Last Saturday, I ran a mask-making workshop at Balai Seni Visual Negara.

Almost 200 young humans signed up for it, from national schools around Selangor and the capital. They came by the busload and crammed themselves into the foyer at the bottom of Balai’s spiral ramp, a copy of the Guggenheim’s in New York.

I’m not very good with kids, but over the years, I’ve learned to simply treat them like adults: take everything they say seriously, respect their silences, make requests instead of give orders, and expect equally to be listened to, or completely ignored.

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One major difference in young humans compared to older, I’ve noticed, is that the former are capable of virtuoso leaps in logic, like dancers or frogs launching from a lily pad. They’ll draw fish in a square, for example, and then tell you, that square is in deep space.

Speaking slowly, searching for the right words in my halting Bahasa, I explained the idea behind the mask: when I was in school, I was a shy person. I’d gone to Chinese primary school and then Sekolah Kebangsaan, but we spoke English at home. I told the young humans how I’d dreamed of a magic tongue, that I could plug into my mouth and become a smooth talker in any language. I told them how this image helped the shy inside me reach the outside, and how eventually, that was what art became to me – the tongue between the worlds.

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Towards the end, when everyone was cleaning up and starting to take pictures, two teachers approached me and said they had a gift for me. They insisted on enacting a little ceremony in front of a sculpture by the entrance – just the three of us. We shook hands and mimed the handover of the gift while the other teacher took photos. It was a mini copy of the official functions I’ve sat through at Balai, feeling my life dripping away while I watched VIPs go through the motions on stage. And yet, I was touched by the gesture – there was no mistaking the teachers’ sincerity.

Am I insider or outsider? Balai always makes me feel an uneasy mix of both, as if I’m a stranger caught in a pattern – I am in it, repeating its dysfunctional bureaucratic top-down hierarchy; at the same time I’m trying furiously to weave my own threads into the warp and weft. 

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I have done projects at Balai before. My work ‘Pendatang/Arrivals‘ is currently being shown there in the exhibition Immaterial Frontiers 2.0. Outside a space like Balai, in what many Malaysians might consider ‘the real world’ (all this hippy dippy artcraft stuff isn’t to be taken seriously), the word ‘pendatang’ is a political weapon. That there is a public space where this word can have other meanings, other uses, gives me satisfaction, and hope.

But for me, this workshop went beyond even that. I met people I never would have been able to otherwise. I spoke directly to them, and we we made work together. This weaving was deep and strong because others had done it with me. It would last. It was not a question of outside or inside anymore. I thought: this just has to happen a few thousand times, with other artists and other busloads of humans, young and old.

That’s how society is built, woven steadily each day, like cloth.

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MOTHER TONGUE: MASK-MAKING WORKSHOP

As a gift to the Internet, I am open sourcing the material I created for the workshop. You are free to copy, modify and/or print this material, for non-commercial purposes only. Please credit or linkback where possible.

Ages: 10 and up

Activity: Participants will create individual face masks with a customized tongues. Afterwards, they put them on and think of how to pose creatively with the masks.

Materials:

Worksheet printed back and front on heavy A4 paper – one per person
Rubber bands or ribbons for the ear handles
Clear tape or stapler
Scissors
Colour pencils and marker pens
Various colourful materials for the tongues

Worksheet FRONT and BACK
(Click images to enlarge in a new window, then right click to save):

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STEPS:

1. Draw eyes all over the blank space of the mask. This will face the outside when the mask is worn. Explain how drawing eyes are a way of looking back at how people look at us.

2. Turn the sheet over. When the mask is cut out, this is the side that will be worn against the face. The cup of water is an image for what’s inside us. On the lines, write A) Your nickname, B) Name of a place important to you, and C) Name of a person important to you.

3. Colour the water with as many colours as you like. Remember this will be worn against the face, so use non-toxic colours that won’t transfer. Alternatively, cover the coloured area with clear cellotape when done.

4. Turn the sheet over. Cut out the mask according to the lines.

5. Make ear handles with ribbon or rubber bands. Tape or staple them down on both left and right sides.

6. Fold the mask in half and cut out the hole for the mouth.

7. Make a tongue! It can be from a long roll of plain or patterned paper, ribbons, cloth, etc. Think about what the tongue says and what to write on the tongue.

8. Put it on! Have fun.

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Thanks to Koon Tan and the staff of Balai Seni Visual Negara.

This workshop was held in conjunction with the exhibition Immaterial Frontiers 2.0, which as been extended to 2 Nov 2014. Go check it out! 

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Click image to enlarge and download. You’re free to share or print this image as many times as you like, for non-commercial purposes.

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Ali Abdul Jalil is a student activist arrested under multiple charges of Sedition for allegedly insulting the Malaysian monarchy.

He was arrested on 8 Sept, released later that day after posting bail and immediately rearrested on further charges of Sedition. He spent 15 days in Sungai Buloh prison where he was allegedly abused by the authorities – punched, slapped and hit with a baton and rubber pipe in an empty room.

He was released on bail on 23 Sept, promptly rearrested and sent to Johor Bahru Selatan prison, where he is currently under detention. He has been in jail without trial for 20 days.

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Gerakan Hapus Akta Hasutan (GHAH)’s press release condemning the torture of Ali Abdul Jalil  can be read here.

Amnesty International Malaysia‘s TAKE ACTION page is here, where you can find sample letters to send to the Prime Minister, Attorney General and Chairperson of the Human Rights Commission of Malaysia calling for Ali’s immediate release.

Solidarity Mahasiswa Malaysia is calling for a #FreeAli flashmob tomorrow 28 Sept (SUN) at Masjid Jamek 1pm, Sogo 3pm, and Temerloh, Melaka 1pm. Follow their twitter for more updates.

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Read this: Seven things to know about the Sedition Act

Join this: Gerakan Hapus Akta Hastan

Follow this hastag: #MansuhAktaHasutan

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I’ve wondered what it was like to be grown-up during Operasi Lalang. I was 7 that year – truly a child of Mahatir, who came into power in 1981, and ordered the government crackdown on political dissidents and activists in 1987. Over a hundred people were arrested under the Internal Security Act, and many of them got sent to jail.

People who lived through that time are calling this recent spate of arrests and convictions under the Sedition Act ‘Ops Lalang 2‘. Lim Kit Siang blogged about a “…climate of fear in the country, as if we are in the midst of a ‘white terror’…” Ambiga Sreenevasan declared to rousing applause at a forum: “…We are no ‘lalang’ (weed). We’re going to stand up today.”

Perhaps the confusion and fear in 1987 was the same as ours is now. Maybe parents chided in lowered voices about being careful what you write or say, at least until ‘this blows over. You never know.’

The same but not the same.

In 1987, we didn’t have the Internet. We didn’t have these amazing magic machines, which let you write, take photos, make music, shoot video and then connect it instantly to the whole wide world. The same machines with which you could start a fire, or a spark of hope, and watch it spread, or flickering, die, only to revive again, like those magic birthday candles that refuse to go out.

My favorite journalist in the West, Quinn Norton, has called the net the ‘Promethean substance of this age. It can consume, it can destroy, and it can empower. Like fire, we have to learn to use it and live with it.’

If you’re an artist, or a writer, if you keep a blog, or have an FB profile or Twitter account, whether you scribble the workings of your heart, or work all night drawing scary hands (because dammit it is fun), you wield a tiny part of this power. Now is the time to use it.

In contradiction to Ambiga’s words, though not, I believe, their spirit, I say: We ARE the weeds. We are the weeds with fire. We’re sending smoke signals across the net to find each other, and our hands are moving faster than theirs can catch.

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Click images to enlarge and download. You’re free to share or print these images as many times as you like, for non-commercial purposes.

Read this: Seven things to know about the Sedition Act

Join this: Gerakan Hapus Akta Hastan

Follow this hastag: #MansuhAktaHasutan

worm_ENG_hirest

Click images to enlarge and download. You’re free to share or print these images as many times as you like, for non-commercial purposes.

Read this: Seven things to know about the Sedition Act

Join this: Gerakan Hapus Akta Hastan

Follow this hastag: #MansuhAktaHasutan

BM version:

worm_BM_hirest

WuMa
I met Wu Ma at the thieves’ market in Georgetown.

He’s 87. For the past 30 years, he’s been drawing pictures everyday.

He rents a small shack where he lives alone. His neighbours watch out for him. When he dies, they will buy the coffin – ‘棺材! You know or not?’ – and burn his body. ‘No need to burn nonsense like incense and money. All that ghost stuff, I don’t believe.’

The drawings are in piles, in clear plastic bags. Horses with laughing faces and strange proportions gallop across white space. Mysterious figures hide in caves or behind foliage. There are shadowy ghosts and ghouls, as well as plain, austere landscapes. Those are my favorite.

At one point, after chattering on about the materials he uses, most of which I couldn’t understand, he suddenly unscrewed his water bottle and flung its contents over the drawings I’d taken out of their bags to look at. ‘Aghhhh! Nooo!’ I squealed, horrified. My arms stretched out to prevent more splashing. He shook the moisture off a drawing and laughed. ‘No problem! You see? This is a good painting. Water can’t do anything.’WuMa01
He was born in China. He came to Malaya with his parents when he was a little boy. ‘My papers are red. I’m half a person of here, half a person of there.’ I asked if he had gone back since then. He shook his head and frowned. ‘No, no. Bad memories. People are lucky now. So lucky! It was horrible then. Parents would sell their children. I was the only one my parents didn’t sell. And for what? Some jars of sesame oil and bags of rice!’

His bicycle was parked behind him. I tried to charm him: ‘Is that your horse, uncle?’ ‘Huh? Oh! Hahaha! Yes. I ride it everyday! Draw and ride bicycle, that’s all I do. Now doctor says I have to eat less meat, because of my – ‘, pointing to his liver. ‘The doctor at the hospital is good. They take care of people like me who have nothing.’

I wanted to talk to him until the world ended, but I had to go. We were meeting Fan Chon from Run Amok gallery for dinner. I picked three paintings and asked how much.

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‘Three paintings. For you, discount. XX ringgit. So, you want me to sign them?’

He opened a rectangular tin and showed it to me. ‘You see? These are the things I use to make rice!’ His box of tools – the outside and everything in it – was stained black. It was the patina of time, and love. Your tools have to earn that kind of patina. The only way to get it is prolonged daily use.

He dipped a well-worn Chinese brush into a small round tin filled with black goop, and wrote his name and the year on each picture. Then he put them into a plastic bag, handed it to me and smiled. When I tried to slip in an extra XX ringgit, he shut me down immediately. ‘I said XX, and I meant XX! I don’t change my mind. Take it!’

I noticed that the people around him were smiling. When I left, the surly looking uncle who was selling stuff opposite waved to me and said: ‘Come again next time, har?’WuMa03
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Some notes:

– The thieves’ market is at the corner of Lebuh Armenian and Carnavon. It’s a gritty, slightly dodgy looking place, a patch of the city claimed by locals and migrant workers to sell or trade just about anything you can imagine. Phone chargers, remote controls, half a telephone, broken toys, used clothes and shoes… all salvaged from the detritus of modern life. Part of the reason Wu Ma made such an impression on me is because the atmosphere of the market was palpably different to the rest of Georgetown, which feels to me like a picturesque heritage themepark, where everything is consciously on display.

– Wu Ma and I chatted in Mandarin. Some of that language has stuck to my bones after 6 years in Chinese primary school. I can grasp context and syntax very well, but my vocabulary is poor. I probably understood him to about 70 percent accuracy.

– The ‘Ma’ in Wu Ma’s name = horse.

– Over dinner, I was astonished and delighted when Fan Chon told me Run Amok’s first show was an exhibition featuring Wu Ma! Nothing says more about the vision and kick-ass indie spirit of this awesome art space. I’m hatching plans to do something there next year. Seriously, check out Run Amok!

– Fan Chon told me that Wu Ma prices his works according to how much he needs at the moment. I am aligned with this approach, having used it myself, so I won’t reveal what I paid, except to say that it was very affordable. If you buy Wu Ma’s art, I think you should pay whatever he asks, not more, not less.

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First three paintings by Wu Ma. Above: Portrait of Wu Ma by me.

I’ve been meaning to blog this forever. I spent the first 3 months of the year feeling stuck, and without a project to lose myself in, purposeless. So Zedeck and I started Activity Book, where I gave him things to write and he gave me things to draw, everyday.

When Five Arts asked me to decorate their 30th Anniversary party at the end of March, I jumped at a chance to fill my purpose vacuum. It was like a pebble preceding an avalanche. Now, I’m back to having too many things on my to do list. Sometimes I wish I could learn to sit in the vacuum a little longer. The self-intiated Activity Book (stalled for now) was turning out to be so cool. It made me feel like a mini sun, generating art through pure alchemy of the self.

Eventually, when the to do list has worn me out, I’ll go back to that place.

Five Arts is one of the longest running art groups in Malaysia. They’re rock steady. I admire their continuity and appreciate their work, but I know deep down there’s quite the ideological divide between us. They value history, and perhaps as a result of that, seniority; they’re a naturally hierarchical organization.

My first (and only) mentor, Chee Sek Thim, is a member of Five Arts.  Not only did he give me my first solo show at his gallery in 2005, but also his time, experience and honesty. His tough-mindedness wasn’t always easy to accept, but I loved him fiercely and will always be grateful to him.

My mindset tends towards the anarchic and autonomous. I used to think that I couldn’t work with anyone because I was too much of an individualist and egoist. This made me feel guilty and ashamed. If I wasn’t a team player, then I must be a megalomaniacal control freak, right? It took me years to figure out that in fact, I love working with people, but only in non-hierarchical situations.

I have thought alot about hierarchy. Sometimes I look at my work and see it as one long-ass question about the relationship of the individual to the collective. I hate being a boss as much as I hate being an employee. Having interns and mentors stresses me out. Projects that have given me the most satisfaction tend to be with partners, not subordinates or superiors.

This explains a little my love for the Internet. But that’s another story.

So for Five Arts’ 30th Anniversary, I decided to play on this tension. I chose lalang – weedy grass – as the motif. It’s a symbol of my utopian views for art and Malaysia – something wild and unpredictable, not entirely desirable, destined to be chopped and yet grow back again and again. Burdened with no other responsibility than to be and grow. Nothing to prove, nothing to gain. No dominion over anything.

Perhaps what I value most about Five Arts is how they invite and synthesize different views. I don’t think lalang reflects the Five Arts approach. Yet, the fact that it was allowed to grow all over the launch of their 30th Anniversary, I think, does.

Happy birthday, Five Arts! May you live long and prosper.

Concept sketches and results

The entrance was stenciled with yellow lalang. I couldn’t find chalk that was bright enough, so I made my own. We also filled one of the giant urns from Marion D’ Cruz’s famous Urn Piece with water and flowers for mandi bunga. I remember drunkenly splashing people and slurring ‘no mooarr sueyyyyy’ at the end of the night.

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We used the same flowers and leaves for centerpieces on the tables.

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Inside, I wanted to set up an interactive station where people could stencil lalang over a BN banner I’d taken down after Elections 2013. It was decided (wisely) that this wasn’t the occasion for it. Instead, I painted lalang on sheer boxes from Fahmi Fadzil’s Wayang project. Syam used them to stunning effect in his lighting for the Rhythm In Bronze performance.

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I’d planned to stencil lalang along the stairs, but ended up with the simpler solution of drawing lalang on glass bottles and putting candles in them instead.

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candles

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Upstairs, I used posters of Five Arts’ past performances to make a paparazzi wall. The shelves were turned into a mini-museum showcasing past props.

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In the airwell, I made my first ever mural, based on a drawing of five interconnected bunches of grass and assembled from sheets of recycled A4 paper. It rained like crazy that night, but the mural survived to see the next day. A wasp stung me in the face during set up, but it was WORTH IT.

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Thanks Marion D’Cruz, Grey Yeoh, Hoe Hui Ting, Syamsul Azhar, the interns and everyone at Five Arts.

Five Arts is hosting a ton of programs in 2014 and 2015 as part of ten Ten TEN: Five Arts Centre Celebrating 30 Years. Keep up with them on Facebook or Twitter

Photos in this post by Hunied Tyeb, Kakiseni, Grey Yeoh and Hoe Hui Ting. 

In June, the Japan Foundation Kuala Lumpur sent me and June Tan to Kinosaki for a symposium about reviving the Conference for Asian Women and Theatre, which was founded in Japan in 1992 but hasn’t seen any action since 2005.

They asked us to write a report about our trip for Teman Baru, JFKL’s monthly newsletter. I drew this picture instead:kinosaki_web

Luckily, June wrote a proper report (and took pretty pictures):TB2014-Aug-Sep-10web

It’s been easier for images to come out of me than words, this year. They’re like a bubbling stream, and on good days they’re even a strong river. All I have to do is sit down at the page and let it pour out of my hands.

Writing, meanwhile, feels like fishing for stones at the bottom of that river. I mean, they come. But god, so reluctantly.

I wonder about this a little. Before this year, I’ve never spent so much time drawing in my life, except maybe as a kid. It feels like my brain is being rewired – new pathways built, but more importantly, old connections reestablished. I like to imagine little brain worms wearing hard hats doing all this. Some are arguing over the plans and others are jackhammering my cerebral cortex.

I hope they dig me a channel where the River of Drawing joins up with the River of Writing and we all go white water rafting – you, me, and the brain worms.

And we will go through the door in the mountains.

Meanwhile, I swim madly in the image world and will drag up as many written stones as I can.

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Speaking of which, on route to Japan I worked on this commission for Poskod.my, commemorating 100 days of MH370 being lost. I wouldn’t recommend chasing your deadlines on a plane, but in this case it gave me a perspective from the inside:SharonChinSilentSeas
I called it ‘Silent Seas’. Words were not possible. Even the image was hard, but it found me in the end.

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Here’s a photoblog to help decode the drawing:
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Kinosaki is a hot spring town in northen Hyogo prefecture, along the coast of the Sea of Japan. We stayed at a guesthouse with lovely artists Shirotama Hitsujiya (left) and Sato Shimizu (right).  Everyday, you pick a fresh cotton kimono, which you’re supposed to wear to the public hot spring baths. Naturally, I gravitated to bunnies.

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Upcycled plastic buoy cat heads.

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June and I presenting our work at the symposium to discuss the future of the Conference for Asian Women and Theatre. We were invited by Shirotama and Mikuni Yanaihara (far right), both productive geniuses in the performing arts in Japan. The discussion got pretty heated, especially around WHY there needed to a conference specially for WOMEN. I said I saw ‘Asian’, ‘Women’ and ‘Theatre’ as doors that lead somewhere, instead of walls that keep people out. If you don’t include any of those doors, you don’t get see where they go in the mountains.

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We watched a play about a stripper staged at an old cabaret joint. Next door was a strange shop, with old pachinko machines and this shooting gallery of tiny ceramic figures. It was manned by a charismatic old lady who insisted June try her hand at shooting. She kept dragging June’s gun until it was inches away from the figures. She really wanted June to win something.

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Shirotama organized a workshop at the marine research center at Takeno beach. I seem to be dressed as a communist, which is a look I enjoy.

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We identifed and tasted different types of edible seaweed…

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…and cooked octopus rice over a wood fire. You can’t see it, but a huge brown eagle was circling close overhead, waiting for us to be done so it could swoop down on our meal.

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Stuff we picked up from our fieldtrip. The amount of trash didn’t faze me; since living in Port Dickson I no longer have illusions about how packed with garbage our oceans are. No, it was something else that mindfucked me: as we walked along the beach, I looked down and saw the sand embedded with tiny, multi-coloured fragments of plastic, as uncountable as confetti. You could sit all day trying to pick the broken plastic out of a square meter of sand and still not take it all out. It stretched on as far as you could walk. The plastic was PART of the beach. I had never seen such a thing. It made my heart sick, and then, I felt something harden inside, a kind of determination to accept this reality, to face it with whatever tools I had at my disposal: my art, and the time I have left on this earth.

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Best for last. We visited this sea cave. A hole in the rock where the ocean came rushing in and out with a roar, over and over. The hole in the rock. The door in the mountain!

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P.S. Shirotama Hitsujiya is the founder of performing arts group YUBIWA HOTEL, a creative genius, and also the artist who invited us to Kinosaki. She’s in Malaysia this weekend and will be giving a talk called “Why we work with the community” alongside other Japanese artists. Come if you can! Sat, 9 Aug 2014, 4pm – 5pm at Five Arts Centre in TTDI.

Q & A between Sharon and Maryann about their collaboration ‘My Samsung, My Best Fiend’ for Samsung Masterpieces digital art platform. It was rejected based on legal grounds. Read about it here

Sharon: When I approached you with the idea of collaborating, I’d already done some research and found out about Samsung workers getting cancer. I remember you being skeptical about being anti-corporate and anti-Samsung because that was an easy position to take. Actually it was your natural skepticism that made me want to collaborate with you in the first place! What was the progress of your thoughts and feelings as you researched and developed the script?

Maryann: I think the more accurate description of my feelings then would be wariness. When we criticise actions of others, if we’re not careful we let our fervour take over and then it becomes a battle to win the argument at all costs. I feel responsibility to think carefully about the messages we put out there; whether we’re perpetuating false ideas, especially since these bits of information are given material form and will presumably survive forever or at least for a much longer time than ink and pulp. Like conspiracy theories, some ideas become so convincingly burned into people’s imagination that no amount of reasoning and evidence can persuade them to consider otherwise.

I was also feeling a bit strange that as a regular smartphone user, and of a Samsung, at that, that I would be hammering the company. I felt like a hypocrite. I still do. I’ll admit to being very seduced by these devices. Have you seen the new-generation flexible screens? They are fantastic.

Sharon: Can you list some of the info sources, like news articles and documentaries, you looked at?

Maryann: This story has been big news for several years in South Korea so finding sources was not difficult. We have Bloomberg Businessweek, the Wall Street Journal, a documentary by Al-Jazeera and of course the very vocal, SHARPS (Supporters for Health and Rights of People in the Semiconductor industry).

I also searched the chemicals used in semiconductor manufacturing to look for other opinions. I found an article by Elizabeth Grossman to be fairly objective. The direct link between cancer and clean room conditions is still being debated although there certainly is an unusually high number of cancer cases with Samsung. Some of the chemicals used like benzene, are known human carcinogens while others like trichloroethylene are strongly suspected to be carcinogenic. Some epidemiologists note that the cases in Samsung fit a pattern observed in a study of IBM workers but the Semiconductor Industry Association contend that those studies were flawed. Another study commissioned by the SIA and conducted by Vanderbilt University found no conclusive evidence of a causal link. It may take a really long time before we know for sure. But even though we can’t be unequivocally certain of the cancer link, Samsung still acted in bad faith as evidenced by underhanded moves like intervening in workers’ claims from KCOMWEL, a quasi-government worker compensation agency.

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Thumbnail layout during first discussion.   

Sharon: Why was it important to make the story personal as well as a very blunt critique of Samsung’s labour practices?

Maryann: I think that’s related to the conflicted feelings. While I’m unhappy to know that people are suffering to make these wonderful things that I enjoy as a consumer, I’m also very dependent on it and I don’t wish to discard it. As much as I’m criticising Samsung, I’m also criticising myself and observing how bewitched I am by modern technology. I think many of us will feel this dissonance if we’re aware of what happens in the supply chain and production line. When it’s personal and relatable the story becomes more meaningful.

I remember asking you: ‘what am I to do as a consumer?’ If we bring attention to this through art, what are we telling people to do? You pointed out that it is enough to raise questions, which seems to reflect the thinking of the 19th Century Russian author, Anton Chekov. In a letter to A S Suvorin, he writes:

“You are right in demanding that an artist should take an intelligent attitude to his work, but you confuse two things: solving a problem and stating a problem correctly. It is only the second that is obligatory for the artist.”

What’s great about this information age is that news travels quicker and it’s harder to hide bad behavior. However, I think this problem with Samsung would have remained a domestic issue if not for the relentless campaigning by the families of the victims, and worker groups.

As for why be blunt with Samsung, well, this is a Samsung campaign which we know is an effort to associate the brand with creativity and positive attributes. But then here’s something not so positive that they did and it deserves attention. If we want things to change in the manufacturing of smart devices the best place to start is with the world’s largest maker.

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Sketchbook page. With most projects, I start drawing without a plan or much research, to see what images come up. This process is important to find the emotional thread of the subject, which I can never get by thinking. I have to find it with my hands. – Sharon

Sharon: The three victims you choose for the memorial portraits section happen to be all young women. Was this a conscious decision?

Maryann: No. It was driven by the availability of their portraits. We needed the faces. There were a lot of faceless names. There were also suicides reported of male workers working in different plants, not in semiconductor lines and not necessarily due to exposure to hazardous chemicals. I also wanted to pick from the category that represented the large number of people who died from cancer induced by exposure to toxic materials.

Historically, more women than men have been hired to work in the assembly and routine work of electronics factories, for a variety of reasons (that also raises an interesting discussion). So I think having more women was just circumstantial.

One thing that disgusts me now that I’ve learned about this, was the sort of positive perception of chip makers that media and advertising had impressed upon me. I was reminded of the “Intel Inside” campaign featuring people in “bunny suits”. It was paraded as cool, geeky, intelligent, and high-tech. I knew vaguely that the suits were meant to protect the chips from contamination, but I had no idea that the people inside were handling carcinogens and breathing recirculated toxic fumes every day while on the job.  It’s easy not to care when no one kicks up a fuss and you don’t feel compelled to investigate if there really is any link. I think the people in Korea did the right and brave thing. I wonder if I could be as devoted as Hwang Yu-Mi’s father in demanding accountability. Seven years is a long time. Most of us would’ve buried the cause or settled for money.

Sharon: Why did you use the brand name ‘Samsung’ instead of the generic word ‘smartphone’ in the script?

Maryann: Samsung is a special noun and I wanted to give the device a persona to illustrate the relationship. We’re getting close to making artificially intelligent smartphones which may know us better than we do ourselves. I think it’s remarkable that in future that there will be apps that are capable of predicting our emotions, maybe even offer some kind of therapy. “Samsung” in this case represents everything that combines to integrate technology into our lives.

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Sketchbook page

Sharon: We knew from the the start that didn’t we want to make this a piece of self-righteous agitprop. You talked about the guilt that comes with inconvenient truths, and the impossibility of squaring the ‘moral balance sheet’ in the age of capitalism. What are some of the questions that go through your head about this?

Maryann: To be honest, I had to look up “agitprop” when you first mentioned it 🙂 Goes to show how unacquainted I am with the history of art as propaganda.

Yes, the impossibility of being non-complicit in the destruction of the environment and the exploitation of people becomes apparent when we examine how we live and the things we consume. It brings to mind the calls to abstain from palm oil products because of the destruction of rainforests. Is that even practicable?

Sometimes it’s easier to just not think about it or slip into a sort of moral-licensing, like being careful and conscious with waste or doing charity to “pay” for other vices or indulgences so that we feel better about ourselves.

Maryann: From the very beginning you wanted to tell the story about the Samsung workers. What moved you to do this?

Sharon: Solidarity, and subversion. I felt that being invited by Samsung to make art on a Samsung device for a Samsung sponsored digital art platform was a rare opportunity to explore how we’re connected via our magical smartphones to a web of labour, manufacturing, marketing and consuming. Not only is this expressed through the art, it’s also happening in the real-life meta-level context of the Masterpieces project. In this case, the context and the art are like a call and response – they echo and amplify each other. Drawing the memorial portraits of Samsung workers on the Galaxy S Note was a mini mindfuck. I kept thinking about the human who’d assembled my device. It wasn’t just telling the story of the workers, but showing how that story is part of the technology we use every day. That story is more than something that happened to people in another country – it’s sitting there in our pockets; we’re holding it in our hands.

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First rough of Panel 3. We did two photoshoots at a friend’s apartment. The first was just playing around and seeing what shots could be interesting. By the second shoot we knew the composition of the images we needed. 

Maryann: What does the Kraken signify?

Sharon: The invisible tentacles of corporate capitalism, reaching into every aspect of our lives, from our bodies to our minds – gripping tightly in some places and caressing lovingly in others. Hard to tell where one ends and the other begins. It’s all connected.

Maryann: That’s a fitting choice, a cephalopod’s tentacles have minds of their own which sense and react to their external environment. What do you hope this piece of work will achieve?

Sharon: For Samsung, I hope it sparks an internal conversation about what they can expect from artists when they choose to initiate digital art projects like this. The optimist in me asks them to consider how cool and truly innovative they’d be (or appear to be) if they accepted outcomes like our collaboration as part of the open-source digital culture of the Internet, which is so heavily biased towards sharing and exchange; to see that we are not trying to ‘bring them down’, but to initiate a true conversation that could lead to technology that isn’t destroying people or the earth.

I hope workers in the semiconductor industry who see this will feel that their struggles are shared.

I hope people will connect to the emotions and ideas in the work, and realize that we are not limited to using these devices (or services) in ways that the companies that made them want us to use them. These are powerful tools that can help us imagine and construct a more just, less destructive civilization.

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First rough of Panel 7. The final script was developed from these roughs. We needed the images to see how much text was necessary to tell the story. The roughs also helped me learn to how to draw on a tablet, which is so different from pencil and paper. The best thing about it is being able to experiment wildly with colour. The worst thing is that it’s very hard on the eyes. – Sharon