Southeast Asia re-defined in art

It must always happen with an amount of self-importance, an exhibit that dares say it’s about two decades of art from Southeast Asia (SEA). But the Singapore Art Museum (SAM) seems to be conscious of this as well, at least as one walks through Negotiating Home, History and Nation, Two decades of contemporary art in Southeast Asia 1991-2011. A curatorial collaboration among SAM Director Tan Boon Hui, SAM curator Khairuddin Hori and guest curator Lola Lenzi, this exhibit might be seen as a mere survey of art in Southeast Asia (Indonesia, Malaysia, the Philippines, Singapore, Thailand, Vietnam) in the past two decades, except that would be an understatement. In fact this exhibit could be viewed as a (re-)definition of the cultural and artistic landscapes within the region, definitions for which abound in the West, yes? Because that is what’s here, too. After all, an insistence on a regional identity, putting together a representative set of works for the region, also creates its polar opposite, if not its more dominant other. So the East-West dichotomy must necessarily be alive; except the East is even more particularly Southeast Asia here, which in itself is distinct from the rest of more powerful Asia like Japan and China. Now this distinction would kill me were it not a particularly nuanced portrayal of art from the region we’d like to call SEA, one that takes into consideration its contradictions, if not its contraindications, as it were. The search has always been for an antidote for identity creation’s necessary romanticization of nations and peoples. The cure, as this exhibit will show, is the portrayal of the good, bad, and ugly about ourselves, as it is the continued involvement in painful dialogue, if not heated discussion, about the things we hold dear. A SEA of questions on traditions That long title very carefully says contemporary art in Southeast Asia, almost a disclaimer, if not the most concrete of definitions: it happens within SEA. The region is undoubtedly home to countless Asians across the world, but within this definition is the context of the art that is here, even more so the artist’s decision to have a conversation with this context. And what is this conversation like? In many ways, and as with much art, it is a response to tradition and what it silences, the things we take for granted as truth, but which the creative arts are able to question because of the freedom of its form. A few of the works that resonate are those that question gender expectations without easily falling into one kind of feminist or gay rights ideology, and without being too noisy or in your face. Pinaree Sanpitak’s "Noom Nom" (Thailand 2010-2011) for example, is an installation of a whole area filled with soft and flimsy round pillows in black, pink and various shades of flesh that render a woman’s breasts in the most unexpected of ways. But also maybe in the one way that allows for a slow process of surprise, and then a wee bit of laughter, if you are so inclined. A more serious work, if not an eerie one, are three hijabs (traditionally the head garb worn by Muslim women, and a term for conservative dress) on mannequins, rendered by Mella Jaarsma (Indonesia 2000-2001) in different animal skins. The statement is obviously about the use of animals in this context, layered as that is with issues of gender as well, such as when two goats are killed to celebrate the birth of a male child and only one for the female child. But also it is a glaring statement on how the female is covered up in another layer of propriety and expectation, one that is equated here with the violence of killing an animal. Nindityo Adipurnomo’s "Hiding Rituals and the Mass Production 2" (Indonesia 1997-1998) meanwhile looks at the ritual of Javanese women saving fallen hair to create a bigger fuller version of the konde, a hairpiece that’s used to identify them as single or married, rich or poor, and puts them in their proper place in society. Here Adipurnomo quietly questions this symbol of women's place by creating an impossibly large version of it using his own hair in some parts. This powerful quiet with which gender issues are dealt, is also in some of the works that are critical of religion and religiosity across SEA. None of them are in your face, the greater ones you’d walk by almost without noticing. The ones that pop out are those that continue to respect religion, even as these are critical of how it’s changed, or must change, in current times for whatever reason. Michael Shaowanasai’s "Portrait of a Man in Habits no.1" (Thailand 2000) is a controversial photograph of the artist as Buddhist monk wearing thick make-up and holding a handkerchief, looking snootily away from the camera. Members of the Thai Buddhist Association demanded that this be taken down when it was first exhibited in Thailand. It had to be rolled up, as Shaowanasai’s response was put up: a smaller photo of himself making fun of the act of leaving the monk hood. Norberto Roldan’s "Invisibilitus Est 1" (Philippines 2010) also seems to poke fun at Catholicism via a framed old Roman chasuble riddled with amulets, and surrounded in the corner shelves of the frame by empty bottles of local alcohol. Gin, rum, an unlabeled bottle, speak of how Filipino religiosity is able to reconcile stories of the man in the pulpit with the same man who engages in more decadent acts outside of it. More serious in intent, Titarubi’s "Bayang Bayang Maha Kecil #9" (Indonesia 2009) questions the fanaticism and terrorism that’s done in place of religion. Three white sculptures of baby heads with their hands up as if in surrender are carved with Arabic text of prayers and invocations, and are spotlighted on wooden platforms, creating an eerie scene, if not the sense of impending violence, maybe even death. Capitalism and religion meanwhile are confronted by Manit Sriwanichpoom’s "Masters" (Thailand 2009), a series of photographs of life-size wax statues of monks in various postures, all with blurred faces. Sriwanichpoom highlights how idol worship goes against the teachings of Buddhism, yet it is how contemporary consumerism has recreated Asian religions. But it isn’t just religion and gender that capital affects, and there is no form of consumerism that happens in a vacuum. The ideas and ideologies that surround these acts of consumption are in much of the works from SEA, and seem to be reason for its changing. The SEA of changed societies The manner in which capitalism and consumerism, if not the entry of globalization, have figured in the development within SEA is in much of the works in Negotiation Home History Nation. Here, globalization as something societies deal with on a daily basis, in the things we see, what we buy, how we live, is confronted. Transformations in contemporary Vietnamese society are in Nguyen Van Cuong’s "Porcelain Diary" (Vietnam 1999-2001), a set of five porcelain vases painted with comic-like images of TVs, computers, people in seeming chaos. The statement is very clearly about the new technology brought by the renewed belief in global consumerist products. The same statement is in Vu Dan Tan’s "RienCar Nation (Jerry Brown, Juke Box, Woman and Car 1)" (Vietnam 1999) a statement on the cheap consumerist industry of car buying and selling in the context of an unprepared Vietnamese market. Easy access to technology and how it’s appropriated by a market is what’s in the work of Poklong Anading. In his “Anonymity" (Philippines 2009) project, the proliferation of the digital camera as product of consumption is proven to be a form of erasure: all the photos have people in various spaces, taking a photo that flashes in their faces. The ironies given a market tied to tradition but faced with consumerist ideology is in Vincent Leow’s "Money Suit" (Singapore 1992). What he wore to his 1992 performance entitled The Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous: The Three-Legged Toad, which critiqued Singapore’s preoccupation with wealth and America even as it believed in the superstition that puts coins in the mouths of statues of three-legged toads, the suit and shoes made of dollar bills, seem like an old trick that still works especially given its context in the present. But this too: in the original performance Leow leaped around like a toad with a mouthful of money bills in his mouth. The performance of Lee Wen for his "Strange Fruit" (Singapore 2004) project also questions change(d) identity, this time in relation to symbols of ethnicity in the face of consumption and capital. Here, Lee Wen performs by walking the streets as a Chinese lantern. He wears the symbol of Chinese luck precisely to question its creation as a symbol to be sold as such. The creation of the middle class, as a symbol of development, is also in much of the works from SEA. It is for example critiqued by Wong Hoy Cheong’s "The Noveau Riche, The Elephant, The Foreign Maid, Or the Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie" (Malaysia 1991). Here the Malaysian middle class is rendered as changed by the trappings of consumption and development, including the hiring of foreign maids for their children and the creation of white elephants: the unneeded, the ignored, in their lives. The middle class is also dealt with by Zulkifli Yusoff (Malaysia), this time in relation to travel as proof of financial mobility. In "Ahmad (Fuck)" and "Ahmad Pulang Bawa HIV+VE" (1997), the story of Ahmad whose middle class status allows him to travel the world is told, where the creation of a cultured identity is equated with money, and the uncouth is the poor who knows not how to travel. But too there is this: the tragic irony of Ahmad coming home with HIV. But perhaps the most powerful work in relation to development and capital, and the ideologies that changing social classes, globalization and hi-technology create, is Eko Nugroho’s "Jembar Negarane, Cupet Pikirane" (Indonesia 2007), a rendering of people as robots (or vice versa), almost monster-like, which highlights a dog-eat-dog world, in a literal sense. Here it seems as if we are burdened with violence, killing off each other, in the guise of development. The title translates into “Immense is Its Country, Narrow is Its Mindset"; within the painting are these words: “Poor are Its People". Ah, that seems to speak of all of us in the SEA. Current movements in this SEA The beginnings of change that I imagine are the point here, not just in the works mentioned thus far, but even more so in the ones that don’t only question but also re-write history to create an identity that’s independent from the rest of the world. Here, SEA art also involves itself in the creation of a national consciousness that it deems necessary and bound to context. And no, the fact of colonization is not one that cuts across the exhibit, which to me was a refreshing departure from the usual portrayals of SEA as space where everything is blamed on colonized history. Instead what’s here is a sense of more recent history, and how this needs to be remembered and relearned towards a sense of a people’s identity. Manit Sriwanichpoom’s “Horror in Pink" series (Thailand 2001), for example, are black and white photos of the 6 October Massacre, when hundreds of protesting students of Thammasat University were killed by government forces in 1976. In each photo, the image of the Man in Pink is obviously superimposed in everyday poses, as if not faced with the tortured and dead bodies in front of him; he who is symbol of contemporary culture that’s forgetful of history’s violences. This event among others is what’s in Sutee Kunavichayanont’s "History Class" (Thailand 2000), an installation of 14 wooden school armchairs on the desks of which are carved various instances of revolt in Thai history, a reminder of students’ capacity to rebel against the State, the instances that the latter wishes to forget. History is also the subject of Roberto Feleo’s five works (Philippines 2009) in inverted virinas (hurricane jars). Small sculptures speak of a people’s revolt that isn’t in history books: the unsung hero that is Ambaristo, from what’s known as the Basi Revolt against the Spanish monopoly of sugarcane (basi) wine. Tang Da Wu (Singapore) meanwhile is in a continuous process of re-writing history as intuition in "The Supreme Game" (2005-2006), which shows abstract faces of people, dark and happy, brooding and anonymous, vis a vis images of concrete structures and institutions like the Supreme Court and logo of the National Heritage Board. The dynamic is one that’s falsely fun, one that portrays the truth that history is about the every day, even when the institutions think otherwise. In works like Natee Utarit’s "The Western Light no.1" and "Flag" (Thailand 2006) history is re-imagined in retrospect, the vision of King Rama V ruined by the State’s failure to work towards it, the failure only made starker by the faded and worn colors of these works. It’s in this way too that Bayu Utomo Radjikin’s "Lang Kacang" (Malaysia, 1991) makes a statement on the promise of history and its failures. This recreation of the traditional Malay warrior wears discards and scraps instead of finery, an installation about cultural poverty and the continued struggle for a uniquely independent identity regardless. What’s also here vis a vis the (re)writing of history is the state of the nation and the questions about institutions that the different SEA States hold dear: there’s education and knowledge, there’s the individual and the family, there are the economic conditions that underlie it all. The latter is painfully glaring in works like Vasan Sitthiket’s and Sutee Kunavichayanont’s (both from Thailand) individual works. Kunavichayanont’s "The White Elephant" (1999) is an almost one-dimensional rendering of the elephant on the floor, a statement on the deflated Thai economy that was affected by the 1997 financial crisis in the West, an imagination of the symbol of luck and prosperity as flattened by its relationship with a bigger country’s economy. Sitthiket’s "Committing Suicide Culture: The Only Way Thai Farmers Escape Debt" (1995) is an installation of two-dimensional plywood human figures hanging by their necks in the midst of rice husks, startling and painfully true for many SEA countries workers as well. A seeming response to the above conditions is Sharon Chin’s "Executive Toy" (Malaysia 2004), which uses 27 toy pendulums to represent each Malaysian political party. These are lined up, hanging from the same rod, the movement of one creating a wave of movements across all 27, highlighting the fact of disunity in the fight for power, as well as the ripple effect and how it resonates in people’s lives, the ones who aren’t represented here. Education and knowledge is of current interest in SEA as well. The work of Briccio Santos in "Heritage Tunnel" (Philippines 2009) is an open cabinet filled with books, a piece that equally insists on knowledge and the impossibility of its achievement: that shelf of books is infinite, the round shelf has a mirror as base, creating the illusion of endless books to read. An illusion of course, even more so in the context of books themselves being products, impossible to totally access or completely acquire. It’s education providing all the answers that's in the work of Agus Suwage, "Give Me More Questions" (Indonesia 1997). An installation of a cabinet filled with books, and a drawing of a boy crouched in fear in the midst of it; drawings of the same boy on cloth also printed with text, crapping books, stomping on it, burdened by it, questions precisely the answers that these books provide, the fact that these are also but mere official representations of the truth(s) that are institutionalized by the State. In the same way that the State would insist on borders, and here it is questioned. In the stretch of photographs by Yee I-Lan in "Sulu Stories" (Malaysia 2005), these borders are proven false, the idea of an independent history questioned. Instead what’s here is the Sabah Sea as vehicle for cultural dialogue and influence across Malaysia and the Philippines equally, with photos of colonization and icons (Marcos and Imelda for the Philippines) superimposed in full color against seascapes and islands in its midst. Right here we are reminded not just of the instability of official history and institutions, but even more so of the possibility of starting over and rewriting our own history because that’s the only way. SEA identities without romance It’s the only way to create identities, ones that are about our own freedoms, our own liberations. Much of this still has to do with the institutions that silence the truths about our lives as we live it in SEA, because we live it in relation to the bigger global powers. Much of this is still about the search for an identity, except that here it's the painful ironies and contradictions that are highlighted as truth, as point of departure, if not as point of arrival. Jose Tence Ruiz’s "Paraisado Sorbetero (Orange)" (Philippines 2008) is a perfect example of a nation’s relationship with the world. A local Pinoy ice cream cart turned into a gothic cathedral is a displacement of two things that is surprising in its brightness, creating nostalgia for the ice cream of our childhoods on the streets, but also creating such an expensive symbol for religion in the midst of the impoverished that's necessarily context. The cheap street treat is a counterpoint to the expensive church that stands for the poor, but also is ultimately built against it. It's the dynamic between family and migration meanwhile that's in Redza Piyadasa’s "The Haji's Family" (Malaysia, 1991). Here the history of migrant formations as the crucial creators of the Malay nation, and of diversity as necessary to its changing landscape, is dealt with by using various media to create the family image, showing the Haji’s family as layered with cultural influences, ones that can't be easily separated from each other anymore. Current migration and movement vis a vis the question of race meanwhile is what's in Lee Wen’s two photographs in “Splash!" (Singapore 2003). A part of his show The Journey of the Yellow Man, one that began in London where he kept being told that his skin was yellow because he was Chinese, the paint on his face and body is a statement against the absurdity and injustice of racially naming us by our skin colors, something that is taken to that extreme of real bright yellow here. A counterpoint to this might be the installation of Alfredo & Isabel Aquilizan. "Wings" (Philippines 2009) highlights migration that is less about personal mobility than finding community despite racial differences. Slippers from a Singapore prison are formed into three larger-than-life wings by this Filipino couple, who insist on the necessary functionality of art in the context of the tragedies of our lives, and the hope it creates, no matter where we come from. Geographic movement is also in Navin Rawanchaikul’s "Where is Navin?" (Thailand 2007), the artist’s search for identity where he himself is rendered as a fiberglass statue holding up his name. Surrounded by cardboard with his name in various languages, the work highlights the notion of a base identity regardless of where, and despite a changing name. Matthew Ngui’s "Self Portrait: Interrogation of an Image" (Singapore 1999) meanwhile is a form of deconstructing identity that's usually created in the standard self-portrait. Here, only a third of the artist’s face is visible on a piece of plywood that is connected to five other panels connected only by a streak of the stretched face that would otherwise make up the rest of the portrait. On these panels the spectator was encouraged to speak what they thought about Singapore art, in the process making identity creation a collective process, one that’s tied to community. This same community which deems certain art as artists as worthy is what Apotik Komik’s "Under Estimate" (Indonesia 1999) reminds us, as it seems to go against itself. The collective’s statement on the creation of established art and artists, allows for a continuous struggle that isn’t satisfied with any one answer, and instead sees the truth of being always stuck in a box, one that is never acceptable. In this sense, the more crucial question about identity is really this: "You inside, are you still OK?" (1997). A work by Chatchai Puipia (Thailand), this is part of his series of self-portraits that speak of particularly Thai attitudes believed to maintain harmony, but which really only repress painful truths and the critical mind. It seems to speak about most Southeast Asian nations, doesn’t it? This exhibit’s diverse art equips us to struggle against institutions, from the abstract such as tradition to the concrete like the State, both of which see us as nothing but one-dimensional subjects. The goal, as this negotiation on home history and nation shows us, is to continue to insist on our individualities, our identities, which have their most basic foundations in our ability to revolt, from the large-scale collective rebellions, to personal resistance in art and elsewhere. Now that is a wonderful, most powerful SEA to be part of. – GMA News