Restless

Tonight, I hear random lines of Li Young Lee's poem 'Restless' flick back and forth in the space between my ears, like my whole mind divided into bass and treble.

'And where you live is where you’ll be buried,
and when you dream it’s where you were born...'

I can't catch the rhyme and reason of things and lie here, incomplete, half-closed eyes like some lazy animal pretending to be sinister.

'and the moon never hangs in both skies
on the same night,

and that’s why you think the moon has a sister,
that’s why your day is hostage to your nights,

and that’s why you can’t sleep except by forgetting,
you can’t love except by remembering.

And that’s why you’re divided: yes and no.
I want to die. I want to live.
Never go away. Leave me alone.'

One is overcome by self-indulgence, imagining some unfortunate blight, some lameness of character like being lame in the foot. Recriminations, weaknesses. The inability to control the flow of one's mind.

'And you put one word in your left shoe,
one in your right, and you go walking.'

Longing for relief, reaching for pen and paper, or switching on the light - tap tap tap into the night, finding the lullaby that will slow down the upper beat of the heart.

'And when you lie down you tuck them
under your pillow, where they give rise
to other words: childhood, fate, and rescue.
Heaven, wine, return.'

Goodnight. Tip of the hat and love to newty - he is after all her favorite poet and she was kind enough to share him.

My crushes

(Names are concealed to protect the innocent)

UPDATE: HOW COULD I FORGET? Here are my greatest most eternal loves. Forged in the mighty oceans. Soaked and fortified in the brine of the deep. Or something like that.



CRUSH #1: So dark, so brooding, so athletic. Has so many problems, needs love and help. Buuuuuut....


Imagine my disappointment when I saw this! Although it's also sort of a turn-on... (lets not go there) Don't worry, we can work it out.




CRUSH #2: So thin, so pale, so brooding. Has HAD so many problems but is now happily married, alas! Voice like rocks crushed with diamonds. Writes lyrics like: 'You brighten my life like a polystyrene hat, but it melts in sun like a life without love'. Ahhhhh.




CRUSH #3: So thin, so brooding, so so so smart. Pro: my favorite artist. Con: own brain feels like a pea next to his. One of my life goals to shake his hand. Hope he never sees this post.




CRUSH #4: So big, so strong, so brooding. Such an asshole but deep inside really only wants love and validation. Looks good in powdered wig. (BTW, it is NOT William Shatner)




CRUSH #5: So retro, but so desirable. Very 2-dimensional. Quite pixelated by today's standards. But oh that jaunty cap! (Just in case you think it's the dragon)



Happy oggling dahlinks. Now I must needs go back to work. Next week: the women.

Twin Towers

I've been working on something for an upcoming exhibition to be held at Gallery 4A, Sydney, called 'Selamat Datang Malaysia' (Welcome to Malaysia). I've struggled long and hard with the theme; understandably the curator wanted something quite literal - that is, recognizable as having a Malaysian identity.

There's still an unresolved part of my mind that wonders: isn't my art Malaysian because I'm a Malaysian artist? But Malaysian art doesn't necessarily mean it's about Malaysia. I think that to be able to view one's 'home' as one views the rest of the world represents true freedom of the mind and soul; art-wise it means the development of a language that is both local and universal.

This is a different approach than what is seen in alot of 'post-colonial' art, especially in the late 1990's - that of taking local signs/icons and tweaking them for an international flavour. It's still done today, and sometimes quite well, like the dead-pan installations of Suboph Gupta. On the other hand, although the work of the late Montien Boonma was Thai in form and essense, it was never about Thai-ness. In his installations you don't get the sense that he was trying to reclaim ownership of local signs/images to reassert or represent an identity.

Like Francis Alys, Emil Goh and even Nam Jun Paik, his works possess a striking and elusive universality. To me universality doesn't mean that a work speaks the same things to local and international audiences, but that it speaks equally to both - that there is equal depth of meaning for everyone viewing or understanding it.

Hmm. So I think I have a long way to go - because of all my attachments and worries, my 'home' still gives me alot of pressure, which distorts my views and translates into the art I make. I read somewhere about a musician (can't remember who) wanting to make 'a happy album that wasn't escapist'. Someone commented that in a sense all artistic creations where idealistic and therefore escapist. He replied that 'it's not escapism if it's permanent. If you don't plan to come back, it's forever and therefore it becomes real'.

I like that!

Here are some video stills of the project I'm working on for the show. I'm quite unsure and insecure about the whole affair, which I've decided is good thing - happy accidents always happen when there's no set goal in sight. I've been filming a very iconic Malaysian building during the 5 daily prayer times when you hear the Azan (call to prayer) sing out. Only prizes for wrong guesses which building it is.

Plug

Sending some love to the author of this here awesome little blog. My friend and colleague, N. We have known each other in Melbourne since the year one. His art really deserves to be better known. Such a talent. But I like that he is biding his time, going his own way and doing it exactly how he wants. That's how to do it right (but not necessarily easily) in KL - just be yourself. He's coming out with an illustrated book soon; self-published, glory-be! Drop by his blog and help him pick out which cover he should go with...

http://pelukismelukis.blogspot.com/



Personally my pick is A, only with the palest, most delicate ballerina pink background. A script font would be nice too. Oh, and rounded corners. Nothing more attractive than a book with rounded corners. But what do you think?

Skin deep

Some of my flaws: pride (Lucifer himself would hold a candle to me), shyness (listen to what Borges says about that: 'I knew Paul Groussac was in the building. I could have met him personally, but I was then quite shy; almost as shy as I am now. At the time, I believed that shyness was very important, but now I know that shyness is one of the evils one must try to overcome, that in reality to be shy doesn't matter - it is like so many other things to which one gives an exaggerated importance'), ocassional sloth, the tendency to fly into a passion at a moment's notice.

Now we can add vanity to the list. A few days ago I happened to be present at a makeup demonstration by Craig Ryan French (I assure you he is every bit as witty, suave and good-looking as his name implies) for Paul & Joe cosmetics. There we were, a gaggle of simpering female fascination as he showed us how to prevent foundation melt-down, how to avoid dreaded panda-eye, how to zigzag your mascara (yes, that really works). All of a sudden, I became aware of my sloppy baseball cap, my face with 2 inches of sunblock on (I was filming outdoors), my sweaty t-shirt, and... surely that smell wasn't coming from me?

Really, it was an epiphany. As an artist, I always thought day-to-day grooming didn't matter. Of course you don't want to be wearing a cocktail dress to the studio, but tatty jeans and tshirts aren't that great for gallery visits or other social outings. After awhile you get in artist slob mode all the time and when one finally does make an effort like for an art opening everyone stares unbelievingly making one feel even more self-conscious.

Recently events have transpired that have left me rather lacking in self-confidence. I'm all for personality shining though, but I never realized just a little effort in dress and face gives you a little boost, makes it easier to feel better and therefore talk to people. Being an artist, people seem to expect you to have all these social graces and skills in place. All this while there has been Betta the artist and Betta the person, and the latter I've fiercely protected from all but the most intimate and trusted friends. A strange disjuncture happens when I talk to friends who are also colleagues - it is very difficult for me. I feel very nervous and immensely pressured. Often this ruins the exhibition or play I've gone to see, so much so that I've avoided all openings except those absolutely necessary social homages. This impedes my development both personally and in my work.

'All straight things must bend or break'. In KL the scene is so small - everyone knows everyone by name, and this makes conversation so awkward, even that first introduction. I never knew the value of annonymity for meeting new and interesting people. I confess to be at a loss after that first hello. 'Oh, there is so-and-so, the director/producer/author', and somehow one never goes beyond that to meet the actual person. When people ask me 'so, what have you been working on lately?', I'm terrified that the dismay will show in my eyes. I usually have an outer body experience answering it: while I natter on vaguely about this or that new media thing, the other part of me is standing and staring, dying to ask this person where they bought that fabulous necklace or even what his hobbies are. So are hours spent, wasted, nothing accomplished, nothing learnt, except to maintain one's presence in the so-called 'scene'.

Oh dear, I better dispell this whiney edge that has come creeping in. I've no illusions about the importance of networking. At times it's also quite pleasurable. What I'm saying is that one must try to adapt to situations, to bring the inner and outer selves closer to each other. I always want my work to be my solace, but it cannot always only be that, if one is to move forward artistically.

This was actually supposed to be a post listing down all the make-up tips I got from Mr. Craig Ryan French, but obviously skin deep is never just that with me. Hmm. They really are good tips though. Will post later, with photos even! His eyeshadow technique is divine... take it from me.

The randy-est song you'll ever hear in your life

This is on repeat in my car. It always puts a smile on my face. It's magnificently horrible. 'Good Ship Venus' by Loudon Wainwright on some compilation of pirate music. I think people hitching a ride do tend to suffer, but I like it. (the music, not the suffering)


On the good ship Venus
By Christ you shoulda seen us
The figurehead was a whore in bed
Sucking a dead man's penis

The captains name was Lugger
By Christ he was a bugger
He wasn't fit to shovel shit
From one ship to another

The second mate was Andy
By Christ he had a dandy
Til they crushed his cock on a jagged rock
For cumming in the Brandy

The third mates name was Morgan
By God he was a gorgon
From half past eight
He played til 8 upon the captains organ

Captains wife was Mabel
And by God was she able
To give the crew their daily screw
Upon the galley table

The captains daughter Charlotte
was born and bred a harlot
her thighs at night were lilly white
by morning they were scarlet

The cabin boy was Kipper
By Christ he was a nipper
He stuffed his ass with broken glass
And circumcised the skipper

The captains lovely daughter
liked swimming in the water
delighted squeals came when some eels
found her sexual corners

The cook his name was Freeman
and he was a dirty demon
And he fed the crew on menstrual stew
And hymans fried in semen

The ships dog was called Rover
and we turned that poor thing over
and ground and ground that faithfil hound
from Tenneriefe to Dover

When we reached our station
through careful navigation
The ship got sunk
in a wave of spunk from to much fornication

On the good ship Venus
by Christ you should have seen us
The figurehead was a whore in bed
sucking a dead man's penis.

Betta is back

...in all-new candy colours.

...sporting spanking new title banner depicting extremely dated computer game. If you recognize it, you are very special and have earned your first key into the Super Secret Center: 'And the geek shall inherit the earth.'

Expect to find endless riddling and clues that shed light on my sordid private life, woeful introspection about art and the artworld, ocassional snarky rants, elaborate sexual desires, and scoops of B.A.P (Bloody Awful Poetry).

In short, nothing has changed.

Betta's back! Whoo! >_<