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Hello, my dear people. 

I am pregnant… with ART CHILD!

Dice have been rolled, and plans have been made. An exhibition will be happening roughly 30 days from now. 2 days only. Blink and you’ll miss it.

My heart’s beating faster. I’ve done plenty of exhibitions, but this one is going to be different. I feel it in my bones. It’s not so much the work that’s new, but the approach – the way I think and feel about… everything.

The best way I can say it is that these seeds were planted in a different ground. Somewhere deeper (and dirtier), where things have their own time, and know exactly what they’re doing, even if I don’t.  

Process, my friends.

Change.

So welcome to the motherfucking countdown! There’ll be a weed for you everyday until THE day, along with news and constant reminders that:

This is happening… I’m kind of terrified…

But excited…

and THANKFUL…

and hopeful

that you’re here to join me.

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I’ve been spending the whole week drawing and painting.

It’s been easy. I lose time. I lose myself. I stop for food and sleep, and if I beat the resistance, jogging. I’ve been ignoring mostly everything else, including the blog. I’m sorry. I get like this when in ‘maker’ mode. The truth is I feel like the most boring person on earth during this part of the process.

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‘Wow, the consistency of this fabric paint is the BIZNESS. So smooth.’

‘Whoever invented the chinagraph pencil is a freaking genius.’

(A chinagraph is a mix of wax and pigment wrapped in a tough paper shell. They’re cheap and write on almost anything. The best part is you ‘sharpen’ the pencil by peeling off layers of paper.)

‘Better get this under-drawing done while the light is still good.’

And so on. 

Halfway through flag #2 I got this uncomfortable feeling, like a hairball growing in the pit of my stomach. I coughed up the damn hairball and it spelled out: SHOW THESE FLAGS. DON’T WAIT.

Uh-oh. But but but, what about Epic Project? Ain’t got no time, not part of The Plan, etc. 

However, I have learned the hard way never to doubt the hairballs that come from my own gut. They are a gift from the universe and yourself, those hairballs. 

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So I’m going to show these flags, in the insanely near future. Probably before Chinese New Year, which is a couple of weeks away. It’ll be a one-night flash exhibition… somewhere. I don’t know where yet, or how. I’ll figure it out this weekend and you will hear about it VERY SOON.

Ok? OK. 

Now hold my hand and breathe out with me. 

~

I want to tell you a little more about the flags. 

Yesterday night me and Zedeck went out at some ungodly hour on a Ops Kutip Bendera (flag harvesting mission). New Barisan Nasional flags had sprouted up all over town only a couple of days ago. We suspect it’s because tomorrow, the MB of Negeri Sembilan is slated to officiate the opening of PD Waterfront (a privately owned mixed commercial development).

I spent most of the time in the car, while Zedeck got the flags with a pair of bolt cutters. You know there are certain moments when you are sure someone loves you, that they have your back forever and ever? This was such a moment. When we got home, I even bowed to him as a formal thank you, for being my comrade. 

My logical brain KNOWS that those flags have no right to be there. What’s interesting is that I could feel my unconscious going into overdrive, steadily pumping out waves of irrational fear. If I had balls, they’d have shrunk to prunes. Zedeck, who does have balls, concurred. 

Legal? What’s legal? It didn’t matter. We were breaking the rules of the way it is. Transgressing. It wouldn’t have made a difference whether they were PAS, UMNO, DAP or PKR flags. We would have taken them anyway and felt the same level of chicken-shit fear. This system of politics is a relentless machine that drives our lives, and we were just two gnats bumping up against it, not even big enough to be irritating. 

The flags go up when they’re not meant to go up, you see them, you grumble, but that’s the way it is, right? Because it’s been like that as long as you can remember. 

That’s the way it is. 

Why do I have to go mess with the way it is? Who the fuck am I, to do that? 

I was thinking of the workers whose job it is to put those flags up. Why we gotta go mess with their jobs? They’re just earning a living.

Then I started to think a bit harder about why I’m doing this. What’s my purpose? Am I trying to raise awareness about indiscriminate political flag use in the public landscape? If that’s the case, I should get organized, put a team together, be an activist, write to the press or something. 

But I’ll be honest with you. This is not an activist gesture, in that it isn’t a concerted effort to get anything concretely done. It’s art. It’s what I do. It’s my job. And my job, I think, is to stay awake. To keep watch on what I see/think/feel/dream and share it with you in whatever way I can. That’s the whole of it. 

Anyone can do it, and I wish more would. 

Sure enough, today I drove around, and a lot of the flags we took were already replaced. 

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Hello, dear people. How’s ARE you? 

The first week of the new year always sfeels like a training bra to me – everything’s bouncing around to see how it fits. 

I have art for you! 

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Last year, I started doing a drawing a day to get back into the feeling of making things again. (Art isn’t really something mystical, most of it is getting enough hand-eye coordination so you can bring the ideas in your head into the real world). 

Over a couple months I filled a notebook with drawings of all the weeds and unknown plants in my garden, a different one everyday. 

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Around the same time, Barisan National flags started popping up all over our town of Port Dickson. 

On the roadtrip, we passed this big mining pool on a deserted highway from Kuantan to Kuala Terengganu. It was stuck full of UMNO flags and looked like an art installation. 

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I remember our friend Azharr telling us about filming Malaysia’s biggest and oldest Cengal tree for his documentary about boat builders. He treks into the Pasir Raja forrest reserve and finally comes upon the 1,300 year-old ancient majesty. He looks up and…

Pinned to the tree is a PAS flag.

For months now, there’s been a feeling of not being able escape the flags. A flag to rule them all! Every person, rock and blade of grass. Every bridge, roadside and village! 

So Zedeck has been helping me to harvest the flags in our town so that I can paint weeds on them. 

This isn’t about political partisanship. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I’m not politically neutral. I’m not afraid of politics. I don’t hide in my house, doing hobbies and wishing it would all go away. No, I’m a citizen. I take part in the political process. 

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This is about goddamn political party flags and why they are in my neighbourhood, in my landscape and IN MY FUCKING FACE when it is not election campaign period.

This is about the arrogance that comes hand-in-hand with the will to power. The claiming of people, the earth and the very sky as property and tools. This is about overcoming my own helplessness, not by bitching about it on the internet, but by making art. 

This is about turning the tables, thinking instead about what the flags (and what they represent) can’t escape. 

This is about working with time, not against it. This is about the beauty, strength, weakness and enduring independence of weeds.

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We are the weeds.

We are in the buildings, the cracks, the fields, the roadsides.

Stubborn, that’s us.

We are many and not alone. 

We are on the side of time,

We have time on our side.

~

Kamilah rumpai

Hidup di celah, gudang, padang, tepi jalan

Degil

Tak terbilang, tak bersendirian.

Kami berpihak, ya, kepada masa, 

Masa berpihak kepada kami. 

~

P.S. Did I mention that this is also about being a #cheapartist by recyling ‘found’ materials?

Hello, you. 

Merry Christmas. 

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And a happy fucking new year. 

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Art has started to be made. 

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I’m putting myself through a DIY crash course in colour theory. Epic Project was feeling so huge that I needed something totally basic to lead me out from the Dangerous Swamp of endless ‘research’, and onto some kind of path. A path I can follow. 

They’re just color studies. The shapes are based on drawings of weeds I did earlier in the year. 

This is the start – a tiny, almost embarrassingly insignificant start. It’s like… a postage stamp of a start, or.. or.. a fucking LITTLE BEAN of a start. Oh but it feels so good. It feels like letting out a breath I’ve been keeping in my lungs for months and months. 

I’ll post more as I go along. I want to do a tutorial on how to mix Chromatic Grays (a grey with color in it) and Muted Colors (a color with grey in it) called… wait for it…

50 Shades of Real Fucking Grey.

Some bonus art! 

I drew this for our New Year’s Eve Carnival of Life and Death party invite. Our 3 dead cats are frolicking in the earth, feeding the fire of our Tree of Life, and Zedeck’s book-to-be (he’s at story no. 87, really in the trenches of it now. When it’s done, it’s going to be so fucking good). 

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I also drew this a couple of nights ago. Not finished, but here you go. Trying (and failing) to sit still in the Tree of Life and Death. Also, booooooobbbiesss. 

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I started jogging again, which, to perfectly honest, I hate doing. I mean, I like the jogging itself, and I especially like the endorphins after, but I hate the part right before – the part that doesn’t want to put the shoes on, that just wants to sit here and do Internet. 

The hard part. It wins all the time. 

But on the days I win, I get to listen to music when I jog. I’ve been listening to this song… 

Oh guys, I love this song. William Shatner’s voice. The fact it’s William fucking Shatner, yes formerly Captain James T. Kirk – apparently he can’t carry a tune, but he wanted to make an album, so he wrote and performed the words and got Ben Folds to make the music.

It makes me feel… so… very…

He says
Phoenix
Pegasus
Grecian urn
Midwest turn
So much to learn

Together
Together

She says our souls
Are warm
Lives
Reborn

From hearts
That were torn
Before…

Together

Together they say
A breath renewed
Everyday
With you
Our arms our home
We are not alone
Not alone

Together

Our souls are warm
Lives reborn
From hearts that were torn
Before
Breath renewed
Everyday with you
Our arms our home
We are not alone

Together
Together
Together

We’re ready…

SO MUCH TO LEARN.

TOGETHER.

P.S. – If you’re wondering, I still have tales and sights from the roadtrip. I’ll post them eventually as we get into the new year.

Roadtrip is behind, New Year is ahead, and Fertilizer Friday is baaaaack!

Fertilizer Fridays are interviews with artist friends. It’s about honest, casual conversation, sharing ideas + busting myths about being an artist/making art.

I met Gabrielle in 2008, when we found ourselves stuck halfway up a hill at the RBS-Malihom Residency Programme in Balik Pulau, Penang. Together we weathered isolation, bugs, creative difficulty and extreme weather. I couldn’t have asked for a better residency companion.

Gabrielle is now based back in Sydney, but has been and continues to be frequently found in South East Asia. In fact, she’s spending this December at Cherrycake Studios, Penang! Here she talks with warmth and honesty about travel, being an outsider and what it means to belong…

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Self-portrait with Red Beads, 2005

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:

Usually in the latter stages of concept development. Ideas flow and make sense, productivity is high. Shit shines, I know what I’m doing, I complete work easily and feel satisfied. I don’t trip over anything. There’s plenty of tea & milk in the studio fridge.

b) BAD:

Usually in the early stages of concept development. Everything I do is ugly and try-hard. I am frustrated and attempt to work through it, but no matter how much paint I use, the work gets worse. I trip over and break things. There’s no milk for tea. I usually cry a bit and whine to friends about being no good.

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Malaysian Gothic, 2007, from Mouth of Flowers series

You’ve experienced living and working on a few artist residencies, both in Australia and overseas. Up to 2011, I was travelling frequently for art projects. At some point (I don’t know exactly why), I said to myself: enough. Maybe the idea of mobility had become a career crutch, with one opportunity leading to another, and if I stopped I was afraid of losing something… Momentum? Visibility? I lost a sense of my own direction and place, and with it, clarity of purpose in what I was doing.

Does success = mobility? What does travel give an artist? And what does it demand in return?

Yes, I totally understand. Art travel can be frustrating, exhausting and distracting. It becomes all about career and something gets lost in the process. After being away from the Aussie art scene during 2007-2010 (extended by a hiatus nursing a dying parent), I certainly experienced a kind of ‘invisibility’.

So now I’m keeping art sojourns short and sweet, if at all. My month in Penang this December will give me space to pause, get some perspective, and reconnect with Malaysian friends. Despite the setbacks though, travel does provide insight. And in return? I’ve been happy to meet the ‘pay back’ requirements of residencies. But it’s also taken 4 years to get back on my feet, so the price can be quite high.

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The Revelation, 2008, from Gods in A Box series

Something that’s seldom discussed is the agenda of those who host art residencies. What do you think are some of the motivations of private/institutional organizations when providing artists with residency opportunities? Are artists aware they’re serving these agendas alongside their own?

Good question. Sometimes the motivation is genuinely philanthropic, but more often it’s about getting a tax break or gaining political kudos. With many private residencies, it is a way of generating rental income. Some artists are aware of these agendas and research the background of organisers/residencies before accepting support. Others simply take advantage of an opportunity where they can, which is understandable in an environment where opportunities are so limited. Other times, it’s just an affordable holiday with a studio attached. I think that the simple fact that residencies exist is a miracle. They certainly weren’t around 30 years ago…..

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Figure 1A, 2009, from Colonialus Nullus series

As an Australian artist working in Malaysia, did you experience discomfort as an outsider? I know this term ‘outsider’ isn’t a polite one, but talking about it openly helps break that sucker down. We hide behind too many unspoken walls when perhaps a visible one would be preferable – it’s easier to dismantle.

I bring this up because I see in your paintings an attempt to grapple with the surface of the social culture you encounter, e.g. Mouth of Flowers and Gods in a Box, two series you completed at Rimbun Dahan and Malihom, respectively. The figures are constrained by a decorative outline, or shell. At the same time, they inhabit the shell. I also see the Colonialus Nullus series as a take on Westerners encountering an ‘exotic’ landscape and becoming part of it’s history, themselves becoming exotic creatures.

Could you tell us more about experiencing culture from the outside and inside?

Wow you summed that up really well. Basically I’ve been on the move for the last 23 years…17 addresses over London, Sydney, LA, Melbourne, KL and Penang, so being an ‘outsider’ has become the norm. I’m an expert at adapting to new social/cultural environments. Discomfort is a major part of the process – and a major inspiration.

Moving allows for calculated risk taking; it generates all kinds of interactions, conflict and ideas. Depending on the environment, the art will reflect feelings of constraint, frustration, violence, exoticism, humour or total absurdity. And my role as being part of the ‘problem’ is always implied. In creating Colonialus Nullus, I experienced my own redundancy in terms of making any genuine contribution to Malaysian culture; I was just a passenger/visitor, like my colonial forebears – and in historical terms, an endangered species. Everyone else in Malaysia seemed to know this but me.  

Another good reason to travel – it wakens you from outrageous ego states.

Are you a feminist?

A big fat ‘YES!’

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Liberate Education participants with their work

In 2011, you started something called Liberate Education, where you conduct art workshops for all ages, in different contexts. I was moved and inspired by the testimonials from participants in their 80s. What insight has Liberate Education given you about the creative impulse as an essential part of being alive?

It banished all cynicism or contempt I had for the creative process. It’s so easy for an artist to become jaded, I have certainly felt it. But seeing folk – especially those with dementia, physical disabilities or psyche issues – start painting, drawing or experimenting for the first time and creating an artwork they never thought possible, is incredible. For however long the feeling lasts, they are totally uplifted, confident, surprised, amazed. Group members start relating to each other as human beings. They laugh and look younger. They get cheeky and playful. And they can’t wait to come back and try it again.

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Figure 2A, 2009, from Colonialus Nullus series

Something has been bugging me for a long time about the art profession in Malaysia: the fact that galleries and collectors often take months (sometimes years!) to pay artists for works that have been sold and delivered. Has this happened to you? If you had to pick a specific problem you’ve encountered professionally, what would it be? What can be done to improve the situation?

Yes, it happens in Australia too. I know of several galleries that have gone bust and artists have been left unpaid. It’s absolutely unacceptable and totally disrespectful. But much of the process is about solid communication. Often artists are just so grateful to be invited to have or be in a show, they don’t ask questions. But we have to wise-up and not assume it will all work out, especially in an industry where galleries go bust and collectors don’t pay.

We must negotiate our contracts/conditions with care. If we want to be paid straight away, we’ve got to get the gallery/collector to agree to this, otherwise, forget it. As an individual artist however, it can be really hard to create change, so forming a union, peak body or non-profit association is a good option for moving things forward. Direct political representation with strong numbers encourages professionalism…. and respect (ie. payment) follows. The Matahati group is an interesting example of what can be done within the strength of a collective alliance. Bet those guys get paid on time?? 🙂

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Mea Culpa, 2012, from Antipodisease series

In your many years as an artist, what has been the relationship (should I say tension?) between social class and art? Is this relationship different in Australia compared to Malaysia? I think there is class tension in your latest series Antipodisease, or am I totally off base?

There is much class tension in Sydney, and it’s become more acute as new ethnic groups enter the equation, and the divide between rich and poor widens.

For the last three years I have spent many ‘day job hours’ driving from incredibly wealthy suburbs in Sydney to poor ones. I inspect homes in all these suburbs, hearing the stories of the people who live in them, and writing about their properties for the local real estate market. I’ve seen a lot of change, experienced plenty of ignorance and witnessed a general disengagement with the natural environment.

Up until recently social class hadn’t been a big item on my artistic agenda, but after these experiences it became achingly apparent that I needed to address it. So yes, Antipodisease does reflect the shifts and cultural differences/tensions I have experienced since being back in Sydney.

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Plugged-in, 2012, from Antipodisease series

What’s next for you?

A big thing has happened to me in the last 12 months. For the first time ever, I now live in my own home. I am no longer negotiating the idiosyncrasies of roommates, or worrying about when I’ll be moved on.

It feels weird, great, confronting, and sometimes lonely. I’ve started fixing stuff and browsing through home décor catalogues. Yikes. So, short of becoming a renovation princess, I am beginning to think more deeply about what home, place and identity really mean. What does it mean to belong?

My work in property marketing is helping with this. Remember when you were fascinated with pockets? [In 2008, I began collecting pockets from used pants I found at Penang’s Thieves’ Market – SC.] I have become quite taken with architectural floorplans. I think they’re totally cool. So I’m visually playing with floorplans from all the places I have lived, loved, visited. I don’t know where the journey will lead but I’m currently at (b) BAD early stage concept development that will hopefully lead to (a) GOOD latter stage concept development where everything flows and I do little dances in the studio without tripping over anything.

Hopefully there will be some milk in the fridge for tea. 

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The Surrender, 2006, from Flight Path series

Thanks, Gabrielle!

Everyone, please check out more of Gabrielle’s work on her website.

~

Fine Print: Images are Copyright Gabrielle Bates 2005 – 2012. All Rights Reserved. Wouldn’t hurt to ask before using. But if you’re taking them anyway, credit correctly!

Dear people, it is my birthday. 

Come, celebrate and cringe along with me! I’m going to go through all the things I did this year.

Are you ready? (Warning: epic post) 

Department of Radical Reinvention of the Self and Art

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This year, I started to disconnect from being a ‘gallery’ artist. I mean, I’ve always DIY-ed a bunch of different stuff, but I kept relying on the gallery exhibition model as the central engine – the seat of my art, so to speak. The gallery was where I got my money, my satisfaction and my audience. I was building my career around it. 

2012 has been a slow, painful process of rethinking and reinventing everything I do. I revamped my website and came up with a proper logo, based on a tattoo I have on my right shoulder. 

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I started this blog where I promised myself I would write in the most straightforward, honest way possible, no matter how vulnerable it made me. Radical inclusivity as a natural outcome of radical self-acceptance, and vice versa…

Or, as Stefan Sagmeister put it: Trying to Look Good Limits My Fucking Life (He didn’t say fuck, I did)

I learnt to say and write fuck as many times as I like from Amanda Fucking Palmer. I also learned alot from her about what art can be when you have self-belief, and back that up by investing in yourself, for real. This doesn’t mean you’re being selfish or narcissistic, but in fact allows you share the best of what you do with others. 

Another thing Amanda Palmer gave me the courage to do: for the first time, I sang and played ukulele live on a real stage in front of a real audience. Hearing my own voice amounted to nothing less than a mini personal revolution. 

I sound ok. Not great, but I think you can tell from the video that the performance was really a tightrope walk in overcoming fear. This is the truth I have learned, dear people. You dream one day you will be ‘good enough’ to do The Thing You Want, but that day when you are free of fear will never come. 

‘Sing, even if people tell you that you can’t sing’People don’t give you permission, so you have to give yourself permission. It is ok. It is OKAY. Whatever it is, do it. And do it now, not when you’re ready.

I love you and you will find others who will too. 

I created an alter ego STiNky pOOdLe for the performance. The name comes from a little song by another hero of mine, Tangela Tricoli. Here’s STiNky pOOdLe with Grace Chin, the wonderful lady who organized SCALE: Wisdom Of The Fools, the gig I played at (which btw, was Time Out KL’s Best Gig of the Year!):

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My friend Shahril Nizam painted a portrait of STiNky pOOdLe (scroll down) that took my breath away. I don’t know what’s next. I want to write stinky punk songs, maybe make a stinky zine full of vaginas and sex and pain and beauty. 

Also in the Department of Firsts: Me, non-husband Zedeck, aforementioned Shahril and Azharr Rudin went on a train and made a short film together. This is us being zombies after 7 hours:

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Don’t let this shot fool you, the film itself, VIA, is a thing of beauty. So is all of Azharr’s work – my favorite is his documentary about the boat builders of Pulau Duyung

Department of Money Making

I did make some gallery art, early in the year. Portable versions of a previous installation about banned books. I killed my wrist and shoulder bending lots of brass wire into graphs. 

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Photo by The Longue Duree, who wrote a ‘non-review’ of the show.

The works were shown in Singapore, then in another exhibition that travelled to Indonesia. I can’t describe my relief when I heard all 3 editions and the artist proof sold out. The money from this sale has kept us afloat for the better part of the year. 

I appreciate that gallery sales have been my main source of income over the years. But it feels too much like winning the lottery, and I was RM10,000 out of pocket for 5 months before I actually got paid. I’m lucky enough to have a safety net of parental support, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out the math isn’t working. It’s hard to build a life on unsteady ground. 

Another thing I did for money was a series of drawings of childhood games, which will eventually be turned into flip-books (a project by aforementioned Grace Chin). Over 250 drawings later, my shoulder was ready to fall off. On the other hand, I’m now best friends with a graphics tablet, which I’d never used before. 

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Department of Things That Didn’t Take Off: 

We had big plans for this series of posters in support of queer people in Malaysia. But we stalled and hesitated and delayed, partly due to fear of an almost guaranteed backlash. A couple of posters were featured on CEKU’s site and included in the Violence is Not Our Culture art notebook. This is one project I plan to resurrect soon. 

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This proposal for a poster project got sent around, but never went anywhere. I loved making a proposal in poster format instead of the usual mindless text. One day I want to make this happen. 

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A proposal I did with Varsha, for a public performance of eating together. We made plans for a table cloth that has sleeves and masks attached. The organizers fell through, but we’ll make this happen one day. Look! Masks with long tongues! C’mon, it’s fucking awesome. 

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Department of Art I’m Proud to Have Made: 

Bersih3.0 happened. I made and wore a yellow dress covered in yellow flowers

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Thus came about #bungaBERSIH

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This short video I made in my garden on a sunny day. A small thing I’m proud of. It was a heavy subject – the 11 March Tohoku earthquake and tsunami. I tried to find a way to say what I wanted to say, something that held both pain and hope without falling prey to sentimentality. 

Me, Rahmat and Poodien (my Buka Kolektif brothers) finally got together and birthed a book documenting the 2011 Buka Jalan Performance Art Festival. We saw it through. We closed the chapter, and now we can move on to the future. I’m proud of us. 

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Department of What’s Next

I have been talking about the Epic Project for awhile now. Alot of groundwork is being done (proposal writing, money seeking – all that FUN art stuff no one ever hears about) and you’re going to start seeing actual art early next year. 

I can tell you this:

I am developing a computer game.

It will be downloadable free worldwide. 

It tells a story about finding your way. 

Dear person reading this, thank you for being here. This is going to seem totally shameless and non-Asian, but fuck it. For my birthday, I’m going to ask for a present: 

Keep following me, and tell me what you’re thinking. You can sign up for my mailing list , subscribe to the blog  or just keep checking in. Whether you’re family (hi mom! hi dad!), friend or stranger, this is the best present you can give me – it will help me make the art I want to make and share it with you. 

The art I want to make is meaningless without you.

Love from me to you, at age 32,
Sharon @ STiNky pOOdLe 

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First I have to tell you: the journey’s done. We’re home.

Zedeck went straight to the Room Where He Writes and churned out story no.82. Me? I am… well, I’m being slow. I’m always slow with the re-entry after going places.

But this is not about that. This is about turtles. In an alley. In Kuala Terengganu. You dig the post title? C’mon it’s great. You know it’s great.

Kuala Terengganu was one of those places that crept up on me and made me fall in love with it in a few short hours.

Something about how the town sat in the landscape – just before the great river meets the South China Sea, it holds a few islands like pearls in a cupped mouth. In fact, something like this:

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You see the resemblance? You can never again un-see it.

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We were walking around Jalan Kampung Cina when I stumbled across a gap between two buildings. It was no more than 1m wide.

Holy shit! Someone had adopted this gap and filled it with art.

Behold the back entrance of Turtle Alley.

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At the other end, which we reached eventually, there’s a giant replica turtle greeting you. I’m glad we discovered it by the back – for the thrill of surprise and discovery, the split-second joy. Yes, you know it. The childhood joy.

Along the walls are illustrated plaques telling the story of the Little Turtle Messenger, which is a picture book written by Dr. Chan Eng Heng and drawn by Tan Yi Sin.

In addition to the story, you get to hunt for a tiny turtle hidden in each picture.  I cannot describe how much this place rocks my world.

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Wait, it gets better.

As we wandered down the alley looking for hidden turtles, a group of ladies came in. They were loud and chatty and joyful. I have a soft spot for colourful ladies, they make me happy and hopeful for the world. It became clear that one of them was none other than Dr. Chan herself, the maker of Turtle Alley.

She’s a retired professor, award-winning conservationist, and children’s book author. She made many of the mosaics on floor and the walls of Turtle Alley. How could I not go up to her and gushily ask for a picture?

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Here she is standing next to me.

We bought a calendar that will help out the Turtle Conservation Society of Malaysia. Go get one here, they’re selling fast!

She gave me one of the little turtles that she was going to add to the Alley that day. I thought about the space being slowly populated by art turtles, and could just about imagine/dream/hope the same about real turtles in the sea.

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I think if I was kid growing up in Kuala Terengganu, Turtle Alley would have been one of my favorite hiding places. I’d probably spend all day there, reading or dreaming.

Prof. Chan, I am your fan-girl.

You. ROCK. Your art ROCKS. You found a gap and filled it with life and beauty. You made a magic art portal in your town. People go in, and they come out again – different.

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Visit the Turtle Alley blog. Like Turtle Alley on Facebook. Best of all, go see it for yourself.

Hello, you. Hello from a quiet little hotel in Kuantan. Hello from the East Coast – monsoon country this time of year, and just unfamiliar country to me generally.

My car tells us we’ve travelled about 2000 kilometers so far. I wish that number made more sense to me. I’m sure it will in time. Everything seems to be travelling at different speeds – the blog and my life, my body and my head. One of them arrives first (usually my faithful, serviceable body) and has to shout at the rest: will you hurry the fuck up?

Ok, now. Right now. It’s raining, of course. Zedeck’s beside me, working on story no. 81. Sometimes I suspect we went on this roadtrip just so he could write and I could blog from different rooms with different views.

There’s so much I have to tell you. How to measure the journey?

Well, there’s been alot of junkfood. The road has been paved with nuts, Cheezels, cigarettes, chips, prawn crackers (my weakness and poison), bubble tea, all manner of fried and crispy food; sudden blasts of SUGARY SWEET! and then…SALTY! It’s all starting to make me feel run down and… squishy. I’m lugging around more belly than I’m used to. This is ok.

There’s been GOOD food too. Malaysians? We fucking ROCK at food.  It’s like we’ve reserved all our passion, creativity, sensitivity, attention to detail, sexiness, joy and unabashed embracing of the new and strange, and squeezed it into soups and little luscious morsels and deep complex curries and sauces and weird-ass things like rojak and and and…

At a kopitiam in Ipoh: this perfectly silky, french-chef-worthy, creme caramel pudding. I may never forget it. Blessed (or cursed) never to visit Ipoh again without thinking about it.

Just like whenever I go to Penang, I need to go to this beach in Balik Pulau. I know there are a thousand prettier places in the world, but this one’s mine. When I’m on this patch of earth, I’m complete. I mean, ‘complete’ like on a fucking cellular level. It’s like being with an old, old, old friend.

This time, we got there in evening. The sun was going down and the light was on the water. I stared out at the open sea and suddenly I started crying. When Zedeck wandered over and asked what was up, all I could say in a half-embarrassed sniffle-whisper was: ‘It’s just so beautiful’.

I felt like Double-Rainbow Guy, the sad Asian knock-off version.

Zedeck gets this, he gets me. I love him for it.

Also on the list of Things That Made Sharon Cry for Happy-Unexplainable-But-Really-Good reasons: seeing Sigur Ros play at Urbanscapes. I’m not even that huge a fan, but the music got to me.

Doesn’ t matter if you don’t let it in.

It’ll steal inside you like a thief, that thing, the beautiful thing.

It’s 3AM. Good night, now, dearest people.

Love,
Sharon