Antid Oto #2: #KitaLalang

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The hashtag #KitaLawan appeared in February, after Anwar Ibrahim was convicted of sodomy and sent to jail for the second time. In the beginning, I saw both #KitaLawan and #KamiLawan being used, which was interesting.

‘Kita’ and ‘kami’ are collective pronouns meaning ‘we’, but the latter is closer to ‘us’ – an other, i.e. a ‘them’, is explicit when using ‘kami’. Thus, ‘negara kita’ means ‘the country belonging to all of us’, while ‘negara kami’ means ‘the country belonging to us, not including you/them/other people’.

The image of bright yellow lalang growing over a Barisan Nasional banner has hovered in my mind since 2013. It sometimes comes into sharp focus, but I’ve yet to pin it down. This was an experiment cutting lalang out of scrap pieces of yellow fabric – a patchwork of resistance, a loose web against an unchanging background.

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Antid Oto – italian for antidote – was one of Leon Trotsky‘s earliest pen names. I also love the Malay word for it: penawar. A few months ago, I started taking regular walks and making drawings afterwards as a way to deal with worry, procrastination, hopelessness, writer’s block, internet rage, and digital distraction. I’ll post a series of them here, one every other day, for as long as I keep making them. 

We are the weeds with fire

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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

Hacking the Art Exhibition

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I seldom have a good time at an art show. Maybe it’s my fault. I am an introvert. I usually go on opening night. I psych myself up an hour before and still end up intimidated, anxious and bored when I get there. Thing is, I love art, and I love people. So, why the hell?

The thought of people feeling the same way at MY shows… just makes me sad. WEEDS/RUMPAI was the first solo show I did after moving to Port Dickson. It was time to rethink it all. I had to make a show I would 1) enjoying doing, 2) want to go to and 3) have fun at.

This is how I hacked everything I thought an exhibition had to be:

 1. Treat it as an experiment

Artists take all kinds of risks making their work – chasing ideas, finding ways to say what we want to say. Ironically, the risk-taking stops when it comes to showing art. We rely on existing structures: the established gallery, press release, VIP previews for collectors, cocktail reception. Why do we give up the driver’s seat so suddenly and so completely at this stage of the process?

Thinking about exhibitions as process, not outcome, forced me to extend the spirit of enquiry all the way to the end. For example, why are we seeing so few new faces at art shows, year after year? Sigh and accept ‘that’s how it is’, OR try something freaky to shake it up? For the first time in years, I found myself thinking ‘IT MAY NOT WORK’ again and again. It scared me. I also knew that this feeling is what makes art risky, vital and necessary. 

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2. It doesn’t have to be 3 weeks long

Long exhibitions give more people the chance to see it. But it also means: more time (can’t move on to the next project), more resources (space rental, gallery minder), and importantly, a longer wait until you get paid for art you’ve sold (debt, opportunity costs). I weighed this against my observation that most small-medium scale exhibitions in KL see 90% of their audience on opening night. 

For WEEDS, we discussed a two-day exhibition. Then we narrowed it down to one. The limited timeframe forced an urgent, flexible way of thinking and doing. We worked our asses off on pre-show promotion – displaying the works onlineblogging everyday and just giving people a window into the making process. Within a month, I had wrapped up almost all affairs related to the show, and moved on to making new art. 

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3. Set the terms of sale

Nothing yanks my chain more than waiting months on payment for art I’ve sold and delivered. I have horror stories of friends getting cheques years after their show closed. Some gave up and were never compensated.

I set a clear condition: payment within 2 weeks, or no sale, and an incentive: 10% discount for immediate payment. Within 20 days, I was paid in full – something I have never experienced in more than 7 years of exhibiting with galleries.

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4. Sell the work before the show

For WEEDS, we experimented by selling the works online a week before. They sold out within two days, which surprised and delighted me, but it also led to an unexpected outcome: a complete change in atmosphere on the day of the show.

When art is for sale, the gallery turns into a marketplace. In the marketplace, when we can’t buy something, we shut off from its message. Whatever its value, we can’t attain it, so why bother. Hey, which way to the open bar?

Also, the need to entertain and service potential wealthy patrons creates two ‘tiers’ of audiences at a show. My theory is that this is what makes exhibitions so intimidating, especially to newcomers, but even to sorta old hats like myself.

When nothing is for sale, people relax. They talk more naturally. The art fades into the background, which strangely, makes it more powerful and alive. Released from being commodities on the wall, art activates the room and whoever’s in it. It becomes an excuse for people getting together.

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5. Ban art-speak 

Read press releases from a few galleries. Peek at their invitation graphics. They sound and look the same. They’re often incomprehensible and never warm or inviting. People assume that describing something with clarity means dumbing it down. This is as misguided as it is arrogant.

From the press statements to the invitation, we pored over every word we wrote for WEEDS, purging the unnecessary, vague or jargonistic. ‘Major body of works’, ‘conceptual artist’, ‘site-specific’ didn’t make it. Not even ‘repurposed’. Instead, we used ‘up-cycled’.

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6. Host it like you’d host a party at your house

My philosophy for throwing parties is that people should feel comfortable enough to do or be whatever they want. My best friend once came to a New Years’ party at my house and spent the entire night playing scrabble on her iphone, while people danced next to her in the living room. She later told me it was the best party she’d ever been to.

Extroverts can get all the attention they desire (we organized an open mic), introverts can sit in a corner or have intense one-on-one conversations, (we assembled a craft table in the middle of the room with rubber stamps, crayons and paper), emos can mope or cry (I did – too much wine, too happy, too tired, too everything), the hungry can score a free meal (my brother, a talented chef, cooked up a spread of weeds inspired food), and so on. Jerome DJ-ed. And there was dancing.

There must always be the option of dancing. 

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7. Ask for help

I hate to tell you this, but you can’t do it alone.

I hired Commas & Industry to help with the event management and PR. 

I hired OUR Art Projects to handle the sales transactions.

I hired Maryann and Roberto to build me a website in 2 weeks.

I hired Jerome to organize the open mic and play his magic music.

My brother, bless his heart, cooked for free.

Merdekarya, bless its generous, DIY, bad-ass heart, let me use the space for free. They ended up making record sales from drinks at the bar.

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This is the math:

All in all, it cost me exactly 50% of what I made from artwork sales to produce the WEEDS/RUMPAI exhibition.

Today galleries require a 50% commission on all sales. None of them offer guarantees that they will bust their ass selling your art, expanding your audience or furthering your career. Honestly ask yourself if your relationship to the gallery is one of mutual respect and collaboration. If you’re in business with a gallery like that, congratulations and good luck. Demand contracts. Demand payment on time. Demand transparency. They need you more than you need them. 

The point of this post is not to be a definitive guide on how art should be shown. It’s to prove that you can do it exactly the way you want. Work with people you trust and respect, people who will be REAL partners on an equal footing and help make your crazy ideas happen. 

Don’t give up the driver’s seat. 

~

PS. Perhaps you are wondering: what’s with the mudskipper? Because it’s the weirdest, craziest, coolest animal? EVERRR? I dunno. Ask my subconscious. It seems to think a mudskipper is the perfect mascot for hacking into anything you need to change.

All photos by OUR Art Projects.

Painting the Weeds rubberstamps box: Step-by-step

The WEEDS rubberstamp set is happening oh so slowly. Here’s a look at the process of painting the custom box that will house the stamps. 

Step 1: Design layout. I made the weeds overlap every surface so they look like they’re taking over the box. 

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STEP 2: Because I’m producing a few copies of this artwork (in artspeak it’s called a ‘limited edition multiple’), I trace the design so each set will be the same. 

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Step 3: I mixed my own black because I am a NERD. Not all blacks are equal. The stuff in tubes is usually flat and one-dimensional. You can’t see in the photos, but this is actually a very dark navy-grey that comes out as rich, warm black against the nyatoh wood’s reddish tone. I mix in equal parts sealer (the white stuff, dries clear) for durability. 

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Step 4: Here we go! 

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Step 5: Paint paint paint. I start from the top left and work my way across. 

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Step 6: OMG done! The top of the box is a lid that slides out, but when closed it just looks like one continuous surface. 

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Step 7: Identification underneath the box. ‘AP’ means artist proof, which is like a trial run piece – you work out all the glitches so that the proper editions will be perfect, or as close as you can get. 

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Step 8: Now this baby is ready for waxing, which protects the wood, gives it this crazy sexy satiny sheen…

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…and brings out the beautiful grain. 

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This thing is taking up alot of hours, but I’m loving every second. More than anything, this is the part of my job I dig the most. The making. 

More pics of the stamps and box on my Facebook page. Stay with me, I’ll announce when it’s done and ready for the world. 

The Long and Lasting Glow

People came to #WEEDS/RUMPAI. Lots of them. Many I’d never met before. 

They ate and talked and drank and listened and sat down to make art. 

The artworks I’d made were hanging in the background. But it was what was happening around the art that mattered. 

It was what I wanted, and hoped and dreamed. 

Yeoh and Tsuji’s five-year old daughter took my hand and we danced together while Wolf sang ‘Tudung Periuk’. Sometimes you need someone else to be there with you so you can dance. 

I cried happy tears. I always do this. It’s ok. It gets more ok to cry in public as the years go by. Guess I grow less and less attached to being terminally cool as a marker of personal success.

Wolf said: can’t bring you anywhere, Sharon! It’s true. I will fucking cry my eyes out. 

Look! This was the day after: 

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What now? 

Onwards, dear comrades. 

P.S. – Pics of the night here by OUR Art Projects

Making of a Weed: Step-by-Step

STEP 1 – Get a flag somehow:

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STEP 2 – Identify weed. Draw/photograph/otherwise make an image of it: 

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STEP 3 – Make a grid to scale and put it over the image: 

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STEP 4 – Transfer drawing to flag with wax pencil. The grid helps. Coffee and blind faith helps: 

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STEP 5 – Paint in the drawing with fabric paint:

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STEP 6 – Paint paint paint: 

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STEP 7 – Outline the painting with wax pencil:

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STEP 8 – Add dimension, tone, shade: 

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STEP 9: Done! 

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Now repeat 20 times. 

Flag town

The day I leave Port Dickson to do the #WEEDS/RUMPAI exhibition (this Sunday, 10 March folks!!), our deputy prime minister Muyhiddin Yasin comes to town. 

Where the big wigs go, the flags will follow. Or is it the other way around?

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They even got the local council to come out and sweep the roads (you can see them wearing bright orange in the shadow on the left), all special like:

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