New brog! Painting #Alvivi, or, Compost the Fuck Yous

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I spent the last week making this portrait of #Alvivi (click the image for downloadable hi-res version). Their saga unfolded as I drew. I mostly followed it on Facebook – an endless stream of links and comments, butthurt and outrage, condemnation and rationalization. 

Paint, paint, paint.

My brush was the only thing that kept me silent. I willed myself not to Facebook my internal monologue, which ran mostly along the lines of: fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck all you closet conservatives in liberal sheep’s clothing, motherfuckers’.

I knew if I status-updated that shit and got 10 likes, I would feel good for 2 seconds. But I didn’t want to feed the internet kraken with my raw mental garbage. Not because I’m better than anyone else, but because that is not my job. My job is to put my mental trash in the compost heap of the self, and wait for it to turn into something worthwhile.

Being an artist = being ruthless enough with yourself to know what’s dressed-up trash and what’s a real opinion, a real thought, a real question. 

If you can’t identify this in yourself, there’s no way you’ll be able to tell the difference in the world around you, whether it’s real life or online.

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I set out to paint two human beings.

I failed.

I look at the painting from every angle and I know I’ve failed.

I shouldn’t be surprised, but I was. Disappointed too. I had such noble intentions! Lofty humanist intentions! But I’ve never met #Alvivi. I only know what the internet tells me. Even their likenesses are based on photos I found on Google (warning: link is NFSW). How could I paint them as actual human beings?

I’ve learned that my mind always plays tricks on me, but my hands don’t. They can’t. If I trust them and think through them, what comes out usually has something of truth, just not the truth I wanted.

Instead of Alvin and Vivian, I painted what we’ve turned them into – demi-gods who burn with the heat of suns, or devils bearing hellfire, depending on how you see things.

Alvin and Vivian. Remember these names. This portrait is not about them. This is about us, and the sickness, intolerance, hypocrisy, and moral righteousness of the society we’re making, building, living in. It’s a society that practically weaponizes shame, that doesn’t know the difference between a bad joke and an act of violence, that creates monsters from humans, that uses the incredible tool of the Internet not to communicate, but to dominate. 

I have nothing to offer except the admission that I’m right here wallowing in the same shit, indulging the same fears and prejudices, hoping with the hopeless hope that what I do isn’t completely useless and in vain.

And from the shittyness we’re in I also have a proposition, a speck of sand that could be gold dust, or just mud that caught the light. 

A proposal for practice, nothing more:

Stop sharing your hate. 

Compost the fuck yous.

Turn that shit into gold.

Don’t despair.

Dig deep.

Make art.

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Have mercy.

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Alvivi’s Facebook and Twitter have been shut down. Their Youtube channel is still up, and you can see the last video they posted before being arrested, denied bail and sent to jail for a week. That video is an apology for any offense their Facebook Ramadan greeting may have caused. They’re out now, but not allowed to use any digital devices.

http://www.youtube.com/user/SexcussionsAlvivi

New brog! Ah Gow the Treecutter

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Last week something important happened to me. Well two things. One of them I can’t actually talk about, except to say it involves illness and someone I love. 

I mention it because my mind seems to associate the two memories closely, even though they’re completely unrelated. I was wondering why I couldn’t blog about this really cool thing. No matter how hard I tried, my brain just kept turning to mush. I suspect it’s because it happened at the same time as the traumatic event. To retrieve that memory, I can’t avoid going to the place of pain, as if they share the same room. 

And I wonder… does it work the other way? Could the awesome memory make the sorrowful one more bearable? And going even further, thinking about how pain and joy accommodate each other, and how avoiding one means cutting off access to the other…

Anyway, I sit here, my heart full of both, and I’m glad I can finally get words out. 

I’m glad I can finally tell you about Ah Gow the treecutter. 

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The garden was getting out of control. It was the decades-old durian tree that worried me most – an entire side was dying and hanging its huge, brittle branches over our roof. A storm had already blown down half the nangka tree in the front yard. It was a warning that we had better fucking deal with things, no matter how broke we were at the moment. 

We got Ah Gow’s number from our neighbours, who hire him when their super tall coconut trees need harvesting. Ah Gow doesn’t have a monkey. He is the monkey. He climbs the tree and chops the coconuts down. Apparently he’s famous in Port Dickson for being THE MAN to call about anything tree related. 

I was anxious. Even with Zedeck’s parents footing half the bill, we were spending money we didn’t really have. The last thing I wanted was a half-ass cowboy hacking away and leaving us a garden full of mutilated plants. I’ve seen city council workers pollarding trees along the road. It’s like shock treatment. The trees always look bald and terrible afterwards.

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But sometimes you can tell straight away when someone is going to do a good job. It’s a certain quality. I tried to put my finger on what it was when Ah Gow came to look at the garden. He checked out everything – the trees, the house, the ground – nodding silently to himself now and then. He shook his head at the 3-storey tall Durian, and the monster bougainvilla rising up like a mythical bramble hedge, and the termite infested rambutan trees at the back. He confined his comments to (in Chinese) ‘haven’t looked after garden for awhile, issit?’. And seeing my worried face, threw in a gruff ‘Don’t worry. I can do. No problem.’ before he left. 

First day. I expected him to roll up with a tractor, a cherry picker, a lorry … or SOMETHING. It was going to be a huge job. He showed up in his car carrying nothing but the following: two chainsaws (one big one small), a bunch of well-worn rope, machetes, a small hand axe and 3 helpers, one of them his son. He then proceeded to climb to the top of the first tree (a big Citrifolia, or pokok noni) and began to lope the branches off expertly with a chainsaw. In about 5 minutes, the whole thing was down to a stump. 

And then I watched as he straddled and tied rope to a huge branch in the durian tree. Let me remind you this is 3 stories off the ground and over our precious roof. He began cutting into it. At the precise moment, he shouted to his son below (who was holding the other end of the rope) to ‘PULL! PULL!!’. The thing landed to earth with a shuddering thud, missing the roof (and the son) by inches. 

I have never seen anything like it. It was fast, methodical and precise execution of dangerous and difficult work. The man knew exactly what he was doing and how to do it. It kind of took my breath away. Or maybe I just have a thing for elderly, mustachioed uncles who wear sneakers and have muscular forearms. 

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It was the skill that was dazzling. The rudimentary equipment made it clear as day what was getting the work done: timing, experience and knowledge – perfected and internalized to the point of instinct. By the second day, they had completely brought down 4 trees, and the Nangka and Durian (both huge) had been trimmed with a delicacy reserved for bonsais. They weren’t butchered or amputated. They looked… prettier. 

Ah Gow told me he’d been doing his job for 40 years. ‘Climbing trees since I was ten years old’. He’s 58 now. 

Maybe it’s nothing extraordinary, cutting a tree down, but something about the WAY he did it made you want to watch and pay attention. Why?

I think… it’s about TEXTURE. 

QUALITY. 

His work had both. 

What produces that? And why is it important, when all you need is to get a job done? 

I’m pretty sure about the answer to the first question. It’s time. Time and practice are what produce texture – because you find your own way of doing things. And quality? That comes from care and respect for your work, whether its fixing shoes, writing stories, building buildings, caring for sick people, raising kids, growing food, or painting pictures. 

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But I don’t know why it’s important. Maybe it’s far too romantic an approach to work in this capitalist industrial economy. All we care about is making sure people have a job, ANY job, even if it turns them into robots churning out STUFF that we don’t need. Somehow things like GDP and FDI matter so much more than the happiness and dignity of individual people. And that’s the thing isn’t it? Expanded markets don’t have texture. Key Performance Indexes don’t have texture. Produk Rakyat 1Malaysia (I saw this plastered on a bus today, I kid you not) doesn’t even know the meaning of texture. 

Even getting ‘success’ in your chosen ‘industry’ doesn’t have texture or quality. They’re abstractions. But I think… initiative and ambition can lead you there, to the place where you make something real. That is, if you’re brave enough to act on it, and not get distracted by the siren songs of money or fame. 

I don’t know why texture and quality and artfulness and beauty are important. I only know that I recognized it in Ah Gow and knew it was something I wanted for myself. I realize I’ve always been thirsty and searching for it, that quality. Finding it in the most unexpected places is reassuring, like a quiet message from the universe saying: This is the path. Keep going. 

You know, his work didn’t come cheap. I mean, it wasn’t exorbitant, but it wasn’t cheap. He knew his own value. I think that’s rare, and getting rarer everyday. 

On a whim, I drew Ah Gow’s portrait. Then I got REALLY shy and almost chickened out of giving it to him. Better just to put it on the internet. Get some likes. Safe. No risk.  But Zedeck said ‘you have to! you have to!’, so I did. 

He looked at it, puzzled and suspicious. ‘What’s this? Ha?’ 

My heart sank. 

Then all of a sudden, in a tone of complete surprise, he grinned and said, ‘That’s me!’

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Fertilizer Friday: Anna Maria

Fertilizer Fridays are interviews with artist friends. Honest, casual conversations that share ideas and bust myths about being an artist/making art.

It was Election Day. 5 May 2013. I had just voted and was hanging out at Merdekarya‘s post-voting event, where I met Anna at her magical henna booth. She drew leaves snaking up from my indelible inked finger across my hand. Art has a way of making things bearable – like waiting, and later when the result came out, depression. Check out what she has to say about henna, body image and finding the thing you love.

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Just like everyone else, artists have good days and bad days. Could you describe what your working day is like, a good one and a bad one?

a) GOOD

A good day would be when the sun is shining on all the creative people gathered in a musical environment!

b) BAD

Bad henna cone days. This happens when the henna paste is not ground finely enough. It will clog the henna cone making it useless. This will stop the flow of the design, and it can get messy and really annoying!

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What’s in your henna kit?

For events or private sessions, I always bring extra henna cones. There are also other items I carry in my kit: I must have rubber bands, scissors, paper and marker pens.

I love that all you need to do art fits in a box that you can take wherever you go. Can you tell us about some places where you’ve set up and henna-ed?

After doing a lot of private henna sessions, I finally got the big break when Anna Henna was invited for a musical event called SuaraKami in 2011. We were given a big booth and I did henna for almost 10 hours. It was amazing!  

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Are you a feminist?

HELL YEAH! 

Alot of women (and probably more men than we care to admit) have body issues. Do you find people feel differently about their bodies after being covered in a henna design? What are your thoughts about the relationship between how we look on the outside and how we feel on the inside?

Body image and self image are very much related. What you see in the mirror is what you think and perceive about yourself. Inner dialogue is the catalyst that affects how we feel inside. As a henna artist, I found that my customers enjoy body art for many reasons: to express, rejoice, accessorize or conceal. Whatever their reason, the purpose is to have positive inner dialogue. Personally, I feel ‘naked’ without any henna on my skin!

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You did an amazing project, ‘Ofelia’, where you covered someone in a full bodysuit of intricate henna. Please tell us more about it!

Project Ofelia was a journey. I have always dreamt of doing henna on a full nude model. While volunteering for an event in the Kemensah Jungle, my dreams came true when I met Jules. Jules is one big hearted, unique and significant person I have had the opportunity to work with. After sharing my ideas about designing a full nude body with henna, she didn’t hesitate and told me she wanted to be on board!

It took us 5 days (12 hours per day) to complete Project Ofelia. We were fortunate to have photographer friends capture Ofelia in front of the lens for the whole world to see. Having Jules carry the role of Ofelia was spot on, and it was surreal to see Ofelia brought to life!

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What exactly is henna? Can you give us a crash course in its origins, preparation and cultural meanings? Could it really have been a viable alternative to indelible ink that was used during GE13?

Henna would be an awesome substitute to indelible ink. It may take 15 minutes to dry, but it is organic and will definitely last more than 2 weeks!

Basically the leaves from the henna tree are picked, ground and made into a paste. There are many secret methods and ingredients to add to the henna paste. The ideal colour is rich and should last up to 2 weeks. I use tea instead of plain water to make my henna paste. Turmeric and lime are good to get a long lasting henna stain. As for my black henna, I mix in another plant called Wasma. Wasma is very similar to the henna plant but it extracts darker shades of colour.

Henna can last longer depending on the area of skin where the design is. Areas that are not prone to sweat or water contact are likely to have a longer lasting henna stain. Henna can also be applied on hair, finger nails and cloth as a dye. In many regions of the world, henna is affiliated with weddings. Bridal henna night is still a widely practiced custom today.

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Alot of people are searching for the thing they love to do, that fulfills them and makes them happy. But getting there is not as easy as it seems. With your experience of finding and doing what you love, what would you say to someone who is still on that search?

I started doing henna since I was very young. My parents were my canvases. My passion for this body art made me practice hard and improve. To those wandering souls, I would say, always work on what you like and grow at it. Skills and passion go hand in hand and do not half-ass anything! Train your mind to be wild and free and create with your heart.

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What’s next for you?

Right now things are pretty hectic for me. I am a student counsellor during the day and a henna artist by night. Haha! The future seems very hopeful. In a few more months, I intend to travel with my henna kit. I’m very much looking forward to that adventure.

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Thanks Anna! 

Everyone, please checkout Anna’s portfolio and the Anna Henna Facebook page.

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Fine Print: Images are Copyright Anna Maria and Anna Henna. All Rights Reserved. Wouldn’t hurt to ask before using. But if you’re taking them anyway, credit correctly!

Lalang dress

Reimagining my Bunga Bersih dress (now completely deflowered) as a possible prototype for a Lalang Dress. Those are cutoffs from the cardboard grass stencils I made last week.

In art, one thing usually leads to another. Which means: 1) don’t throw anything away 2) make things, even though (especially if) the first idea isn’t perfect.