan Baung') is visible in 'Memorial II', its shadow directing my attention to other tropes seen in "Digital Collage", namely insects and plants. Plants, especially flowers, feature heavily in his paintings, and denote the artist's familiarity with the language of flowers (floriography?) A bloom is a literal representation of the state of becoming. It assumes a different symbolic meaning in different cultures, yet its natural ephemeral form engenders too a chance image. I appreciate the chance image in 'The Teratai Network', where the outline of a lotus plant inscribes the basic structure in four square pictures. Mountain and/or spirit, the equivocal sign is distorted in its final iteration.

On A Clear Day You Can See The 14th Floor (1988)

Moving beyond literary sources and obscure tropes, Ismail's choice to create computer printouts is equally enigmatic. Colours are either hand-painted or collaged (some wall labels are imprecise) and unattractive, especially when placed side-by-side with the post-1985 paintings. Like the red roses in 'Happy Birthday Mr. Parameswara', I conclude that the applied colours subscribe to a deadpan logic, that further emphasises the flatness of these prints. A truly remarkable and singular body of work, "Digital Collage" depicts Ismail Zain's belief that signs "adalah merupai perantaraan diantara pengamatan dan hakikat." In a time when the proliferation of images numbs the viewer into submission, Ismail's approach is outdated, yet remains profound and impactful in reminding the viewer to be always aware of visual templates that generate stereotypical interpretations. So, what do you think?

The Teratai Network (1988)

With half its exhibits already taken down 5 months into its 7-months run, "Children’s Biennale 2019: Embracing Wonder" at the National Gallery Singapore amounted to an unimaginative visit with the family. Rudimentary motion sensors, a stationary steering wheel in a stylised boat, throwing balls that only occasionally make chimes ring, a monochromatic illustration stuck up high on a glass wall, and stretching necks to peer at plant-filled dioramas - one wonders how many of the participating artists actually have offspring, or have worked closely with children. That the majority of them are established in the regional art world, hints at a questionable curatorial approach that favours relationships over relevant credentials. While some envy the government support Singapore accords artists, I wonder how many of its citizens are actually able to question critically how funds are utilized in this sector/industry...

Video snapshots taken from Rajendra Gour - Eyes (1967)

...I visited National Gallery Singapore four months ago, when a 90-minutes brisk walk through "Awakenings: Art in Society in Asia 1960s–1990s" did a disservice to the exhibition curators & organisers, and also to myself as a keen audience member. Darn time constraints. Stepping into the first gallery, I was immediately captivated by 'Eyes', a 4.5-minutes video montage of city dwellers, a tentative artist, wild eyes, and whirling sequences up staircases and down (and out) windows. Made by former Radio and Television Singapore film editor Rajendra Gour, its frantic pacing is matched by Toshio Matsumoto's 'For The Damaged Right Eye', where the rebellious restlessness of youth is contrasted against Japanese cultural norms via a split-screen. Along with Lee Seung-taek's snapshots of 'Burning Canvases Floating on the River' displayed on the same wall, these three works outline the making & viewing of this landmark exhibition.

Toshio Matsumoto - For The Damaged Right Eye (1968)

Organised by NGS in partnership with the Japan Foundation Asia Center, the National Museum of Modern Art Tokyo, and the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art Korea, the exhibition focus is unapologetically East Asian. Curators propose 3 themes: "Questioning Structures", "Artists and the City", and "New Solidarities". ArtsEquator editor Nabilah Said's observations resonate with me - "...as I made my way through the exhibition, I found these themes becoming less and less important, and focused instead on the individual artworks and their specific raisons d’être." To assign a metadata tag, the 3 categories that ease my visual interpretations are: Art reflecting on its relationship with the world around it, art capturing a cultural zeitgeist, and art recording a durational performance.

Keiji Uematsu - Tree/Man (1973)

Affected by the initial encounters, I gravitated mostly to exhibits featuring the human figure on screen, or on print. An exception are the playful takes on sense & perception by Mono-ha artists. Lee Ufan's steel cube wrapped in fluffy cotton was a sensual delight, while Keiji Uematsu fighting gravity to lodge himself between thin trees with the aid of a rope, is as irreverent as the act of determining one's formal relationship with the world. Yoko Ono intensifies this exploration in her seminal performance 'Cut Piece', where personal identity and its types (female beauty/ submissive Asian/ staged performance) provoke a sinister response. I recall a disturbing moment, when one audience member displayed an apologetic glee, while wielding a scissors at the stationary artist before snipping off a piece of the artist's clothing.

Installation snapshot of Lee Kang-So - Disappearance–Bar in the Gallery (1973)

Audience participation can manifest a passive resistance, as one imagines sipping makgeolli shots in the white box that housed Lee Kang-So's 'Disappearance–Bar in the Gallery'. The artist set up a bar within a gallery space, during the early 1970s when congregations of people was deemed illegal by a repressive regime. As a reviewer notes, "'Disappearance' preceded Rirkrit Tiravanija's iconic 'untitled 1990 (pad thai)' by more than two decades." The institution's programming refers to this work in staging a happening on its premises, which dance & drinks event makes for an amusing watch, yet devoid of the subversion inherent in the initial work. Another hyped-up sterile presentation is 'Reptiles' by Huang Yong Ping, the paper pulp covering entire walls and burial plots, compelling visitors to capture an ephemeral spectacle instead of questioning its material content...

Snapshots from Wang Jin - Ice: Central China (1996)

...Pictures of burning art by Xiamen Dada - the collective Huang Yong Ping founded - calibrates my attention towards work made by artists residing in Greater China. This exhibition bookends a time frame, when a dense population is actively pursuing material capitalism. One very apt representation is Wang Jin's 'Ice: Central China 1996', where the artist installed ice blocks containing consumer goods outside a city mall, which Great Wall facsimile was progressively broken down by members of the public. Thousands of miles south, Lin Yilin builds then moves a brick wall from one side of a main street to the other, causing traffic disruption in the process. Such daring performances culminate in 'To Add a Meter to an Anonymous Mountain', Zhang Huan's notorious undertaking where ten naked bodies are stacked horizontally like a pyramid, to protest (or commemorate?) the government eviction of their artist community at Beijing East Village.

Video still from Zhang Huan - To Add a Meter to an Anonymous Mountain (1995)

A pioneering performance art piece on Mainland China is Frog King Kwok's 1979 "Plastic Bag Happenings". The Hong Kong artist metaphorically collects anxieties & concerns from passersby into single-use plastic bags, then tie it up for display at prominent landmarks such as Tiananmen Square. Looking at these pictures just days after a Hong Kong police officer shouted 自由閪 at citizens, strong feelings are invoked as I empathise with the powerlessness on show. Across the Taiwan strait, Chen Chieh-Jen organizes a group of five walking, with bags over their heads around Taipei's popular Ximending area. This video record, along with Green Team's news footage-montage 'The New Wave of Opposition Movements', presents a turbulent time of social change after martial law was lifted at the island-state. The authorities, i.e. the police, is evidently present. Freedom, hi?

Installation snapshot of Frog King Kwok - Plastic Bag Performance and Installation (1979, reprinted in 2018)

Pacing quickly past the remaining two-thirds of "Awakenings", one later exhibit that held my attention was Teo Eng Seng's trio of unassuming plaster casts, made when the artist's sister was detained under Singapore's Internal Security Act (ISA) and kept in solitary confinement. Exhibition co-curator Adele Tan writes about the work in a 2014 essay - "As plain and 'incorrect' expressions of space, Teo's D-Cells appear to not only violate conventional compositional and aesthetic values (e.g. the notion of the beautiful) but also foreground ugliness as a more historically appropriate category of appreciation (...) The task of indexing trauma and anger can no longer fall back upon normative solutions (such as realist and allegorical painting)..." The ISA - a piece of law enacted by the Malaysian parliament in 1960 - remains in force in both Malaysia and Singapore today.

Installation snapshot of Teo Eng Seng (1987) - D Cell 2; D Cell 3 - Confinement; D Cell 1 [picture taken from Seelan Palay's Instagram post dated 12 August 2019]

A number of exhibits remind of Malaysian art, that addresses the socio-political positions of its day. Hong Sungdam's documentation of the Gwangju Uprising, recall "The Reformasi Series" woodbock prints by Wong Siew Lee. Kim Kulim's performance of burning triangular plots of grass, made me think of the October 1994 "Warbox, Lalang, Killing Tools" exhibition-event, held at the former Majestic hotel. Striking high-contrast billboards by the United Artists Front of Thailand, project an attention-grabbing aesthetic as attractive as Fahmi Reza's biting posters. A pond of water hyacinths and fake golden flowers by Siti Adiyati, remind both of Ng Sek San's Malaysian Spring flags, and Sharon Chin's October 2013 Mandi Bunga happening at the National Museum of Singapore nearby. As I typed out these perceived connections, a sobering realization hits me.

Installation snapshot of United Artists Front of Thailand (including Sinsawat Yodbangtoey, Thakpol Priyapol, Thammasak Booncherd and Trakul Leelapeerapan) - Billboards (1975, reproduced in 2019) [picture taken from Bangkok Post article by Arusa Pisuthipan dated 8 July 2019]

Have I grown accustomed to the aesthetic conventions of socio-political art, that short-circuited my swift judgements? Do I assign mediums & styles onto a fixed scale, where self-indulgence and public engagement are mutually exclusive approaches? Are individual contexts assimilated into pundit-friendly or academic categories? Does a museum presentation help elevate, or negate socio-political awareness? These are questions deserving a long contemplation, and "Awakenings" offers a significant collection of exhibits, that trigger critical thoughts. Many works remain potent and especially relevant within a Southeast Asian context, despite being created 20 to 50 years ago. Looking at FX Harsono's 'Rantai yang Santai', one imagines that being chained onto an elevated bed of cushions is a perverse prospect, yet an appealing one. Staying woke seems like a breakthrough, but really, we may already have thrown away the keys to these chains.

Students on a docent-guided tour of "Awakenings", with FX Harsono - Rantai yang Santai/The Relaxed Chain (1975/2011) in the foreground [picture taken from NGS blog post by Shaun Soh dated 23 September 2019]

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

DO NOT GO INTO THE MIST DO NOT GO BACK TO THE DARK DO NOT STAND STILL @ A+ WORKS of ART

Teh Tarik With The Flag @ National Art Gallery

Caravaggio Opera Omnia @ National Art Gallery

Yang Lain-Lain @ Suma Orientalis

Sensory Photography @ RUANG by Think City

Mid-October 2018: Malaysian Art Week?

3 @ Wei-Ling Contemporary

TUGU|UGUT @ PAM Centre

Snippets: November 2018 (Downstairs, Upstairs, Abstracts)

Art KL-itique 2018 Look Back

Catalogue Essay: Merdeka, The Lonesome Club, May 2019

Crowded Balai, Muda (Su)dah Wince See

Mem(Bayang) Maksud @ Balai Seni Negara (I of II)

Foreboding Purpose @ National Art Gallery (II of II)

Staying Woke with Children at NGS, Jun/Oct 2019 (I of II)

Staying Woke with Children at NGS, Jun/Oct 2019 (II of II)