Is

 26 November 2024 - Tuesday

In childhood, there isn’t much thought to it besides it being one’s hobby. You were just a child who liked to draw, craft, make comics and learn new bad words to write in the speech bubbles of said comics. You were the target market of overpriced cutesy craftian freebies in glitter packaged pink magazines your parents say no to 6/10 of the time and that was that. How does this child come to the conclusion that they now want a solo show? Well, time is the definitive decider, the intuition invoker, knowledge informer that smiles upon you. Your reasons are yours for you to keep. For me, it is an itch I can finally reach to scratch (Dah besar…) and work upon work upon work of things that do or do not make sense to me anymore piling in the scrap paper drawers of every place I inhibit. Two years. That’s how long I’ve been exhibiting my work through galleries. I have enough junk in the studio to fill many walls and many more floors. 

“Kenyang”, or “Full course meal”, that’s how my quantity was described recently by fellow artists who were discussing the show with me. Now I have the confidence to nod along at these observations. I see it, sure, but I also have plenty of doubt that is no longer satiated by amount. Right now, I need a good dosage of the current truth of my being to take centre stage. My present inquiries and inaginings. Answers and questions and more questions pencilled by sobriety and new news. Hence the possession of new processes, processing, buffering..Surges of energy shuffle between full studio sessions of painting and lethargic weeks of staring at the same shapes, shades and lines. Whenever I feel like it’s going nowhere, I lay on this concrete and stare at a fluorescent tube light that has tirelessly shared its flickering fire with me through series after series reminding me, Five years ago I couldn’t have imagined this life and that I should probably get a new lightbulb. 

27 November 2024 - Wednesday

I'm a professional packer at this point in my life and I can say it aloud. Say it in capital letters: I AM A PROFESSIONAL PACKER, I AM, I AM. Travelling has become an exciting ritual that doesn't equate itself with daunting haunt to me. (Atleast as far as my luggage is concerned; this statement does not cover airport anxiety, in-flight claustrophobia, worries of transportation disruption or public violence outbreak) Get this, in my hometown, I live from a suitcase and it has never failed me. Perhaps its the experience of living suitcase to suitcase from bnb's and couch surfing since I was 21 years old that graduated me with flying colours in this artform. Perhaps it's growing up and knowing exactly what I like, what I need. Before I knew how to create an 'art series' or what that even meant, there were only limited channels available to me where I could express my outlook and input of personalised creativity which included my own physicality. Dressing up as a statement, not just a day to day doing. This occurrence has gradually morphed into a whole other creature in itself. One that gets dizzier faster in thrift shops on the lookout for discount Portmeirion and leaves with 3 new mugs and no shoes. One that is in pursuit of a uniform. 

Funfact: I am 19 in this photograph. Oblivious to the fact that I was going to meet and greet with M for the first time later that night and have the trajectory of my life forever altered 

The photographs above are from my Instant Glam account dating from the former years. This catalogue reassures me that I’ve always been attracted to specific silhouettes in dressing myself. It’s not much different now except, I limit myself to only the selection readily available in my wardrobe I have to rotate and work with. Denim, corduroy, cotton, linen, cotton, linen, cotton. These limitations aren’t restrictive but instead, demand more creativity in their becoming. The world is constantly observing times of resistance and resilience, but drip these days can be store bought. Take the 60’s worldwide rise of subcultures who rejected normalities and were known to trade and make their own clothes, which is the main reason we see individuality (read: SAUCE) in what they wore. This same belief isn’t common understanding in current culture. How can it be? At one point in time, clothes symbolised belief, lifestyle, principle which is now cooked in the same hotpot soup of micro trends and force fed philosophies. Rejected minority groups that dressed a specific way that invited backlash and public frowning once upon a time has now resurged into trendy subcultures reduced to insertnamehere-core, readily available on online shopping platforms and pop-ups near you. 

Charlie Squire writes: “Every person offers immediate social signifiers with their clothing. Sometimes this is obvious: clothing covered in logos with a certain designer’s name, outfits comprised of attention grabbing colours or loud patterns, garments and uniforms associated with particularly career paths. Even the person picking their smelly sweatpants off the floor and hastily pairing them with a wrinkled t-shirt is offering a social signifier, either I do not care what other people think of my clothing or I want people to think that I do not care what people think of my clothing. It would be ridiculous and ahistorical to claim that there was a time in modern fashion where clothing didn’t function as a form of social exchange or that social identity has ever been extricable from consumption. But our contemporary understanding of identity, by way of these “niche aesthetics”, are not social identities later commodified. They begin with consumption, any sort of cultural or philosophical unification is a latter addition. A single, branded item becomes the basis for a group identity; one does not need to own this item, simple aspire towards what it represents and place themselves in a network of like-minded consumers.” 

It’s similar in music, in art. In researching past movements, it was clear: a straight line. This is this and that is that. Even when new ideologies and styles emerged, they were quickly described. Surrealist, avant-garde, new wave, dada, this, that, itu, ini. Now there is no longer a limit, no existing restriction. What is the genre happening in this day and age if not the influences of everything goes, bottomless buffet of artistry being produced without much mind to labels? Contemporary contemplation, content worthy exhaustion. Just making things that sound good, look good, wearing things that feel good; This is a privilege because how else would I know that work that looks like mine can be considered art? Having the entire game bent and broken has always been the goal of artists before, artists now, artists to come. It’s all happening. Music Industry Weekly writes on genre: “While it may not be entirely obsolete, its role in defining music has changed significantly. Today’s artists and listeners prioritize creativity, mood, and emotion over rigid classifications. This shift pushes genres to their breaking point, giving rise to a generation of genre-fluid artists who reflect modern listeners’ diverse tastes. (…) the question may not be whether genre is dead, but rather how it will keep transforming alongside technological changes, audience preferences, and the endless possibilities of artistic expression.” To speak in absolutes, there is nothing happening now that has been done. And before I can finish that sentence, I am wrong there. Technological advancements happen everyday, new discoveries are made everyday, a new genius is born everyday. Cures and colours, sound and ideas. New landscapes are explored by so many different people in this vast existence where I’ve yet to see and do it all. Hear, hear! 

Me, I am a part of it. This same system is what allows everyone the freedom of experimentation, innovation and self expression. That opens a platform towards conversation that allows for better understanding, be it clothes, music, art, film, anything. Which brings the need for a uniform at the forefront of one less thing to worry about. The end of one thing births the emergence of another. Experimentation remains a familiar face that closely watches over me whispering “Really?”, when I touch any form of new textiles at all. I’ve been told that if someone can dress as you for Halloween or at any given time as a costume, then that’s it, you’ve made it; Your hallmark magnum opus impactful imprint - You have personal style and the world notices you. I remain learning the choreography of orchestrating clothing for my own self, questioning the inhibitors my mind has adapted towards knee socks or boots besides my favourite ones. A classic class affair equation of what you wear and your social standing (…Although) We have the advantage of options, of course. To be ethical in both creation and consumption. To choose to be educated and open to new perspectives. To read, assume responsibility and to bloody Google. When the dust settles we see, there will always be bigger problems and what we wear in this day and age is room for personal politics yet, no longer that deep. 

30 November 2024 - Saturday

Obsession beats talent every time. After a while it resembles a relationship you personify in all you say and do. How badly do you want it? I remind myself of the self imposed consequences if I do not make it happen by myself for myself. Now, what is the difference between being obsessed and self indulgent? One is a compulsive persistence that is king over all in the journey towards the object of desire, a sense that overwhelms caused by an exceeding, all consuming, all dancing, all singing WANT that trumps all else. The latter is a luxury granted to someone with the privilege of time and overthinking (*Most people have to do things they don’t want to do but have to, to survive, to feed, to keep on keeping on, with no time to think.. let alone overthink because of their own responsibilities and circumstances*) that looks a lot like the former but can be bent to be selfless and mindful. One of the purposes of art can be to become a channel of communication, conversation, connection, even education. 

When I look at the state of the studio right now and the ideas in progress, it is all so personal yet somehow, the universality underbelly doesn’t hide, doesn’t require thought as it’s presented in plain sight. Is it then noble or presumptuous? to conclude these iterations of how the art is meant to be received - To be talked to, talked about, to connect or to teach. Human emotions remain relatable, subjective yet synonymous no matter where you come from, what one looks like or has been through: Feelings are the bridge, the glue, the inevitable familial familiarity that bonds and binds us. A work of art can be translated 200 different ways by 100 different people who view them yet we meet at this intersection of sentiment. Like it or not, that’s that. Like it or not, that’s up to you and is uniquely yours. Tailoring these paper pieces into some comprehensible compositions. My hands are faster than my brain but slower than my worries which come as soon as I make a mistake. Visual art and poetry as channels towards assisting me to cope with acceptance that nothing is perfect yet everything beautiful. 

It’s hard for me to accept imperfection in my work or in myself. Through this elongated period of productivity for the next 6 months, this is what I am training to work with or rather, work through. My disability to be or create perfection, and my ability to accept it as non-sin necessary nonsense. Saying the wrong thing is not good or bad, just happenstances that teach me what is and isn’t. Painting outside the lines is not good or bad, just is.