Friday, February 24, 2006
Self-Censorship Self-neutering
This is about a review I wrote of Tang Da Wu's current solo exhibition at Valentine Willie Fine Art, called Heroes, Islanders.
While writing this 1000 word review for The Star (a local daily with the highest circulation in Malaysia), I found some parts of the show problematic. A few sharp phrases came to mind, but for some strange reason, I decided to change the tone of the review. I made it more illuminative than critical. Other than a little token attempt at addressing some of my concerns in the last paragraph, this review might well have served as a catalogue essay.
What happened? Well, right now I am preparing for an exhibition and this is a time filled with self-doubt and a general sense of struggle. I think I am in sympathy with the intentions of an artist, and how these intentions do not always translate into successful work. This probably influenced me to look at the ideas behind what Da Wu was trying to do, rather than critiquing the outcomes. This is not so good. An arts' writer can hide behind ideas, talk about context till the cows go to slaughter - in effect chop the balls off what you really think about the actual work.
Can one maintain a critical tongue in a relativist world?
I consider myself fairly out-spoken and immensely stubborn. It was a surprise to me how quickly I admitted to the charge of self-censorship when I spoke with H.C. at The Fake Show* opening last night. The suspicion must have been already floating around in my brain. I do myself no favors, but do hereby confess I was somewhat influenced by the age of the artist, his long-standing reputation in Singapore, and the fact that he showed at a gallery I used to work at, a gallery which I will safely take the liberty of saying is the most important one in Kuala Lumpur.
Hence something like 'One wonders if the whole enterprise is, for the lack of a better word, a little too portable. Too clean and convenient' becomes 'Although the jigsaw-like way in which the works have been arranged seems a little uneasy - lacking the immediacy and element of risk suggested in the their initial creation - this gives function to Tang's form.'
Clearly has had it's balls chopped off. But there's more:
My initial thoughts were: 'An 'intuitive' way of working can be problematic, it can be a way for the artist to absolve him/herself of the responsibility of intention. This is particularly difficult in Da Wu's work because the process of politicizing these essentially apolitical 'instinctive' works relies on contextual frameworks that are by no means neutral or to be taken for granted...'
I turned it into this instead: 'An 'intuitive' way of working can be problematic, it can elevate the artist to tortured, heroic genius, in which every odd splatter of paint is ripe with metaphysical innuendo. But in Tang's case, it is not used as an aesthetic end in itself'.
I will certainly not go so far as to say I lied, or was inaccurate, rather I just chopped the testicles off my own writing. On a professional level I am disturbed that I chose to be so unconscious of the pressures that I felt while writing the review - it was the most natural thing in the world - to think the thoughts, but to tweak the words.
On a personal level, I feel wretched.
H.C. asked if I write more freely when I am out of the country. My answer is 'definitely'. But not in the sense that I am actively 'oppressed' when I am here. Rather, the need to please everyone and not rustle too many feathers registers on a much quieter scale, a soundless process of self-censorship.
What do I long for? Anonymity. Blessed anonymity. How easily one's voice becomes co-opted by others! 'She is a good writer'. Does anyone actually read anything, or is the opinion that 'she is a good writer' circulated like perfume - and becomes all that matters?
Much worse is that... I fear this same self-censorship will begin to invade my art too. Truth to tell, I can no longer be certain what I compromise and what I don't. I know that I feel something happening to my brain and I dislike it. Lately I seem to have difficultly having a position on anything - this is matched with the intense need to leave the country!
It seems a voice in exile is the voice of independence.
So back to my question: can one maintain a critical tongue in a relativist world? I think the answer is not only 'yes you can', but 'yes, you have to'.
*PLUG : The Fake Show curated by Vincent Leong is on at Reka Art Space, 24 Feb - 18 March 2006. www.reka-art.com
**Tip of the hat to H.C. for bringing up these thoughts.
While writing this 1000 word review for The Star (a local daily with the highest circulation in Malaysia), I found some parts of the show problematic. A few sharp phrases came to mind, but for some strange reason, I decided to change the tone of the review. I made it more illuminative than critical. Other than a little token attempt at addressing some of my concerns in the last paragraph, this review might well have served as a catalogue essay.
What happened? Well, right now I am preparing for an exhibition and this is a time filled with self-doubt and a general sense of struggle. I think I am in sympathy with the intentions of an artist, and how these intentions do not always translate into successful work. This probably influenced me to look at the ideas behind what Da Wu was trying to do, rather than critiquing the outcomes. This is not so good. An arts' writer can hide behind ideas, talk about context till the cows go to slaughter - in effect chop the balls off what you really think about the actual work.
Can one maintain a critical tongue in a relativist world?
I consider myself fairly out-spoken and immensely stubborn. It was a surprise to me how quickly I admitted to the charge of self-censorship when I spoke with H.C. at The Fake Show* opening last night. The suspicion must have been already floating around in my brain. I do myself no favors, but do hereby confess I was somewhat influenced by the age of the artist, his long-standing reputation in Singapore, and the fact that he showed at a gallery I used to work at, a gallery which I will safely take the liberty of saying is the most important one in Kuala Lumpur.
Hence something like 'One wonders if the whole enterprise is, for the lack of a better word, a little too portable. Too clean and convenient' becomes 'Although the jigsaw-like way in which the works have been arranged seems a little uneasy - lacking the immediacy and element of risk suggested in the their initial creation - this gives function to Tang's form.'
Clearly has had it's balls chopped off. But there's more:
My initial thoughts were: 'An 'intuitive' way of working can be problematic, it can be a way for the artist to absolve him/herself of the responsibility of intention. This is particularly difficult in Da Wu's work because the process of politicizing these essentially apolitical 'instinctive' works relies on contextual frameworks that are by no means neutral or to be taken for granted...'
I turned it into this instead: 'An 'intuitive' way of working can be problematic, it can elevate the artist to tortured, heroic genius, in which every odd splatter of paint is ripe with metaphysical innuendo. But in Tang's case, it is not used as an aesthetic end in itself'.
I will certainly not go so far as to say I lied, or was inaccurate, rather I just chopped the testicles off my own writing. On a professional level I am disturbed that I chose to be so unconscious of the pressures that I felt while writing the review - it was the most natural thing in the world - to think the thoughts, but to tweak the words.
On a personal level, I feel wretched.
H.C. asked if I write more freely when I am out of the country. My answer is 'definitely'. But not in the sense that I am actively 'oppressed' when I am here. Rather, the need to please everyone and not rustle too many feathers registers on a much quieter scale, a soundless process of self-censorship.
What do I long for? Anonymity. Blessed anonymity. How easily one's voice becomes co-opted by others! 'She is a good writer'. Does anyone actually read anything, or is the opinion that 'she is a good writer' circulated like perfume - and becomes all that matters?
Much worse is that... I fear this same self-censorship will begin to invade my art too. Truth to tell, I can no longer be certain what I compromise and what I don't. I know that I feel something happening to my brain and I dislike it. Lately I seem to have difficultly having a position on anything - this is matched with the intense need to leave the country!
It seems a voice in exile is the voice of independence.
So back to my question: can one maintain a critical tongue in a relativist world? I think the answer is not only 'yes you can', but 'yes, you have to'.
*PLUG : The Fake Show curated by Vincent Leong is on at Reka Art Space, 24 Feb - 18 March 2006. www.reka-art.com
**Tip of the hat to H.C. for bringing up these thoughts.
Labels: art writing
¶ 11:41 AM
