"I just hate it when journalists come up to me and ask, in their professional voice, ‘So, what is art?’" shared Claire exasperatedly. "I’m left looking like an idiot going, ‘Ummm…’" I laughed as she gave her "idiot" impression – eyes wide and blank, mouth slack. "Or they ask what medium you work with," injected MM, like it was the most ridiculous thing in the world, "They’re always asking me that!" "And when you do make an attempt to talk about your piece," added Shing, "they just chop down your answer to an indecipherable one-liner and then write, ‘Shing, 27, believes that art is beautiful.’ I mean, how silly is that?"
Silly, indeed. I couldn’t help but wonder if all these anecdotes were tactful warnings advising me to hold off the stupid questions. "This is going to be difficult," I said half-jokingly. "I majored in stupid art questions." The premise of this lunch was to discuss their exhibit at the Podium, entitled Display, a selection of contemporary art from six Singaporean and Filipino artists, curated by Gerry Tan. Aside from the four artists present during lunch, two others were participating in the exhibit, namely Ho Tzu Nyen of Singapore, and Gary-Ross Pastrano of the Philippines.
As we walked to the exhibit, I debated silently with myself whether to inject a nasal quality to my voice, in the hopes of sounding more intellectual, and yes, maybe a bit art-y. "Would you classify your work as contemporary?" I asked to no one in particular. My ho-hum attitude disappeared as soon as I glimpsed the orange cover of the exhibit catalogue, with a running blurb that read, "Contemporary art from the Philippines and Singapore."
Oh-kay. Silly questions really are my forte. But as soon as we reached the exhibit space, I was struck by Shing’s work, impressionist pieces that display disfigured or re-shaped objects from the material world transformed into dreamy figures, playful and charming forms floating in a weightless galaxy of light, pastel horizons.
"I’ve always been interested in manipulating shapes," explains Shing, "how these rudimentary figures are reconstructed in my mind." Something as quotidian as a table, a flat surface with four legs, has metamorphosed into a cape-like pink thing in her mind, vaguely reminiscent of an animal. "Hmmm… It looks like a bullfight," I mused thoughtfully, hoping to sound obscure and enigmatic. Shing stepped back, giving her painting another look. "I see where you’re coming from," she replied slowly. Ah ha! Success. The key to sounding smart at art exhibits is to limit your remarks to a few words with some devoted to how you feel.
Claire Lim’s work, meanwhile, was an installation piece that consisted of various quaint little stuffed animals pinned to a wall, with a large fluffy animal-shaped figure starring in the center. "I sense an undertone of violence," I murmured pensively. "That’s precisely what I’m getting at!" Claire exclaimed. "I wanted to show that there’s an inherent violence in human beings. Even children at play, with their fluffy toys, have a tendency to fight over these play objects. Animals in themselves are prey to humans, whether through the hunt or in captivity as pets. They serve as a metaphor for violence." The installation piece in itself seemed harmless at first view, a cutesy dedication to saccharinely sweet stuffed toys. "But that’s the quality of Claire’s work," noted Shing. "It’s cute, but almost too cute, poisonously so." The quaint character of her work seduces the viewer, until they realize that the whole installation is a commentary on violence – its muted presence in society, its constant garish appearance on television.
It’s hard to miss Ho Tzu Nyen’s colorful untitled pieces. Displaying an interest in the line between digital and manual, he questions the objective meanings of both arts by reworking his paintings. A bright kaleidoscopic painting, labeled inkjet and varnish on canvas, was created through painting, then tearing and crumpling the paper, scanning these bits of paper, then reconstituting them digitally, alternately placing them within a computer program to create a hybrid of the manual and auto – the real and hypothetical. The final piece is then printed on canvas and then varnished, projecting a clever witticism the piece’s ironic tone that is vastly absent in contemporary art today.
Gary-Ross Pastrana’s paintings consist of mini-paintings. Done on index cards, he bases his work on signage, graphic logos, metal work, referring to them as "painterly." Though the impish tone of his work seemed unintended, its charm is immediate. Bringing together a sensibility that is both realist and impressionist, Gary’s piece always seems to wring a positive response from viewers.
Attempting to articulate life through still images, MM Yu, a Filipina artist, uses double-exposures in Memoirs, adding depth and emotion to an otherwise simple piece. She juxtaposes opposing elements over each other, such as grimy metal frames over green grass, bridging meaning and sentiment through thoughtful imagery.
Billy Atienza, a taciturn artist-type, seems loath to explain his work to me, saying, "Whenever you explain an artwork to someone, you automatically limit their perspective. No longer will their opinion be fresh or honest." He was almost philosophical in his meandering. There were no precious quotable quotes to be had, only a deep thoughtfulness that was surprising in its honesty. As we viewed his installation of fluorescent lights above three wooden chairs, we were immersed in silence as he sought to find the words to describe, if not explain, his piece. "It’s about looking at things differently," he begins. "Like how these lights are normally above us, but now they’re right in front of us, beneath our line of vision…" he trails off. Minutes passed in thoughtful silence, while my mind wandered. What was new on E online? I mused quietly to myself. "I’m sorry," he apologized, "I can’t think of anything else to say."
I jumped back to reality. Surprised by his confession and his lack of schmaltzy art-speak, I was becoming more and more impressed as time passed. We moved on to his next piece, two large paintings positioned one atop the other, with a screen encased in a long black wooden box. The paintings resembled those ‘70s National Geographic videos depicting the inside of the human body – muted somber colors, flowing in lava-like waves. In true Billy Atienza style, I won’t go into meaning or representation. I’ll leave that to you.
As I left the exhibit, I couldn’t help but remember my conversation with Shing immediately after lunch, our stomachs full from a hearty meal. "So, what do you think of art?" I couldn’t help but ask in my professional voice, hoping for some pseudo-intellectual answer, so I could lambast her for being just another pretentious nose-in-the-air artist. "Art is art is art is life," she drawled mockingly. We looked at each other and then burst into giggles. "Oh god, I hope you don’t put that in your article," she exclaimed concernedly. "I’ll look like an ass." "Don’t be silly," I said. "I wouldn’t do that."