we live in a strange world

we live in a strange world: an introduction

2007-12-31T13:26:00.000+08:00

current feature:

Natalie Hennedige

upcoming feature:

Donna Ong

previous feature:

Lee Weng Choy

+ we live in a strange world

"Granted, in daily speech, where we don't stop to consider every word, we all use phrases such as "the ordinary world", "ordinary life", "the ordinary course of events". But in the language of poetry, where every word is weighed, nothing is usual or normal. Not a single stone and not a single cloud above it. Not a single day and not a single night after it. And above all, not a single existence, not anyone's existence in this world."

/Wislawa Szymborska, Nobel Lecture December 7, 1996, Stockholm

Through conversations with artists, strangemessages hopes to burrow deep into the collective Singaporean conscience and uncover the strangeness of this world. Each feature will unearth links to other interviews with the artist, and critical commentary on the artist's work. One of his or her works will also be featured on strangework.

This space also hopes to give a voice to the people who provide valuable support to these artists; for who is to say that publishers, translators and curators aren’t artists in their own right, tirelessly honing their craft and the process of art like writers, filmmakers, and playwrights do?

+ strangework

strangework publishes and exhibits strangely underrated works that do not receive the attention and recognition they deserve. Very often, these are works that have laid quietly for far too long in corners where the sun doesn't shine.

*Commentary from this editor will be restricted to this post, any announcements, several introductory comments and questions to the artist.

strangemessages will be eternally grateful to the strange people who come along and offer more information on featured artists, introduce strangemessages to more strange artists, and provide suggestions on how to improve this website. strangemessages can be contacted via e-mail at strangemessages@gmail.com.

*

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+ Natalie Hennedige

2007-03-02T23:07:00.000+08:00

+ strange past

Natalie Hennedige is the Artistic Director of Cake Theatrical Productions. From 2002 to 2005, Natalie was a full-time Artist and Resident Director of The Necessary Stage. With The Necessary Stage she directed many plays including Lanterns, Sing Song and What Big Bombs You Have!!! as part of the Inaugural M1 Singapore Fringe Festival 2005. With Cake Theatrical Productions, Natalie wrote and directed all its shows since its inception, including Animal Vegetable Mineral (2005), Queen Ping (2006) and CHEEK (2006). The most recent production which she directed was Divine Soap (2006) which was commissioned by the National Museum of Singapore for its Official Opening Festival.

strangemessages talks to Natalie about the academic angst, the "Hennedige Hallmark", mixed media, the awards culture and aspiring artists.

+ in conversation

So how did you first get involved in the arts? Why theatre? Anything to do with VJ Theatre Studies And Drama and Lofty (nickname for the VJC TSD teacher)?

During my time, we were under Rey Buono. I kinda stumbled into TSD really. I started off VJ doing pure science then switched over. Thank goodness!!! It was kinda magic. I remember attending my first theatre history class and it just blew my world. Very drama, but true...

How did you find the guts to make "The Switch"? What was it like?

I was dying in pure science. My dad is a dentist but more so a man of science and logic so he wanted all five of us (I have four younger sisters) to do medicine. I was just not cut out for it. When I switched, the roof at my house came crashing down, no kidding, things were flying across the room. But once the dust settled (a couple of months later) we all moved on. By the way, my second sister is a lawyer and the younger three are doctors so phew! My dad got 3 out of 5.

Later on, you worked with Haresh Sharma and The Necessary Stage. How was that like? What did you learn?

I freelanced for 4 years and in 2001 TNS asked me to come on board. First I was an associate artist, then a full-time artist, then resident director. It was a wonderful ride. I basically performed in most of the main season plays while I was there: Abuse Suxxx!!!, BOTE, CLOSE-IN MY FACE, Godeatgod, Boxing Day. I loved acting but in my heart I knew it was directing that I wanted to pursue. Then in my last year at TNS, I directed What Big Bombs You Have!!! and that helped to seal my new artistic direction. Just after, I set up CAKE, to find my own voice and exercise my own artistic vision. I learnt loads at TNS, during the time I was there there were seven full-time artists: Sean Tobin, Chong Tze Chien, Jeff Chen, Haresh, Alvin, Serena Ho and myself. So it was just this rich exchange of ideas... we all worked so closely.

For me, the Hennedige Hallmark on any production is channeling the weirdest and most cringeworthy elements into some of the most subversive and powerful theatre I have ever seen. How did this evolve?

Oh my goodness! Haha. It's always interesting for me to hear what people say about my works. I think that as artists you channel your experiences good and bad and your personality into your work. I think I was always inclined to things that were more bizzare. Aesthetically that's my inclination. When I'm writing, directing or creating on the rehearsal floor, everything is very instinctive...there are certain things that drive me and become recurring themes in my work... religion, belief, identity, loss, family, dysfunction, man's limitations and struggle to grapple with his existence while searching for the divine. For the works i've created so far at least. Just what I've noticed as I look back and reflect.

On the flip side, critics have mentioned that your greatest weakness can be excess and a tendency to overload the senses. Do you sometimes feel that way about your work?

I'm aware of how excessive I can be. Sometimes it drives me nuts too. I don't know...I think this aspect of my artistic style will change, evolve as I continue growing and refining my work.

Are you your own greatest critic? What are some of the flaws in your work you have noticed, and what have you done about them?

I can be rather hard on myself. I think that I need to get to the heart of what I want to communicate with more pin point precision. Communicate what’s in my head with super clarity without losing my style and approach...its important to be true to that...for all of us...I think.

Do bad reviews bother you?

I have a philosophy which I stick by, which is, the day the show opens, it’s out there for the audience. What people have to say about the work that they watch is valid and it needs to be received with respect. It can be painful, but sometimes I try to see where the comment is from, it could be a matter or style or taste, sometimes there's truth in it. So you take it bravely, put it aside or learn from it and move on.

Take me through the process of constructing a play. From the point of conceptualisation, to choosing the actors and designing the set, all the way till it makes the stage. What are some of the problems - and thrills - you encounter? Any superstitions, rituals, hair-tearing antics?

Because each new work is original..,I start with two things going in tandem 1) what is it going to be about and 2) who do I want in it. Once I confirm the cast, I start writing with them in mind. As I'm writing I’m visualising the set and costumes. I also begin to visualise the actors and how they might perform in a scene. I continue writing until I reach a satisfactory ending and then wait for the rehearsal process to begin. I allow the script to evolve or change where it needs to. A lot has to do with drawing what I need from the actors in terms of acting styles or places I need them to reach. I am pretty work focused and can be demanding but again, it boils down how you relate to people...as a director, you need to channel different energies to reach the goal, which is a solid play. I can be volatile and there have been an occasional blow up here and there but we move on and keep working at what's before us.

For you, I would reckon that a play is not just a play - in the sense that it leaps off the stage and takes many different forms like film (think your collaboration with Brian Gothong Tan), music, dance, etc. How do you mine these connections between the stage and different media? Is there a philosophy behind that?

I'm looking to create an experience rather than just a play. That's what I strive for at least. The aim is always to find something that is transcendental and I believe in pushing the boundaries of theatre. Not to limit possibilities. What can you do in that span of time within that space, that makes a difference, that makes the outing worthwhile. I love using different media because it adds layers and helps the experience become more visceral.

Congratulations on your nomination for the Life! Theatre Awards. The theme this year is royalty. Will we see you in a boob-busting gown reminiscent of Gong Li's turn in Curse of The Golden Flower?

Hahahaha! No!

Seriously though, are you skeptical of the whole awards culture? How far does it adhere to its ideal of validating, and valuing artists' work?

I do believe that everyone, from all sides are trying to work things out so that as a community we can work together. It'll take time and its far from perfect. But its what I truly hope for, a community that supports each other. Especially in the English theatre scene.

What would you say to an aspiring playwright, especially one that is, perhaps, making "The Switch" we talked about earlier? How do you confront the uncertainty and unpredictability that is being an artist?

If in your heart, you know this is what you must do, then you must take the leap. Be prepared to steel up because it is not an industry that readily opens its arms. Humility is important. So is resilience. And show that you have something to offer. People want to hear your voice, find it, hone it.

Do you think that the arts community - and society in general - lends enough support to budding young artists? Is there a lack of programmes, mentorships, opportunities to facilitate artistic growth? Is there anything Cake and you are doing to help young artists out there?

I celebrate when a young artist gets his/her feet through the doors. But celebrating is not enough. I do want CAKE to be in a position where it can nurture budding artists. It's a matter of building our resources. It will a little more time but its what we want. And something we are striving for.

+ strangework

Coming soon. Watch this space!

+ What's next ?

"In April, Cake will be presenting a new work as part of the Esplanade Theatre studio Season. It's a new play Nothing a meditation on love and death. Nora Samosir, Peter Sau, Siti Khalijah, Rizman Putra and Goh Guat Kian are in it, Brian Gothong Tan is on for multimedia and Philip Tan for music. Also CHEEK was selected to be part of an International Arts Mart so in June we will be putting up an excerpt of the play."

+ Lee Weng Choy

2007-02-04T22:50:00.000+08:00

+ strange past

Lee Weng Choy was born in KL in 1963. Shortly thereafter, his family moved to New York, and after that, to Manila. He went to the US for university and stayed there for over ten years. When he came to Singapore in 1992, he got involved in the arts and civil society very quickly. He joined Sharaad Kuttan and Sanjay Krishnan, who were then the editors of the NUS Society journal Commentary. They all quit Commentary when the NUSS management scrapped the issue that dealt with the performance art controversy of 1994. The issue eventually got published independently as the book Looking at Culture(1996). He has taught part-time at LaSalle, NAFA, Temasek Poly. In 2000, he joined The Substation as one of its Artistic Co-Directors.

strangemessages talks to Weng Choy about Amanda Heng, Zai Kuning, Life!'s arts coverage, the mythicised "man on the street" and "literary betrayal".

+ in conversation

When did you first encounter art? What was your first artistic experience?

I really can’t remember. As a young child I liked to draw. Professionally, it was relatively late in life when I became invested in the visual arts. As a student, it was math and science, then philosophy and literature, then the visual arts. Although, when I was about nineteen, I had decided to become a writer. At first I tried my hand at fiction. But now I have no delusions of producing novels; it’s the essay I enjoy writing most these days. By my early thirties it became clear to me that my life’s vocation would be writing art criticism.

Your favourite Singapore installation/exhibition so far.

While I often write about how this or that artist or artwork is a favourite, I can’t imagine singling out something to be THE favourite. I can’t imagine it working that way, once you’ve had so many encounters with art over so many years. So let me discuss two works, which I’ve written about, that are among many favourites: a performance by Amanda Heng, and an installation by Zai Kuning.

Amanda Heng was part of a triple bill in the September 2000 session of [names changed to protect the innocent], The Necessary Stage’s platform for experimental performance. An audience of around forty gathered at the theatre company, and, escorted by staff, ambled towards the nearby Parkway Parade shopping and hawker centre. I’m sure that many, like myself, while not terribly eager with anticipation, were curious about what was going to happen. Since the piece was part of the series Let’s Walk, there was an expectation that it would involve, obviously, some walking. (In an earlier piece, Heng, with the aid of a mirror, walked backwards around the LaSalle-SIA College of the Arts with a shoe in her mouth.) I think it’s safe to say that everyone was surprised, when we arrived at the busy hawker centre, to find Heng laying pink table cloths on the normally unadorned, plastic-coated table tops. Some of the hawker centre crowd must have been wondering what this woman was doing; I am certain no one knew her as a “major” contemporary artist. And then the two groups of people recognised each other. The hawker centre crowd saw “us”, the just arrived art audience, and we saw them, as alreadythere, already looking. Some of the art audience began sitting down. Heng finished covering tables, and proceeded to serve food. She asked a member of the art audience to cut through her t-shirt and retrieve a packet. Inside which was some money, and she repaid members of the audience the price of admission for the evening’s performances. Finally, she led us back to The Necessary Stage, laying a long strip of red carpet on the ground for us to walk on.

For me, that moment of arrival at the hawker centre revealed so much that is at stake in “looking” in art. The audience sees itself looking, and sees another “audience”, this one unmarked as an audience, let alone an “art” audience, which then also sees itself looking. It was a moment where a slightly odd gesture of “adding value for the consumer” -- an unexpected gift or present -- is revealed to be a work of art, and both the art audience and the hawker centre crowd see this transformation happening then and there. A fine moment that cuts between -- yet at the same time welds -- public and art spaces, everyday objects, moments and crowds, and the complex game of looks, frames and privileges that is art.

Zai Kuning’s A Tree in a Room was presented at Sculpture Square in early 2004: the work is made of a six-metre-long trunk, sourced from a lumber yard, placed in the middle of an otherwise bare room of the chapel-turned-art gallery of the former Methodist Church. The trunk had been sawed in half, and Zai hammered nails around the circumferences of both halves, and with wire “stitched” the tree back together.

A Tree in a Room makes reference to an earlier tree trunk that Zai had installed on the campus of a theatre school, which was co-founded by the late Kuo Pao Kun. Pao Kun had commissioned the first tree piece some years ago, but because of problems with the installation, it was eventually removed from campus.

Arguably Singapore’s most important cultural figure, Kuo Pao Kun is highly regarded (and by a wide constituency -- artists, activists, the general public, as well as by many senior government officials) for his plays as well as his leadership in civil society. He was detained without trial for four years in the 1970s, for allegedly being a communist. More importantly, he is the only person in Singapore to emerge from detention to become an even more influential public intellectual. He continued to be critical of state policy, although his subsequent plays are marked by an allegorical sensibility in contrast with some of his early agitprop works.

Zai has said that the new work at Sculpture Square is “the best way for me to remember [Pao Kun]”. As Zai has told me, he isn’t interested in making pro-environmentalist statements with the work (not that he’s unconcerned with local or global eco-politics). Rather, the work for Zai is a form of dialogue, taking up certain themes and tropes that Pao Kun employed in his plays, such as Silly Little Girl and the Funny Old Tree and The Coffin is Too Big for the Hole. But perhaps the most compelling reference that Zai makes is to Pao Kun’s play, The Descendants of the Eunuch Admiral.

Descendants unfolds as a nameless narrator contemplates on the figure of Zheng He, the Eunuch Admiral of fifteenth century Ming China. Zheng He commanded the largest known fleet of the day, and over the course of seven expeditions spanning twenty-six years, his imperial armada explored Southeast Asia and across the Indian Ocean. The play is not quite a monodrama, as the narration is haunted by distant voices and conversations.

“I have come to realise of late that dreaming has become the centre of my life.” And then, just a bit later, we hear the narrator say, “Yes, each night, through my own fear and uncertainty, I discover more agony in him, more respect for him, and more suspicion of him.... the more I discover, the more I am convinced that we were related, closely related -- so closely related that I had to be a descendant of the eunuch admiral.”

In one chapter, the narrator informs us of the particulars of the life of eunuchs: “There are 999 rooms in the Imperial Palace in Beijing ... among the 999 rooms, so they say, there is this very special chamber in the Palace where, in the olden days, all the cut and dried penises of the eunuchs were kept ... The most interesting thing about this chamber is that all the boxes of penises ... were not stacked or stored ... Instead, they were all hung, or suspended, in the air from the ceiling.... Now, when they first enter the Imperial Palace to join the eunuch service, they begin at the bottom.... Then, as they are promoted ... their penis boxes, commensurate with their new status, also will be raised to higher levels.... According to one record, there was at one time as many as 10,000 eunuchs behind the walls of the Forbidden City. Fancy, hanging 10,000 penises packed in boxes, suspended in this chamber ... What a sight! What an interesting network?”

“Now, I’d like to share a funny thought with you.... don’t you think it looks like the organisational chart of our companies or departments? What I mean is, don’t we look like a network of pricks?”

In the next chapter, our narrator is troubled by a certain historical speculation. “As you know”, he says, “when a eunuch dies, his family or colleagues are obliged to reunite his treasure with his dead body. They must put it back exactly where it belonged. And I mean, physically touching the cut-off base as if it was a re-connection.... there were records saying ZhengHe died in Calicutta in India, or on a ship on the way back from his seventh and last expedition ... Now if that was true, then how could he possibly have had his treasure put back in place?”

Part of the power of Descendants lies in the intimate connection between the figure of Zheng He, and Pao Kun himself. The picture one gets of the Eunuch Admiral is complicated: this powerful servant is a compromised and pathetic man. Or, rather, if he is, it is also because he is us -- and this “us” is not simply the middle-management who prop up Singapore Incorporated. Zheng He, the castrated servant, is all of us, even the most sophisticated of critics of the system. Ong Keng Sen, one of Singapore’s best known theatre artists, who directed the English version of Descendants, has remarked on this connection between Pao Kun and Zheng He; as has the Chinese theatre critic, Lin Ke Huan, who interprets the play to be a crystallisation of Pao Kun’s inner debates with himself.

Descendants of the Eunuch Admiral, if it is not already recognised as such, will become acknowledged as one of the most significant works of art to have come out of the Singapore condition. Its portrait of castration and impossible suture is truly haunting. It is this image that Zai Kuning brings us back to with his nailed and wire-stitched Tree in a Room.

In response to Yi-Sheng’s claim in a Today article that international critics liked the Biennale, you said to him: “your contention that the biennale was loved by all international experts sounds as reliable as Donald Rumsfeld’s claim that Iraq had WMD”. This question is twofold: what are your thoughts on the Biennale and its accompanying hype, and how far has art criticism come in Singapore?

I’ve written a number of pieces both previewing and reviewing the biennale. If your readers are interested in my opinions on the exhibition, may I just refer them to my piece in kakiseni.com, entitled, “Don’t Look Before You Leap: not looking at the Singapore Biennale”, which is dated September 28, 2006.

As for the Yi-Sheng comment, let me provide some context. Yi-Sheng, as you mention, wrote an article in Today, and I responded to him in the arts community e-group. Cyril Wong, in his final editorial as a Substation employee for our online mag, cited my comment. But it’s taken out of context. It sounds as if I’m disparaging the Singapore Biennale, when I’m not.

Yi-Sheng wrote: “Now the whole shebang’s over and it’s safe to say it was a critical success: I had the chance to meet jet-setting critics who’d been to every biennale from Marrakech to Manhattan, and they were usually impressed by the art.... So, hooray! We won the experts over. But, what about everyone else?”

My point was to say to Yi-Sheng that he should hold off declaring that we won the (international) experts over. Sure, a lot of visiting journalists have praised the exhibition in their reports, but that’s a far stretch from claiming ALL experts loved it. Talking to a few visitors does not establish his claim. I myself have heard several criticisms of the show -- by international visitors. And what of local opinion? Expert or otherwise? Yi-Sheng makes a slip between international endorsement and local approval that is problematic. I think it’s fair to say that the local arts community has responded with ambivalence to the show. And Fumio Nanjo, the Biennale’s Artistic Director, has said a number of times that shows like these are meant for local audiences.

There’s something else at stake. As Yi-Sheng suggests, there are experts and then there are other audiences. It’s of course much more complicated than that. One should consider the history of the role of art criticism, or expert opinion, and how that has changed significantly in Europe and America over the last 100 years. In our part of the world, there has been less impact from expert discourses on the reception and consumption of art, and that’s in part because we don’t have authoritative institutions. For instance, there’s no university art history department in this country. And the Singapore Art Museum is not well respected as an authority on matters of art by many of the local writers and artists that I know and work with.

So, what is the role of expert opinion offered by art critics? I’d say the job of the critic isn’t to be right, but to be interesting and to inspire interest in art. She aims to create a certain intimacy between the reader and the contexts and background of a work of art, and her own encounter with that work. But a successful critic does not convince the reader so much as generate understanding of her interpretation and perspectives.

I believe that art “works” by being a conversation. Artists themselves may have conflicted relationships to what’s written about their work, but that’s besides the point. The social function of art is to ask its publics to contemplate, reflect and engage works of art. Criticism plays an important role because it becomes the historical record of these thoughts on art.

Lastly, art criticism in Singapore? Again, I’ve written on the topic several times over the years. We lack institutions, we lack publications, but we’ve got some pretty smart people writing these days. I’m a big believer in the public sphere. Fragmentation is fine -- there are webzines and blogs popping up all over the internet like fungus in the tropics. But it’s not good enough. There should be a mix of dispersal and centralisation. It’s the tension between the two that’s required. We need some writing platforms in this town that function like a common public sphere that matters to wide sections of the arts and civil society communities.

In an article Zadie Smith wrote for The Guardian, she talks about writers who often betray themselves, letting the truth slide away in favour for a familiar phrase or thought, some word or thought that came too readily in hand. Do you think this sort of “literary betrayal” is prevalent in the arts scene today?

This kind of betrayal perhaps is more prevalent today than before, since there is greater competition or pressure than ever to be “famous” or get attention. But the danger of betrayal has been around as long as writing has. What I might add is that writing is never about the individual as such, but the individual as a social being -- a writer is using a language that is always already out there. Invention is improvisation with borrowed tools. The best writers spend a lot of effort not taking for granted these borrowed tools. But for too many writers, clichés structure their thought, even as they claim to break with convention.

Your thoughts on Life!’s arts coverage. Do you see its poor coverage of the arts as symptomatic of a larger Singaporean sense of cultural apathy?

I’d like to be hopeful here. I once taught a course at LaSalle called “Art and Politics”. I wanted the students to take charge of the course from the first day of class. It was to be an experiment in “democracy”. After a couple of weeks, I should have changed the course title to “Art and Apathy”. To be fair, however, the problem was as much with me as with the students. Democracy isn’t just about having choices -- as in fifty flavours of ice cream -- but having certain institutions and structures in place, so these choices matter. I didn’t provide an adequate structure for the students in the first place.

There are many signs that Singaporeans aren’t completely apathetic. On Friday, the 26th of January, Tochi, a young Nigerian was hung for allegedly trafficking heroin. Several bloggers have expressed their dismay with the execution (see, for instance, Alex Au’s blog, www.yawningbread.org). That’s a sign of people speaking out. But of course the mainstream local media have largely ignored the issue, even though it’s gotten considerable international attention.

I suppose what I’m trying to say is that one should refuse to give in to apathy. Rather than just complain about Life!, one can try to do something about it. It’s not going to be easy, and it’s not like everyone isn’t already very busy, but a number of us are working on developing an alternative platform. It may take some time before it’s realised, but it is timely that the arts community itself takes matters into its own hands, and tries to develop its own public sphere, rather than be held back by the people at SPH.

Our online magazine at The Substation cannot serve as this alternative. It remains too small scale for that -- at the moment, anyhow. But it’s still an important part of the whole picture. In Feb, I’m convening a forum in the arts community e-group that will take place only online; I wonder how that will unfold. What both projects have in common is the desire to bring diverse perspectives together for critical reflection. What both address is the need for a widely shared public sphere for Singapore arts and civil society.

What would you say to someone who, with no prior knowledge of, or experience with the arts, attends his first art exhibition/play/poetry reading/dance performance? Do you sometimes feel that the arts community -- both artists and the critics -- tend to over-complicate matters and lapse into solipsism? Do you think this contributes to the disconnect between the arts and “the man on the street”? Is the disconnect between the arts and “the man on the street” a necessary characteristic of the arts?

Have you ever watched the financial news on television? Here’s something that gets a whole lot of airplay on the mainstream media, but, to me, at any rate, it’s incomprehensible, inaccessible and unapologetically elitist. Is the mythical “man on the street” up in arms about this? Or what about the jargon of the medical and legal professions?

My point isn’t to defend specialist discourses as deserving to be specialist. But to highlight that while the arts is a specialist discourse, it functions differently from other such discourses. Why are “we” more quick to feel excluded by art? What is it that we demand of art’s public accessibility? Is it simply because it’s publicly funded? As if big business isn’t hugely subsidised by public monies. Perhaps it’s because today, we hold art up to some kind of democratic ideal.

Some background: hundreds of years ago, art was a product of elite society and was closely tied with religion, and elite society communicated with the impoverished masses through religious institutions. That was the social context of art and the “man on the street”. I’m grossly simplifying of course -- and a caution flag should be raised.

But let me get on with my argument. Somehow, unlike with financial discourse, we expect there to be greater public access to art. But there is, actually. While experimental art is still not seen as mainstream, it is hugely popular worldwide. The whole biennale phenomenon is evidence of this.

So, my first point is that there are lots of specialist discourses, but art is exceptional in that it gets so much flak for being one. Two: contemporary art is actually hugely popular; not in every instance, not every small or medium-sized indie art space, but as a whole, it’s popular. And while more needs to be done, contemporary art does, as a whole, contribute to the democratic ideal.

Next item: your notion of “prior knowledge”. But even popular culture requires prior knowledge. We all know the drill of those triumph-of-the-will action movies, perfected by Sylvester Stallone. First part, hero gets humiliated/defeated; bulk of the movie, the character is in training; final third, he triumphs in the ring. Sure, this structure draws on traditional drama -- in some perverse way. But we don’t enter a Rocky movie without prior knowledge. We ourselves have been trained to view this stuff as entertainment. Each new pop icon derives from prior knowledge, and so on. You have a huge entertainment industry that pumps out this prior knowledge, saturating every form of media with it.

It’s not unfair to ask that prior knowledge is required of any consumer of any form of culture. It’s just that in today’s society, we seem to resent art for requiring this, and forget that it’s also required in mass entertainment -- that there are huge financial interests that put a lot of money and effort into training consumers to consume mass entertainment.

Apart from these differences, art also tends to challenge prior knowledge, whereas mass entertainment tends to reaffirm it as cliché. Generally speaking, art is harder to engage than mass entertainment (not that there aren’t exceptions -- popular film can be great art, for example).

I don’t see the disconnect between the public at large and the work of art as necessary. Personally, my goal is to bridge these divides. But the way I do this is different from the way popular culture operates. Writing art criticism is a way of doing it -- one writes at different registers: for specialist audiences, and for wider publics. It’s also important to consolidate a sense of commonality within the arts community, a point I keep reiterating. To create an intellectual tradition that becomes a heritage for the future, and so on. I try to do this consolidation in a way that doesn’t make the arts community seem like an exclusive club, but an inclusive and open community.

Lastly, in terms of over-complicating things and being solipsistic. Sure, there are self-indulgent artists and writers, et cetera. But that’s not in the nature of good art, which is multi-layered, subtle, intelligent but also resonates emotionally, and offers many points of access. Obsessiveness can be a very compelling and attractive element of a work. There’s nothing work with solipsism per se. And I think the job of art is to engage with life’s complexity. Mass entertainment, in contrast -- and again, this is a generalisation -- typically over-simplifies life.

The job of the critic is to create access to complexity. Good art demands effort, but it also rewards that effort. And I think the mythical “man on the street”, if you take away the myth, and address actual people -- well, in my own experience, at least, I’ve never found a person whom I couldn’t find a way of speaking to, of creating access to complexity. It just takes effort, contact and commitment.

+ strangework

Game Theory, by Lan Gen Bah.

"Last September, we did an exhibition of paintings at The Substation by Lan Gen Bah (or LGB as she's known), called "Game Theory". Here's the front of the invite card (which is part of the work, sort of); there were two versions, a black on white, and white on black."

+ What's next ?

"We are revamping The Substation's website -- hopefully it will be ready after Chinese New Year -- and in my online magazine editorial I'll be outlining The Substation's plans for the year."

+ Cyril Wong

2006-12-24T11:13:00.000+08:00

+ strange past

Cyril Wong has won the National Arts Council's Young Artist Award for Literature (2005) and the Singapore Literature Prize (2006). He is the author of five collections of poetry (Firstfruits Publications): squatting quietly (2000), the end of his orbit (2001), below: absence, unmarked treasure and like a seed with its singular purpose (2006).

His poems have appeared in journals around the world, including Atlanta Review, Fulcrum 3, Poetry International, Dimsum, Poetry New Zealand, Wascana Review, Contemporary Voices from the East and the W.W. Norton & Co. anthology, (forthcoming, 2007). He was a featured poet at the Edinburgh International Book Festival (UK), the Hong Kong International Literary Festival, the Queensland Poetry Festival (Brisbane, Australia) and the Singapore Writers' Festival.

His poems have been adapted to dance, drama, film and music. These collaborations have been presented in various countries, including the 27th Bali Arts Festival and the Magdalena International Festival of Women in Contemporary Theatre (USA, 2005). TIME (Aug 19-25, 2003) described a play, based on Cyril's poems by The Fun Stage, as portraying "the love of two young Singaporean men for each other as doomed," as well as how "being accepted by mainstream society doesn't mean that all the problems faced by (2002), (2004) and homosexuals will go away." Cyril also founded the poetry journal, http://www.softblow.com.

strangemessages talks to Cyril about horror, Agatha Christie, criticism in Singapore, mixed media and the choir scene.

+ in conversation

So when did you begin to write?

I started in secondary school, partly inspired by Stephen King and Agatha Christie and partly by horror movies.

Aren't those elements are very different from your poetry today?

Yes, they are. But they are also quite similar in ways people don't expect. Both require a certain imaginative edge. Unmarked Treasure, for instance, dealt a lot with ghosts and death but nobody sees the horror element. King deals with ghosts and death too but nobody sees the poetic element. Snobs like Harold Bloom dismiss his work but really, there is something valuable in all kinds of literature.

You are a sort of “poetry activist”, because you think poetry doesn’t receive the attention it deserves as compared to prose. Why do you think that poetry is such a much-maligned/marginalized art form?

Actually, I don't see myself as an activist at all. I don't think, I know poetry doesn't get the same attention because poetry requires more effort to read and people don't take that effort anymore. It's just too hard to time-consuming to indulge in a page full of broken lines at a time.

Is it also because of the wealth of "mediocre lyric poems" with their "wonder of yuppie life" that fail to provoke? Do you think writers today have a greater sense of urgency than before? Are they daring to say things outright now?

No. Writers have as little urgency as they did in the past. Only comfortable, complacent and elitist Singaporeans are writing poetry to kill time or to seem cultured and highly literate. But no worries about them as they will not be remembered.

So are they expert imitators, or have they evolved into, uhh, more insiduous forms?

Not even expert. If they were expert imitators, at least there would have been the entertainment value to their works.

Do you see things changing at all?

No.

But surely there are a handful of writers who do make a difference. who do you think (names and all) will emerge as the genuine literary voices of our age?

That's what I meant. Before, there was only a handful, now there is only a handful, in the future it will only be a handful again. It won't change. I think a lot of Singaporean poetry will be remembered mainly because it started any kind of literary scene going here in Singapore. It's like the curiosity factor is more visible than what the writers are actually writing about. Your Lee Tzu Pheng and your Edwin Thumboo and your Arthur Yap, then later you got Alvin Pang, Alfian Sa'at, Boey Kim Cheng, Yong Shu Hoong and me...but especially for the first few names, you will surely have future surveyors of the scene harping on how Singaporean they are before moving on to their poetics. I wish people started with the poetics first. Context to me comes second.

If there are to be good writers - or good artists, for that matter - there needs to be good critics. What makes a good critic?

One who isn't an academic in NUS. Okay, what I mean is one who does not just spend all her or his time trying to contextualise everything for the sake of some obscure academic journal that nobody really cares about at the end of the day. I have found that good critics of poetry tend to also be poets themselves. There is that sensitivity to nuance and a poetic way of describing the work that lends depth to the criticism. Toh Hsien Min and Alvin Pang in Singapore, for example, are great critics.

So do you think it is absolutely necessary that if you are a reviewer of say, theatre, you must be a theatre practitioner yourself?

Oh I think you just need to be passionate about theatre. I am not saying that just because you are not a poet you cannot write poetry reviews. I am just saying the more insightful ones come from people with a bit of background in poetry already. Theatre consists of many things though, so it is unlikely that say a lighting designer would necessarily make a good theatre reviewer just because of the experience in the field.

So, a question I've been dying to ask because I've never heard anything from you about it - what do you make of Singapore critics, be it Life! or more independent publications? As hopeless as our writers?

Not hopeless. They are useful, but mainly for publicity purposes.

For academic purposes?

Yah, so academics can say they got it from a "credible" source?

Do you think the much-maligned Hong Xinyi is doing a good job? What do you think of Life!'s arts coverage?

I think Life!'s art coverage is very good already. It is the people in the arts scene that is the problem.

So what do you make of the arts community's latest onslaught on Life!, led by Lee Weng Choy, Ong Keng Sen and co.?

Very amusing. It all starts when one drama queen thinks that nobody has the right to criticise him and everyone is jumping in because it is useful to be associated with Theatreworks. It is so apparent that it made me laugh out loud for all of two seconds.

“Front”, the recent proposal for “art idol” and some MP for the arts. Artistic opportunities, or utter crap?

All crap but all publicity opportunities for anyone who wants to keep getting funding for their artistic practices.

How should artists balance their personal vision and the realities of the funding situation? Do you think artists should attempt some sort of compromise, and when should the line be drawn?

You must be a Jekyll and Hyde if you want the money to keep working. Most artists I see don't need the line as they are not even that gifted to begin with.

You’re a very vocal critic of the Biennale. Why?

Because I like spelling it out as it is when everyone gets pushed along by the snow drift of the illusion that the biennale is important and necessary. It's a meaningless spectacle in a country that only cares about creating false impressions of culture and democracy.

Are there any exhibitions or arts festivals that you have been impressed with in Singapore?

Neither.

You are also a professional singer. Do you think that Singapore choirs, in their relentless quest for gold at SYF and international competitions, have perfected the science of singing at the expense of its art?

The choir scene was the first example to me of people doing something for what Gopal Baratham called a "second priority" (eg. eating something because it is healthy rather than because it is pleasurable to do so.) The priority is usually Gold and more Gold. There is a level of shamelessness about it that is more hidden in say the visual arts scene.

You have been to many countries to sing, read your poetry, and perform. What do these countries (vis a vis Singapore) have that make them such vibrant, uninhibited artistic communities?

Time. Time to develop, to settle into a more authentic culture, to reflect and grow.

You have been involved in many mixed media exhibitions, installations and performances that weave writing, film, dance, etc. together. What inspires you to draw these continuities between different media?

I just like living in the in-between spaces as I find that I learn more from being in them. The more that I cannot categorise completely what it is I am doing, the more interesting it is to me.

In your latest poetry collection, Like A Seed With Its Singular Purpose, I found your work to be more experimental, yet more focused, taut and hence evocative than your previous collections. How was the writing process for Like A Seed like?

I still prefer Unmarked Treasure but thanks for the comment. The process was the same as all the earlier books: slow and thoughtful.

Is your family still hesitant about your work?

My father doesn't give a shit. My mum, yes, is still hesitant, but she has to live with it, so she does.

+ strangework

the apples.

"I was thinking about all the different themes that tended to present themselves in poetry again and again. I eventually decided to distil these ideas without much of a concern with having to ground them in a usually familiar context. Instead I decided to go all surreal and set these ideas in the image of a bowl of apples. I like apples."

+ What's next ?

"I am waiting to launch this collaborative verse-novel with Terry Jaensch from Melbourne, a project supported by Asialink and the Australian High Commission, in Mar 2007. M1 Fringe Festival, a performance installation by Daniel K; a little film-installation collaboration with Charles Lim and Wee Li Lin for Arts Central; and writing for my sixth book."

+ Kenny Leck and Karen Wai: the booksellers at BooksActually

2006-11-30T22:58:00.000+08:00

+ strange past

Once upon a time, there (is) a little bookstore named BooksActually, nestled on the 2nd storey of an old-fashioned shophouse at 125A Telok Ayer Street Singapore 068594. In this bookstore, there is often found a bookseller-boy who likes to read Mr. Ted Hughes, amongst other things (like playing with mud, the rain, drinking tea straight from the flask, and bending his toes). This bookseller-boy is Kenny Leck. He smiles secretly when there is company in the lovely white + green store that is BooksActually. One can also find a bookseller-girl who likes to read Mr. Vladimir Nabokov, amongst other things (like hopping on train tracks, apple-milk, films and breakfast picnics on grass). This bookseller-girl is Karen Wai.

Founded on 29 November 2005, BooksActually is a little concept bookstore specializing in fiction and literature books (including some obscure and critical works). Being a concept bookstore, it also means there are other interesting finds: curious literary trinkets in the form of stationery and other lovely tchotchkes!

strangemessages speaks to them about bigger, meaner bookselling chains, typewriters, Singapore reading culture and the musty smell of books.

+ in conversation

So tell me how BooksActually began.

Both of us started doing book bazaars, mostly in universities and tertiary institutions for a year. During that period, we were actively looking for a space where we can start our own bookshop with the number of books we had. That was when we chanced upon the shop space you see now. We were lucky because it was in a pretty prime location ('prime' by the fact that there's good transport amenities and it's just a park away from the Ann Siang Hill arena, where a chain of other similarly small retail shops are!)

So why the name BooksActually?

Because it's a play on the phrase that 'we actually sell books', not the movie's name (i.e. Love Actually)! When we were doing book bazaars in the past, there was a perpetually dumb question that kept popping up, while we were standing behind a table full of books, "what do you guys sell?". After that, we thought it was pretty fun to add that "we sell books actually worth reading", because that was our specialty - in quality fiction and literature, not trashy pulp-fiction, chick lit etc.

Ah, which begs the question: is that sign that says "we sell books actually worth reading" a snarky riposte to the ubercommercial chains that have growing stockpiles of "trash"?

Yea! Snarky riposte with a twist of Lemony Snicket whimsy.

So what makes a book actually worth reading?

A book that cannot be found anywhere else in Singapore, such as: Hans Fallada's The Drinker, & Raymond Radiguet's Count d’ Orgel. 'Popular' is termed with saleability. That's how the industry terms it. It doesn't exactly reflect the quality of a title.

So would you say that fame is actually the bane of books, that it cheapens their worth and accountability? And do you think that is an unfair assessment of a book? After all, some critics have pointed out that Harry Potter is quite a, dare I say, literary masterpiece, but obviously sold as "popular fiction".

We feel that everyone is entitled to their views of whether a book is deemed trashy or a classic that will stand the test of time. I wouldn't say fame is the bane of books. Take for instance, J.D. Salinger's Catcher in the Rye, it's been popular since day one, and it's considered a literary classic today.

Do you see books becoming a thing of the past in the face of globalisation, the internet, e-books? Or will its old-world charm stand the test of time?

Yes we believe the latter will definitely stand the test of time, regardless of any technological advances. A book is still a book in hand, and nothing can replace that feeling of flipping the pages, and smelling the musty smell of an old book.

So both of you obviously have this fascination with typewriters. What sort of charm do they hold for you?

They are simply instruments for communicating, and also writing. And sometimes nothing beats the feeling of writing anything on a typewriter, whacking out the words one by one. We also hold a fascination for instruments that produces alphabets, making words, such as typewriters, rubber stamps, letterpress (yet to have one).

There is this book by Dodie Smith, called Seize the Castle. The main character's father is a writer, and when he had a writer's block that lasted for eons, the daughter decided to lock his father in a castle with a typewriter, to force him to write "the cat sat on the mat", then "the cat sat on the straw mat" and finally, the dad gathered the momentum of writing a full novel, from just consistent typing.

So do you think Singaporeans should be forced into rooms with a typewriter and books, so that they can experience the magic of writing and reading, instead of merely shrugging and saying "too cheem lah", a typical response that meets a Dickens novel or any book of poetry?

Yes if we only could, or thick wads of paper, and a bloody red leaf ballpoint would do too.

Does this dead literary culture frustrate you i.e. the fact that if you asked any Singaporean on the street what is the best book he or she has read, it will most probably be Tuesdays With Morrie or some other pop fiction?

Nah it doesn't. As long as everyone gets into the habit of reading, we are sure, somehow, the pop fiction reader will pick up something "classic" in one way or another. As long as everyone is keen to read, this will be the foundation upon which we could build on.

Is it difficult to keep a quaint, small bookstore such as yours financially afloat?

No denying that, but as you can see we manage survive a year, though still without salaries. Still we will keep on going, no matter what. It is like an addiction, seeing people leave with good books, books that we know will keep a person in good company whether stranded on a deserted island, or trapped in a lift.

There is this online poetry journal, Softblow, that aims to feature both international and Singaporean works side by side. Do you see BooksActually as a physical realisation of that, an exhibition space of sorts?

That would be a good way to say it, though more importantly, whether it is Softblow, QLRS, us, Borders, Kino, Select, Sunny, we think we are all part of the whole literary system, and we all have the responsibility to showcase not just the good international ones, but also our homegrown ones that will be able to speak to us in the most familiar of voices.

You've obviously hosted many poetry readings at BooksActually. Which was your favourite?

Actually each one was different in its own way, so each one was an eye-opener for both of us.

So many books have passed through your hands. How has the literary world evolved, and how do you think it will continue to change? Is there anything about it that particularly strikes you?

We believe that the keenness for reading has increased, regardless of genre, and something that strikes us is that we have more people being more expressive of their thoughts of wanting to write, or writing during their personal time. As for change, besides the increased awareness of reading, we hope that more people could see writing as an alternative, and not just write for Singapore but on an international stage.

Do you think the major bookstores can also convey the essentially romanticized qualities of and intimate passion for reading like BooksActually has done? How so? Or do you think that they have done enough, in terms of raising awareness of reading with their sheer physical influence?

The major bookstores can definitely do so, but “how?” That's not really for us to say. Everyone has their own way of being passionate; also, we're not really in their position/scale to perfectly answer that. But, yes, they have definitely done very much! Just by being here, introducing Singapore to the amount and variety of books there is. Otherwise, we would never have known the kind of books there are, can we say, in the world! I suppose BooksActually is only here because of them, and we are here to build on whatever the bigger bookstores have done, (whether or not it's because of their huge scale, or whether they prefer not to carry obscure titles), or just to add a different touch to bookselling for the consumers.

People often think that bookselling is about a financial exchange, bartering of books. How do you think BooksActually has shaped perceptions of bookselling?

I don’t think we have achieved much yet. It’s just that we are happy being able to introduce different books to everyone.

+ strangework

A BooksActually feature: Boey Kim Cheng's After The Fire. Read one of his poems, Consulate, here.

+ what's next?

"Suriviving till we are two-years old! And we are currently staging the Rhodia exhibition, where we have commissioned fourty-four individuals from different backgrounds & disciplines to create something new from a Rhodia notepad. So what you see at the store is their creations, their most honest, creative personal work, as compared to something they have to do for work."

+ Brian Gothong Tan

2006-11-12T23:35:00.000+08:00

+ strange past

Brian Gothong Tan is one of the most exciting and prolific multimedia artists that has emerged from Singapore in recent years. Trained in Fine Arts, Multimedia and Animation at the California Institute of Arts under the NAC-Shell Arts scholarship, Brian's works are renowned for their icy, high gloss finish subverted by play and parody.

His multimedia works have been featured in numerous theatre productions like The Optic Trilogy (Action Theatre’s 42 Theatre Festival 2001), BOTE: The Beginning of the End (The Necessary Stage 2002), Causeway (Singapore Arts Festival 2002), Mammon Inc. (Singapore Arts Festival 2002), godeatgod (The Necessary Stage 2002) and Ghost Opera. His eclectic - and strange - use of multimedia in theatre earned him the “Best Use of Multimedia” award in the 2005 Life! Theatre Awards.

His first solo exhibition, Heavenly Cakes and Sentimental Flowers, was held at the Singapore Art Museum in June 2003 under the NAC New Media Arts grant. Later on, he created Hypersurface, which was held at Sculpture Square and featured at the 9th Venice Architectural Biennale in 2004. This year, he represented Singapore in the cultural segment of the Commonwealth Games at the Australian Centre for the Moving Image (ACMI) in Federation Square in Melbourne, and is the youngest artist participating in the Singapore Biennale with his installation, We Live In A Dangerous World, showcased at Tanglin Camp.

strangemessages speaks to Brian about lego, homosexuality, Disneyland, Biennale controversy and dangerous worlds.

+ in conversation

You are a multimedia artist, which means your work encompasses many different art forms. Which was the first medium/media you experimented with, and how did it progress from there? How did it all begin?

I think I started with drawing first. But then I was doing many things all at once even from primary school, like writing short skits, and creating stuff with whatever I have from newspapers to Lego. I can't really remember when it all began, but I guess I was always up to something when I was already in primary school.

When and how then did it strike you that you wanted to pursue art professionally?

I think that only happened when I was in the army. It was then I met Alfian Sa'at and Jeff Chen, and they influenced me greatly. They made me realise that being an artist in Singapore was possible and not as suicidal a choice as most of the general public here would think.

You've told me before that words inspire you. Who are the prevailing literary influences in your work?

Well, of course Alfian is one of the biggest influences...Italo Calvino and Jorge Luis Borges as well. but it keeps changing...I tend to read everything and anything that grabs my fancy. Right now I'm pretty fascinated with Terence McKenna.

Ooh, who's that?

A psychedelic/philosopher from US.

This might sound abit GP, but could you illustrate one particular artistic experience where someone else's work influenced yours?

One particular influence... I guess Jeff Chen's plays. He used to be a director with The Necessary Stage. His aesthetic influenced the way I approached my first few installations.

Does homosexuality heavily influence your craft?

Well, not really. It's definitely a part of my work, especially in my earlier ones. But I haven't been exploring the subject of identity or sexuality in-depth yet. But I don't know....I don't really label myself as a "gay artist". That's too narrow a definition.

Is "artist", then, too narrow a definition as well?

No, artist is very wide actually. I guess in terms of subject matter...and my identity. Being labelled gay-anything will be pigeon-holing myself to creating specific types of work. I definitely don't draw naked male bodies all the time.

Hahaha. What inspired your Biennale installation, We Live In A Dangerous World? What do you hope to communicate to your audience?

That piece was really about Singapore...it was a tongue-in-cheek socio-political commentary. My idea was really simple.

How far is it a departure from your previous exhibitions?

Well, of course my subject matter always changes... but the form is relatively the same. I'm very influenced by Disneyland when it comes to the way I design my spaces.

That's interesting. How so?

Well, it's really about control and mastery over space. Disneyland is a metaphor for Singapore...or any society actually. You know, how in Disneyland, when you enter a ride, they will control everything from the temperature, music, etc. to make you feel that you are in a certain time and place? One cannot help but feel very emotionally and intellectually manipulated - isn't that like being in Singapore yah?

Very much so, and also the fantastical aspect of it - how we're always indulging in political fantasies, economic utopias, etc. It feels very contrived, too polished...and ultimately dangerous.

Yes, I was on the Winnie the Pooh ride last year in LA, and in the middle of it I had that revelation. But seriously, yes, ideas are dangerous because they can change the status quo. The ability to articulate your position is one of the most empowering things anyone oppressed can do. So yes, space is very important in my works - although many critics have not been able to pick up that aspect in my works. Only one guy called Loo Zihan noticed that I used space that way.

So how did you weave the twin ideas of Disneyland and space into We Live In A Dangerous World?

Well, it's really all about the architecture of assurance. It was really quite intentional I had the word "dangerous" in the title when all the icons I used were really quite innocuous and frivolous in a way. When people entered my space, immediately they would know how to behave and react to my works in a specific way. I created a platform to elevate the visitors, and that immediately affects the way they take in the work.

And I specifically used a really tight and claustrophobic space because that's how I feel about Singapore. And also the air-conditioning was not an accident. So in fact, I could have chosen any iconography and it really wouldn't change much the way people would feel about the installation. It was specifically created to be a spectacle of sorts.

To me, art is about finding patterns in experience, and the viewer’s aesthetic and intellectual enjoyment is derived from recognizing these patterns. I also believe that art is capable of transforming people’s perception of reality and thus raise awareness and consciousness of their life; empowerment comes from the ability to articulate one’s position and make sense of place.

Cyril Wong once mentioned in Broadsheet, an Australian magazine focused on contemporary visual arts and culture that the Singapore Biennale is a "symptom of a wider socio-cultural problem" in which artists were "exercising delayed social responsibility through (their) contribution(s) for the Biennale". Your thoughts?

Well, I think he is over-generalising as usual. I definitely didn't ask or beg to be in the Biennale. I didn't even bother to send in my portfolio. Well, I'm glad that the Biennale happened, it has move the visual arts scene forward so much...but whether the direction is on the right path, that's for the artists in Singapore to decide. Cyril's statement makes it sound like all the S'pore artists were complicit with the government or something. How utterly dismissive.

His exact words were, “By first participating in an event that is a symptom of a larger socio-cultural problem, then by exercising a delayed sense of social responsibility through his contribution for the Biennale — a photographic installation that examines a period in Singapore when over twenty people were detained under Singapore’s Internal Security Act for allegedly being Marxists attempting to overthrow the government. I don’t mean to single out Jason (Wee), but are our artists so caught up in the wave of governmental support that they have forgotten to criticise its origins?” So the question is, really, how far would you compromise art for art, or do you think it is a matter of balance and perception - or absolutes?

I think most artists are aware of this situation, and it's a very tenuous path. How do we balance our personal vision and the reality of the funding situation? I have to admit that sometimes, as an installation artist, where I don't get any income from the sale of anything, I have to compromise...but not to the point of self-censorship or being too compliant with govenrment agendas. And I think this sort of awareness is important so that you know when you are selling out. I have to do it...or else we won't move on. I don't want to be stuck as a Nanyang artist painting gibbons.

Have you encountered any difficulties exhibiting in Singapore?

Difficulties...yes, many. But I choose to take them in my stride. It's part of the job!

I've always been very curious about something I watched on 20/20 Primetime. They got a bunch of kids to splatter paint all over drawing block and showcased these pieces beside renowned, abstract artworks by established artists, then asked curators and artists themselves to differentiate between real art and the "fake" pieces. Many identified some of the children's pieces to be abstract works of art, and derived all sorts of profound images from it. Where do we draw the line between abstraction and incredulity?

Well, I think we should be able to derive profound images from our life all the time. That way, we don't really need art anymore. It's really all about framing; finding out the context of the work, of the artist. Drawing lines is a very human endeavour...we need things to be put in boxes before we can accept them. I'm saying it neutrally....because we all do it. Accept maybe Buddha. Anyway, I can't really relate to abstract art actually.

Why?

Because it's always about the surface, of visual effects: the paint, the brushstroke, etc... I find it very hard to relate to it emotionally.

You had a brief stint at Calarts on a NAC scholarship. How different was Californian culture - whether it was the arts, or simply just the way of life?

There are similarities of course...S'pore is like LA in many ways, the hyper-consumerist culture, the cultural melting-pot, etc... but of course there are also profound differences. People there are more laidback. And I think it's because they have more space there.

+ strange work

Brian's feature on strangework is an artwork entitled Heavenly Cakes and Sentimental Flowers. He says "that piece was my debut in the art world... and it was a miracle that it ever happened. I couldn't find a gallery space that would accept a nobody, but SAM (Singapore Arts Museum) did! It set the tone of the way I have been creating my works....I don't think there are many multimedia installation artists around in S'pore I think that create large-scale installations."

+ What's next?

"I'm working on a video installation titled "Waking the Fluorescent Lion" for the opening of the National Museum, and on a film called "Pleasure Factory" with Ekachai Uekrongtham. I'm also creating a new installation with 72-13."

+ Ng Yi-Sheng

2006-10-04T23:33:00.000+08:00

+ strange past

As Kristina Tom puts it, Ng Yi-Sheng has but simply arrived. He has certainly come a long way since his primary six days of "gruesome reinventions of nursery rhymes": his poems - which Lee Tzu Pheng hails as "a romp through the enticing playground of language" - have been published in the poetry anthologies First Words, onewinged and Love Gathers All, as well as in online journals like the2ndRule, QLRS and softblow.

Having worked under the Theatreworks' Greenhouse Project and The Necessary Stage's Playwright's Cove, this Columbia University alumnus is also an accomplished playwright: his performed plays include Snake (Stage Right), Redhill Blues (Creative Arts Programme Alumni, Republic Polytechnic), Hungry (Theatreworks, Singapore Polytechnic, Anderson Secondary School and International Islamic University, Malaysia) and most recently Serve (The Oridnary Theatre).

He has recently published a collection of gay, lesbian and bisexual Singaporeans' coming out stories, "SQ21: Singapore Queers in the 21st Century", while his debut poetry collection, last boy was launched two months ago. strangemessages talks to him about his influences, criticism, multiple realities, rhyme, Peter Pan, and what it means to be "last boy".

+ in conversation

When and how did you begin to write?

Well...to betray my privilege, I was in GEP, so the teachers were trying all these educational experiments on us. They were always giving us little assignments - write a poem about something, let's learn how to write a haiku, or a tanka, or a cinquain or a diamante. I remember a period in P6 where I was writing a poem a day...mostly gruesome reinventions of nursery rhymes. Then in secondary school, I was encouraged to join the Creative Arts Programme, and I met all these more professional writers, and I started to take my writing more seriously.

How about playwriting?

Well I always loved acting... I was in drama club throughout secondary school, and I did write a couple of amusing scenes for a musical in Sec 3. But I only really wrote a play in JC1, when RJC was having its drama feste. I'd just acted in a CAP production, so I was very into this vibe of sensing what other young Singaporeans were capable of writing for the stage. My first play, "One", which was published in Eye on the World 1998, was really an amalgamation of the three plays that CAP staged in 1997. So I guess my direct ancestors are Wang Meiyin, Bryan Tan and Alfian Sa'at. My big break of course came in JC2 when I won the SPH-Theatreworks 24-hour playwriting competition.

Do you think there is enough exposure, resources, mentorships and programmes for young Singaporean writers and playwrights today?

I think the problem has to do a lot more with networking. It's been very easy for me to find people who're willing to support me because I've been in the right places at the right time - I was placed in camps and workshops and competitions with writers and directors where I was able to tell them, "I want to be a writer", and they helped me. I think what holds a lot of people back is not knowing who to approach. it's much easier for writers to find lobangs than for directors, actors, etc. of which there's a surfeit. I should say that's in the case of playwrights though. Literary writers can easily get published online with the local literary mags, but to develop themselves further they'll have to get the courage to find a writer who's willing to read their stuff.

They really ought to restore the MAP (NAC Mentorship Access Programme) for writers. Because you know what? I think it probably is very difficult for a guy who's not sure how good he is to just run up to a writer and ask for help. Most good writers are actually quite busy people, so it's necessary for a structure like MAP to create structures for writers and aspiring writers to connect. The Arts House does run a few programmes like writers connect, though. And there are poetry sharing sites online. The problem is that there are just so many bad poets out there: people who don't even realise that originality of imagery and variation of language are key to good poetry. So a more systematic, professional setup could be really helpful for someone who actually shows promise to develop their skills.

To tell the truth though, I think that aside from publishing and performance, most of a writer's development is a matter of discipline i.e. a mentor is mostly there to exert pressure on the writer. To force the writer to enforce guidelines he already knows upon his writing.

We’ve very often heard about good poetry, never bad poetry. What do you think constitutes bad poetry? What irritates you the most about bad writing?

One of the really irrational things that get to me is people who do not understand rhyme. I'm one of the few poets here who've had extensive experience in rhyme (most of my poetry was once structured rhyming verse, including a number of sonnets). So I'm outraged when I ask someone, "what's a rhyme for purple?" and they say, "table" or something. Things don't frickin' rhyme unless they have end with a common stress, muthafucka! But of course near rhyme does have its uses.

Other pet peeves would be bad grammar (there's deliberately bad grammar and there's stupidly bad grammar - and I know it's due to social stratification, but it still rides up my butt). And unoriginality of language. Oh yeah... and I wish more poets were good at performing their work. Poetry readings are so often torture when the poet doesn't even open his or her mouth wide enough to emit properly constructed words. And that's a big problem in Singapore. Many of our good poets give bad poetry readings. I wish they'd put a little more effort into it.

So, your poetry collection is entitled “last boy” – I’m sure there’s a story to that title.

I do prefer to spell that in lower case (last boy). I've been accused of having a Peter Pan complex - of wanting to be a mischievous, irresponsible boy forever. So of course I can identify with the image of the lost boys in the novel. But I've also felt a lot of loneliness in my life... I was quite a misfit in school, I had to hide my sexuality for many years, and by the time I went to america and was able to flaunt it, everyone else who was gay was much more experienced with dating than I was. I was an emotional wreck for a lot of the time in New York... love just tore me up, and most of the time I could tell, even while I was experiencing that anguish, that I was the one being immature, that I was the one who'd been left behind in a dark world while everyone else had blossomed into a sexual neverland. So I called the book "last boy". The last boy as the last bastion of innocence left behind when everyone else has grown up.

One thing is that the lost boys in peter pan are incredibly masculine little creatures, wearing animal skins and hunting and trying to kill Wendy. At one point I was compiling my poetry in New York for a chapbook competition. Alot of the poems turned out to be love poems to boys, so I called it "last boys"... sort of a tribute to the last boys I'd slept with. But then I realised the book was really about myself. So the title became "last boy". Okay, next question.

Your poetry subverts alot of popular myths and legends, and deals with fantastical imagery and landscapes. Do you see a future for such fantasy in writing - or the arts, for that matter - in Singapore, where perhaps reality is so often pushed as the only dimension to live and believe in?

Hell yeah. In fact, I can't speak of myself as an individual in pursuing the mythopoeic frame of mind. Everyone was doing it in my generation. Alot of RGS girls especially - Teng Qian Xi and Grace Chua both excel at their Anne Sexton/Carol Ann Duffyesque reimaginings of myths and fairy tales to describe where we are today. I'm not sure what caused it - maybe it was a meme in our syllabus that spread. And come on, in Singapore, there are multiple realities. There are different Singaporean experiences depending on your social class, and 10 officially represented religions in the interreligious society, each of which carries its own myths. Plus the commercial legends of the present, both in terms of celebrity pop (pantheons of the TV screen), exotic fad (see salsa dancing and cosplaying) and growing virtual worlds (DOTA, anyone? Or just the blogosphere)? Trust me. You do not need peyote in this country. Although a little couldn’t hurt.

Homosexuality is obviously a huge part of your writing. Do you see yourself as a queer artist – or an artist who just happens to be queer?

Dude, that's such an old question! i.e. I see myself as either as it suits me. This year, both my books - last boy and sq21 - have been very queer-centric. But the poems I'm doing now are much less homofabulous. Plus I've never had a play put up in Singapore with a gay character in it. I'm a queer artist when I want to say things about being queer. Otherwise, I'm an artist.

You've once said that something you struggle with in your writing is obscurity. Tell us more about that.

Hmm, okay. I remember as young poet reading the works of some Singapore poets (who shall not be named) that seemed so incredibly stuffy and highbrow and ivorytowerish that I couldn't believe anyone could enjoy reading their work. You could appreciate it, yes. But enjoy? Um, no. So I was hoping to be a populist poet, writing in plain speech. And although I got some good responses for my early work, especially the comic stuff, I found that what really tickled my balls - what really made my poetry seem elevated - was the use of vibrant, original words and images (I know I'm being repetitive here). I wanted to be William Blake I guess, and now I've found that by resorting to strange places to get my language and references, such as the American space programme, Ashanti myth and Aztec history, it's become harder for readers to relate to me. I'm not speaking to the broad base that prose does. Sigh.

Do reviews bother you?

Yeah, they do. Like I said, I have a desire of external approbation. Classic middle child syndrome. I'm even disturbed by an overwhelmingly positive review if it doesn't sound like it's been measuredly critical, because then I think the reviewer's just being nice. And a negative one does upset me – though I do get over it. Recently I found myself experiencing very mixed feelings when a friend who liked the book gave me a very strange review - it dwelt for a long time on the difficulty of the book, and only mentioned good bits in the middle of paragraphs where an idle eye would skim over it – skim over them I mean. And that really upset me, because I felt like my friend had betrayed me by writing a shoddily thought-out article. Not with bad intention - just with carelessness. And I can't even be sure if I'm correct to be upset because not everyone thinks the review came out badly.

You do a fair bit of criticism yourself. And one of the greatest critics of all time, Vladimir Nabakov, once said, "In order to bask in that magic a wise reader reads the book of genius not with his heart, not so much with his brain, but with his spine." Your thoughts?

Heh. That sounds like he's trying to worm his way out of a mind/body dichotomy by conjuring up a new organ whose meaning is up to us to guess. But yes, I do think a write-up that's all heart or all mind is not a review - it's an academic paper or it's a gush. If I like the work, I try and review based on first impressions (heart), tempered with analysis (mind). If I don't like it, I try and be as impartial as possible (mind), but the heart inevitably slips in. Of course, most reviews occupy a grey zone between delight and disgust.

Who has had influence on your writing?

Wislawa Szymborska and Alfian Sa'at in my poetry, definitely, but I find my roots rather hard to locate. In my playwriting, I think Haresh Sharma's a big influence.

Which local artists are you more impressed with?

Writers, or artists in general?

Artists, be it writers, playwrights, filmmakers or visual artists, etc.

Writing: Alvin Pang and Cyril Wong because they've given a lot of themselves to promoting poetry. Alfian of course, for his non-fiction and ideas as much as his plays and poems. Visual arts: Brian Gothong Tan of course. I'm also very impressed by the photography of Ming, and the video/conceptual/performance work of Ming Wong and Lynn Lu. Theatre practitioners: Haresh Sharma and Alvin Tan of The Necessary Stage for determinedly mining the Singapore experience for new ideas. Ivan Heng and Glen Goei for showing us how local theatre can be quality theatre, Ong Keng Sen for expanding horizons geographically and experimentally. And in terms of curatorship, Lee Weng Choy for consistently speaking sense and demanding justice in the singapore arts scene. Oh wait, I forgot to mention Chong Tze Chien and Natalie Hennedige - they're revitalising experimental theatre in really weird, cool ways. I like.

+ strange work

Well, even if you've read his poetry collection last boy and sq21: Singapore Queers in the 21st Century from cover to cover, you would have never found this poem unless you looked hard enough. It's tucked away in the programme of Contradiction 2, a queer poetry slam and IndigNation 2006 event. Read adamsapple here.

+ what's next?

"Tomorrow I have the first draft of a play entitled "251" due - it's about Annabel Chong as an icon and it'll be going up in April. I'm also working on a musical about Georgette Chen, scored by Clement Yang. I'm very interested in Singapore historical icons. Have also got a play about Raffles in the works. I might be publishing my university memoirs, they're rather scandalous. I think they'd sell well, it's just a question of whether my family could outlive the experience - and if the revelations would hurt the gay community."