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My knee in March 2016

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11 Oct 2017: I spent last week sick and denying it. When the fever started on Monday, I thought I would be back in training by Wednesday, and when it was accompanied by a dry hacking cough that kept me up for the next five nights, I was still stubborn enough to book class on Saturday, which, of course, I had to cancel.

My mind went strange places, including convincing myself that wellness was a matter of will. A real fighter wouldn’t let a cold stop their training, in fact, a real fighter wouldn’t have gotten sick at all.

In short, while my body was fighting a virus, I was fighting my body. The fever came and went. I was like an abusive lover, tenderly feeding my body vitamins one moment, berating it for not responding by instantly getting well the next.

It was the same when I injured my knee last year. The same mental tape. When? When will you be back to the way you were? And why? Why are you not healing the way I want you to, in the time that I need you to? Rehab exercises, turmeric, physio sessions, kinetic tape – what else do you want from me?

Hyper-vigilant and agonized, I counted the days of missed training, which turned into weeks, then months.

Today, it’s as if I never tore my meniscus, and besides a lingering cough, the recent cold is all but forgotten. My body has healed, in its own time, in its own way.

I will tell you a story about the mystery that exists between mind and body. Up to March this year – a full 12 months since the tear – I was still taping my right knee before class. My left kick had never been pretty, but it was worse now, because it’s not the kicking leg that matters, but the standing leg, the one that pivots. Tall Coach watches my left kicks on the bag, and how I frown and wince with each one. He asks if my knee hurts. I’ve been asked this before, by other trainers, and always answered no, because I don’t want to seem weak, or like I’m making excuses. This time, I stop and think about it. ‘No,’ I say, ‘There’s no pain, but it feels, I mean I feel… afraid.’ I’m laughing, sheepish. Tall Coach nods, silent for awhile, then tells me: ‘Your knee remembers the trauma.’ On hearing those words, a gap that had existed in me for a year closed, as surely as a key fitting into its lock. I felt the click, not in my knee, but my whole body. I turned back to the bag and executed a series of almost perfect left kicks, more beautifully than I’d been able to do before I got hurt.

It would seem that my knee had mended long ago, but there is so much more to healing than the knitting of flesh and bone.

I’m learning – and it’s hard for me, very hard – that to be sick or injured, isn’t some kind of moral failing. It doesn’t say anything about commitment or ability. It’s simply a thing that happens to bodies: to have a body, is to be ill or incapacitated sometimes. To not be optimal.

Even in the sick time, the body is speaking. The body doesn’t just exist during training, or for training, or for any of the thousand productive things I need it to do. The body’s suffering does not pit it against me. It IS me, in sickness and in health.

There’s a phrase in the Tao Te Ching that I often puzzle over. My understanding of it goes in and out of focus.

I suffer because I’m a body;
if I weren’t a body,
how could I suffer?

In the hardest moments of training, it’s my mind that searches for escape. Anything to occupy it away from the sharp difficulty of the present, be it halfway through a 5km run under the blazing sun, or the last twenty of 200 sit-ups. Usually a song will loop in my head (the chorus to Solange’s Losing You), or a phrase (You must free your ambitious mind, and learn the art of dying. – Bruce Lee). If my mind is elsewhere, maybe this body that’s suffering is not me.

Recently, I’ve been telling my mind not to leave my body to endure the training on its own, to stay with it. What happens in those moments I haven’t found the words to tell. Not well, anyway. It’s a little like opening up more… bandwidth. A rush of information? Of sensation? I am a nut cradled in its shell, existing in inner darkness and in outer light, enduring, being one. I can’t do this for more than a couple of minutes.

If I weren’t a body, how could I suffer?

To train muay thai is to trace new routes, to know what it’s like when my shin hits my partner’s in a drill, or when Young Coach’s foot connects with the side of my head in sparring. It’s also to go over old routes, tracing the deep grooves of where the mind goes in sickness or suffering, as if seeing and knowing them for the first time.

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Lao Tzu – Tao Te Ching, An English version by Ursula K. Le Guin, Chapter 13

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Gone to look for my body’ is a line from a song called ‘Weary’ by Solange, on her 2016 masterpiece album A Seat At the Table.

I’ve been wanting to write about training muay thai since last year, but my mind has always come first, and this was something I wanted to just let my body do. Then I realized I was stockpiling notes, feeling the wave of words come, and letting them break into foam, lost. I’ve been gone, standing on the shore, listening to the roar. Now I have its rhythm, and write my way to the return.

Part 1

Disclosure: the proprietors of A+ Works of Art have previously purchased my work

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Chong Kim Chiew, Isolation House (2005) at Rumah Air Panas

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I’m late. Sentul, like Cheras or Kepong or Shah Alam, makes me anxious – a result of mere unfamiliarity, which I suppose you could say defines the Malaysian condition. Waze sends me to Bangsar on the NPE and onto Sentul Link. I see familiar buildings, but the elevated highway messes with my sense of direction, already useless in the best of times, and renders everything distant.

It’s tempting to fall into the lull of this speed, the lack of friction. From my home to the destination, via algorithmic app, in an Uber or a Grab, personal playlist streaming on Spotify. I float in my car, the road clean and smooth. It’s a soporific effect. I struggle against a sense of inevitability.

I experienced Kim Chiew’s installation as it was originally conceived, twelve years ago, at the artist-run space Rumah Air Panas, which was on a road called Lorong Air Leleh, surrounded by roads with names like Jalan Air Madu, Jalan Air Bersih, Jalan Air Dalam, and Jalan Air Pusing, in place called Air Panas, in Setapak. Today, a highway runs through where Rumah Air Panas used to be.

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I remember the earth under my feet, and the hole it’d been dug out from. The hole, outside the house, was wide and deep enough to bury a human body, and filled with light brown rain water. We entered the locked house by a door near the roof, down a shaky staircase. Inside, down low, the spread earth pressed against the white walls of the house in a dark ring. Here and there were cages, objects inside: a wooden crutch, a flute, a gourd. Eight enclosures and eight tools to stand for the Eight Immortals who crossed the sea in story.

In this new version, in a newly opened gallery housed in a commercial complex built by YTL as part of their multi-billion ringgit Sentul Raya redevelopment plan, there is no soil. The floor is concrete. The cages  - just two of them – are empty.

Many years ago, I lived in a rented house. We had a god that we’d brought with us from my childhood home, on the ground, in a red hut. But we didn’t take care of him – it’d been a hard year. I could barely take care of myself, and two dogs. We didn’t light his oil lamp, forgot to lay out his cheroot and curry and soft pink cakes, and the rain rotted his red wooden plaque inscribed with glittering gold Chinese words I couldn’t read. When it came time to move again, a man well-versed in these matters came, looked at the hut, and told us: there was no more god, he had left.

I thought about this as I looked at the empty cages.

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Chong Kim Chiew, Isolation House (2005 – 2017) at A+ Works of Art, d6 Trade Center, Sentul East

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Another thought rippled up, unbidden – am I Chinese?

The rusty metal plates bearing the names of roughly 40 new villages remain in the new Isolation House. Slowly they oxidize, breathing oxygen, alive: Semenyih, Rasa, Batang Berjuntai, Jinjang, Salak Selatan.

During the Emergency period (1948 – 1960), in an effort to halt the spread of communism amongst the rural population, the British colonial administration resettled 530,000 ‘squatters’ and workers into more than 400 new villages across Malaya. These ‘new villages’ were guarded camps, with strict curfews enforced by police. The large majority (but not all!) were ethnic Chinese.

This history of the new villages – is it mine?

I remember, as a teenager, quite literally, growing up in shopping malls: specifically, 1 Utama, Bangsar Shopping Center, Jaya Shopping Center, Subang Parade, Sunway Pyramid and Midvalley Megamall, where my parents had opened a chain of deli-style restaurants.

But I go further back, to childhood. An old lady, Ah Chun Yi, took care of me, while both parents worked. In the day, after school, I went to her wooden house. Was it in a village? I can’t… remember. I dig for it, but I hit concrete. Her long hair, her soft voice. Her polyester floral shirts. Naps in the hot afternoon, the standing fan and fluttering of green lace curtains. No, that was in my grandmother’s house, where the god came from, the one who left.

Who else besides me remembers the feel of soil on the parquet floor of Rumah Air Panas? The pixelated video documentation of the original Isolation House tells us almost nothing except that this work existed in another form in another time. It’s my memory that gives the new Isolation House its full meaning – without it, the defining feature of this work, which is loss, is lost. Or say rather: locked. Hard to reach, and thus, hard to read. Harder now than it was 12 years ago. And soon it will be harder still.

In his refusal to stage a straight reproduction of an acclaimed past work, his commitment to the reality of this new site, and his fidelity to the truth of where we have come in the last decade, Kim Chiew teaches us that we must – we can – learn to read and face our history even in the smooth, clean and silent concrete.

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This installation is part of the exhibition Kadang Kadang Dekat Dekat Akan Datang: Chong Kim Chiew & FX Harsono, 15 Sept – 7 Oct 2017 at A+ Works of Art

‘Playing with History’ by Beverly Yong, a joint review of Chong Kim Chiew’s Isolation House and my first solo exhibition Boats and Bridges, first published in 2005 on kakiseni.com (now defunct).

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I went to a new gym today. When asked, I say I’ve been ‘doing’ (taking classes in) muay thai since December 2015, and ‘training’ (classes 3 – 5 times a week) since this year. In fact, I picked up kickboxing over ten years ago, when I came back from studying overseas, and again when I was 30, just before moving from the city to Port Dickson. I never took it seriously, but no one else took me seriously either. The closest someone got was a trainer who told me, offhandedly, ‘you could probably get pretty good at this’. He also, possibly in reaction to my stony suffering face during our 7am sessions, regularly asked if I was depressed.

Until recently, I’ve had trainers hit on me in every gym I have ever been in. This is not to say that I’m somehow extraordinary, rather that I suspect this is the overwhelmingly ordinary experience of women in gyms, martial arts ones or otherwise.

Now, at 36, no one hits on me. Or perhaps it’s because I’ve learned to take myself seriously. I’ve had to ask for everything I wanted in muay thai – better trainers, more sparring, the opportunity to fight, or simply to be left alone. Not long ago, someone (it could only have been a man) asked if English was my second language, because ‘you seem… kind of reserved’. No, I replied, my English is perfect, it’s that I want to practice punching this bag instead of talking to you.

Sometimes, especially when my body registers the very real difference in endurance between now and when I was 30, I wish I’d learned to speak my desire – to ask – earlier. But I don’t really regret. Part of aging is knowing certain kinds of learning only come with time, like wingseeds borne spinning down by gravity.

Still, I think a lot about how I look in the gym. Pink and green is a favorite color combination. Today, between the tight camouflage singlet and the loose camouflage t-shirt that I like to wear with my pink satin shorts, I chose the t-shirt.

A new gym means getting to know a new coach, his rhythm, his persona – who, really, he is. Martial art is full expression of the self with nowhere to hide, for both teacher and student. The first word Ajarn J. said to me, as I took off my shoes at the door of his gym, was ‘welcome’.

I haven’t studied enough muay thai to be able to discern good teaching. I’m at the unicellular sponge phase, absorbing everything in the ever deepening water. But I know how I feel. Padwork with Ajarn J. was like dancing with a great partner. I felt the joy bouncing off me, coming out in explosive little laughs, even as I gasped for breath. In three 3 minute rounds I learned an astonishing amount, which I will note here, in an effort to retain as much as I can in the sieve of my body and brain:

No skipping in the left kick, or left knee. An easy, sure step with the right leg is all it takes. Note the difference in balance and power.

My knees could be angled more, and higher. And then turned into a block, where I press my shin against my opponent’s upper thighs, while grabbing their neck with my opposing arm.

Also, 3 different counters for the jab or punch – a teep to the lower lead leg for the jab, right teep for the punch. Sweep the jab with the right hand while sweeping the lead leg with your lead leg to throw the opponent forward. Sweep inside the punch and hook the back leg with the lead leg…? Damn, I can’t remember the sweeps.

I’ve never been able to do spinning back elbows with any kind of conviction. I mean, I know the move, but today I learned this: to apply the technique… you have to keep your eyes open. I was closing them at the moment of impact. This is what progress, and a good teacher, means in muay thai – realizing the split second of what the body is doing.

He kept distracting me, little flicks of his hand, pointing to the door, to the ceiling. I fell for it every single time. After the experience of keeping my eyes open during the spinning back elbows, something snapped into focus. I locked onto Ajarn J.’s eyes, and entered a pocket of calm­ for maybe 20 seconds. In that pocket, no fear, no real effort or striving for the right technique. Just a pure focus in the moment and the other person facing me. It was… something I have been trying to achieve. I knew it intellectually – I experience flow regularly in art making – but my body had not known it in muay thai until then. The body does not go into the pocket because the mind wills it. No, that’s the difficulty – it’s a letting go, not a striving.

How do I extend these 20 seconds? This is the meaning of practice. Months, perhaps a year, for 20 seconds. Meanwhile: failure, defeat… and joy.

~

‘Gone to look for my body’ is a line from a song called ‘Weary’ by Solange, on her 2016 masterpiece album A Seat At the Table.

I’ve been wanting to write about training muay thai since last year, but my mind has always come first, and this was something I wanted to just let my body do. Then I realized I was stockpiling notes, feeling the wave of words come, and letting them break into foam, lost. I’ve been gone, standing on the shore, listening to the roar. Now I have its rhythm, and write my way to the return.

Mandi Bunga video – Through The Lens

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Pada 26 Oct 2013, sempena pembukaan Singapore Biennale 2013, saya mempersembahkan ‘Mandi Bunga’ bersama seratus orang di laman depan National Museum Singapore.

Persembahan itu pendek, selesai dalam masa 10 minit. Nasib baik juga, sebab hujan sudah dekat. Saya ingat ada antara penonton yang tanya: Was that it? Itu saja?

Untuk memahami karya ini saya mesti mula dari awal sikit. Kuning, kuning sana situ sini – maklumlah ia merujuk kepada Bersih, iaitu satu gerakan gabungan badan-badan bukan kerajaan (NGO) yang menuntut pilihanraya bersih dan adil di Malaysia. Pada masa itu, saya dilarang sebut nama Bersih apabila bercakap dengan media Singapura.

Sebenarnya, karya itu tentang proses membentuk politik peribadi saya, terutamanya melingkari soalan ini: bagaimana individu berhubung dengan kolektif?

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Poster untuk Bersih2.0 – Sharon Chin

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Bersih pertama saya adalah Bersih 2.0, pada 9 Julai 2011, dan kali kedua saya turun ke jalan. Kali pertama pada 2009, untuk protes menentang Akta Keselamatan Dalam Negeri (anti-ISA).

Beberapa hari sebelum Bersih 2.0, segolongan aktivis dan penggiat seni muda telah berkumpul di Kelab Bangsar Utama. Kami merancangkan sebuah festival jalanan bernama ‘Yell-OH!’ yang akan berlangsung di Bersih 2.0 – flash mob, aksi kilat, bawa props dan sebagainya. Kami menubuhkan team keselamatan, team scouting dan team info. Akhirnya, semua tidak jadi. Sampai sahaja di tempat berkumpul, suasana terus huru hara, kucar kacir. We couldn’t even find each other.

Bagi saya itu satu pengajaran – protes bukan sesuatu yang ikut jadual atau arahan. Ia spontan dan organik, bagaikan sebatang sungai: apabila air pasang, kita harus peka kepada arusnya, kita adalah sebahagian daripada arusnya. Arus itulah yang dimaksudkan ‘people power’. Dan kita harus mempersoalkan mereka (termasuk kita sendiri) yang ingin kawal arus itu. Ke manakah mereka hendak arahkan kuasa itu? If you try to control something, you are no longer part of it. You become something else.

Bersih 2.0 dan Occupy Dataran yang mengikutinya beberapa minggu kemudian memberi kesan yang besar pada saya. Saya seperti dilanda krisis persoalan peribadi.

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Occupy Dataran – Loyar Burok

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Antara branding atau mesej yang didorong oleh Bersih adalah ia suatu gerakan rakyat, a people’s movement. Tetapi rakyat tidak pernah terlibat dalam proses membuat apa-apa keputusan. Masa menyertai Bersih 2.0, saya ujar kepada diri sendiri: saya akan jadi sebuah nombor, satu lagi tambahan pada barisan perjuangan. Tetapi selepas itu, saya sedar, itu tidak cukup bagi saya. Untuk apa dan siapa saya sanggup jadi sebuah nombor? Demi Dato’ Ambiga? Demi Bersih? Saya tahu saya hanya pengikut, tapi tidak pasti apa yang diikuti!

Masa itu, saya tidak tahu asal-usul Bersih: bahawa ia dibentuk sebagai satu gabungan rapat antara parti politik pembangkang dan NGO. Ada ramai yang anggap gerakan Bersih direbut oleh politikus, tetapi, sepertimana seorang sahabat wartawan pernah sebut: lebih tepat kalau kata rakyat yang merebut Bersih daripada agenda politikus dan pemimpin-pemimpin NGO!

Selain Bersih2.0 dan Occupy Dataran, saya juga ikuti perkembangan Occupy Wall Street, yang bermula pada 17 Sept 2011 dan akhirnya dipaksa keluar dari Zuccotti Park pada 15 Nov 2011.

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Occupy Wall Street – Photo: Brendan McDermid, Reuters

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Antara tulisan tentang Occupy Wall Street yang sangat memberangsangkan saya pada masa itu dihasilkan oleh Quinn Norton, seorang wartawan independen di Amerika Syarikat. Apabila dia cerita tentang Mohamad Bouazizi, saya rasa itu kunci kepada soalan-soalan yang buat saya sangat kacau selepas Bersih 2.0.

Mohamad Bouazizi seorang penjual buah-buahan di Tunisia. Beliau ditindas dan dikasari oleh pegawai tempatan yang merampas harta barangnya. Pada 17 Dec 2010, beliau membubuh api pada diri sendirinya dan terbakar sehingga meninggal dunia. Perbuatan itu cetuskan revolusi di Tunisia dan Arab Spring di negara-negara timur tengah. Ini pula jadi pemangkin kepada gerakan 15-M di Spain, Occupy Dataran di Malaysia, Occupy Wall Street di New York dan sebagainya. Quinn Norton gelar Bouazizi seorang wira. Katanya: ‘Tiada siapa di dunia ini yang tidak disentuh oleh api yang dinyalakan Bouazizi.’ There is no one in the world who has not been touched by his fire.

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Setem rasmi mengingati Mohamed Bouazizi

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Dari itu, saya bentuk satu hujah: Individu sesuatu yang murni. The individual is sacred. Hanya individu yang mampu bertindak seperti Mohamad Bouazizi, dan tindakannya dapat mengubah dunia.

Di dunia ini, ada yang ikut, ada yang mendahului, tetapi kita tidak boleh melihat orang lain atau diri kita sebagai ‘just a number’. Itu adalah logik kapitalisme, juga logik politikus profesional. Bagi saya, jalan itu adalah jalan buntu.

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Kulit depan The Dispossessed oleh Ursula K. Le Guin

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Pada tahun yang sama, saya baca The Dispossessed oleh Ursula K. Le Guin, cerita science-fiction tentang masyarakat anarkis di Annares, sebuah planet kecil yang dekat dengan Urras, atau bumi. This book changed my life. Ia mengambil soalan saya tentang kelas, revolusi, autonomi, hiraki, kesetiaan, kebebasan, tanggungjawab, dan baginya bentuk yang jelas dan nyata, yang saya boleh pegang.

For we each of us deserve everything, every luxury that was ever piled in the tombs of the dead kings, and we each of us deserve nothing, not a mouthful of bread in hunger. Have we not eaten while another starved? Will you punish us for that? Will you reward us for the virtue of starving while others ate? No man earns punishment, no man earns reward. Free your mind of the idea of deserving, the idea of earning, and you will begin to be able to think.

Maklumlah setiap kita layak memperoleh segala-galanya, semua barangan mewah yang pernah terunggun di dalam makam-makam diraja, dan setiap kita tidak layak menerima apa-apa, walaupun sesuap roti dalam kelaparan. Tidakkah kita pernah isikan perut ketika orang lain kebuluran?  Akan kamu menghukum itu? Akan kamu mengganjar kami yang sanggup kebulur ketika orang lain isikan perutnya? Tidak ada siapa yang layak dihukum, tidak ada siapa yang layak diganjar. Bebaskan mindamu daripada idea kelayakan, idea keperolehan, dan kamu akan mula boleh berfikir.

~

Change is freedom, change is life.

Those who build walls are their own prisoners. I’m going to go fulfil my proper function in the social organism. I’m going to go unbuild walls.

 Perubahan adalah kebebasan, perubahan adalah kehidupan.

Mereka yang membina tembok menjadi tawanannya sendiri. Aku ingin tunaikan perananku yang wajar dalam organisma social. Aku ingin pergi turunkan tembok.

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The individual cannot bargain with the State. The State recognizes no coinage but power: and it issues the coins itself.

Individu tidak boleh tawar-menawar dengan Negara. Negara tidak mengenal mata wang selain kuasa: dan ia sendiri mengeluarkan mata wang itu.

~

The thing about working with time, instead of against it, he thought, is that it is not wasted. Even pain counts.

Ertinya bekerja dengan masa, bukan mengejar masa, dia fikir, adalah masa itu tidak disia-siakan. Malah kesengsaraan pun bererti.

~

You cannot buy the revolution. You cannot make the revolution. You can only be the revolution. It is in your spirit, or it is nowhere.

Kamu tidak boleh membelikan revolusi. Kamu tidak boleh membuatkan revolusi. Kamu hanya boleh menjadi revolusi. Revolusi berada dalam semangatmu, atau tidak berada di mana-mana.

Kita mencapai politik peribadi kita dengan pelbagai cara. Ada melalui musik punk, teori, parti politik, atau NGO. Politik saya – seorang budak kelas menengah yang membesar di pusat membeli-belah – ditempa di simpang antara protes jalanan dan buku cerita.

Dengan itu, seni jadi landasan atau makmal di mana saya dapat menguji, menyatakan dan menerangkan politik itu.

Sin Chew Daily, 29 April 2012
Sin Chew Daily, 29 April 2012

~

Sebelum sampai di Mandi Bunga, ada pula Bersih 3.0 pada 28 April 2012.

Kali ini saya buat dan pakai baju kuning yang dihias berpuluh-puluh bunga kuning. Saya ada ura-ura bagi bunga itu kepada orang ramai pada hari itu. Tetapi sebelum sempat buat, pemerintah menyerang rakyatnya dengan gas pemedih. Walaupun tidak dapat dilaksanakan, aksi itu mencerminkan perkembangan politik peribadi saya – saya mengambil bahagian sebagai seorang individu, bukan sebagai pengikut. Semua soalan, ketidakpastian dan pegangan sendiri dibawa ke jalan raya dan dikongsikan bersama mereka yang ada di sana.

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Bengkel Mandi Bunga

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Seperti apa yang dikatakan, apa yang disaksikan oleh penonton Mandi Bunga cuma beberapa minit saja. Mereka tidak lihat proses yang membentuk persembahan akhir itu. Kerja sebenar adalah dalam proses.

Sepanjang dua minggu, saya buat bengkel dengan tiap-tiap sukarelawan yang terlibat dalam Mandi Bunga. Mereka menghiasi sarong kuning yang akan dipakai dalam persembahan nanti. Saya minta mereka melukis bentuk minda sendiri, dan penuhkan bentuk itu dengan motif daun, limau dan bunga – iaitu bahan-bahan yang digunakan untuk mandi bunga.

Proses ini merupakan persiapan mental, dan memberi peluang kepada setiap orang untuk fikir dan renung tentang apa yang akan dibuat bersama-sama nanti. Apa motivasinya, apa kegentaran atau soalannya, apa maknanya simbol dan upacara ini, dan apa hubungan peribadinya dengan semua ini.

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Zine Mandi Bunga

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Apabila mereka tanya: kenapa warna kuning? Saya jawab dengan terus-terang tentang Bersih dan politik saya. Saya juga hasilkan satu zine yang menjelaskan tujuan dan pendirian saya, yang dibagi percuma pada hari persembahan.

Akhirnya, walaupun secara rasmi saya dilarang sebut nama Bersih, saya tetap dapat sampaikan mesej saya dengan terus, tanpa melalui arus media yang begitu disekat dan dikawal bukan sahaja di Malaysia, Singapura, dan negara ASEAN, tetapi di seluruh dunia.

Pada dasarnya, Mandi Bunga tanya tiga soalan:

What does it mean to do something alone?

Apa ertinya bertindak berseorangan?

What does it mean to do something together?

Apa ertinya bertindak bersama atau secara kolektif?

How can we be ourselves with others?

Bagaimana kita boleh kekal diri kita apabila bersama dengan orang lain?

——–

I’ll be showing a series of jackets that chart the development of my politics in Between States, an exhibition curated by Goh Sze Ying, 21 Sept – 7 Oct at Our Art Projects. The one below is about Bersih and Mandi Bunga:

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Sometimes it is good to make things for no reason other than to feel what it’s like to have images and words well up like water in a hole you have dug in the soft earth.

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