Related Essays/ Articles

Waiting for Answers

Eva McGovern


Emotional detachment and physical fragmentation repeatedly occur across Gan Chin Lee's distinctly Malaysian tableaus. Subtle disturbances through first person perspective and multi paneled images punctuate his narrative sequences to become a collage of painterly sensibility and social observation. Negotiated by the artist's own personal experiences his genre paintings reveal the frustrations and hopes of the contemporary Malaysian condition through a uniquely local setting of the mamak stall. Fondly regarded by all Malaysians, the mamak is a site to discuss, lament and laugh at the state of the country. Censorship and controlled media have also subsequently transformed it into more than just a place to drink teh

tarik and eat our favourite foods. Rather, through its inconspicuous familiarity it has become a 24 hour comfort zone for Malaysians to congregate and debate their frustrations amongst the safety of friends.

 

Such feelings reflect the numerous contradictions of the Malaysian socio-political landscape. At the heart of this dilemma are issues of multiculturalism that promotes Malaysia as 'truly Asia' but are quite clearly the nation's biggest cultural strength and political weakness. The inability of government to transcend destructive racially divisive political policies results in a never-ending state of tense inertia. We long for change and yet neither government nor public self-agency

seem to enable the necessary positive paradigm shifts. The longer such impotency continues the more it translates into feelings of jaded anxiety amongst the rakyat especially in younger generations of Malaysians. Gan keenly observes these sentiments as they take place in the mamak through numerous moments of sketching, discussion and interaction with the artist's friends, colleagues and students from the university where he teaches. Reimagining these scenes back in the studio he presents a tightly composed, richly detailed community of characters, interiors and exteriors of local stalls across KL, Klang and PJ.

 

Situated within a predominantly Chinese subject matter as reflected by the artist's own culture and ethnicity, Gan's references his teenage and adult experiences of mamak culture in Malaysia. With relatively little social outlets for teenagers the mamak is one of the few places to go for entertainment. However, rather than choosing moments of light hearted amusement Gan presents glimpses of boredom and stagnancy. His figures seem wistful, confused or simply wasting time before they have to return to their own homes. Intense background activity does nothing to reduce their isolation from one another and the overall sentiment of his work is one of quiet solitude.

 

These poetic visions are created through a keen understanding of dramatic artistic influences from Antonio Lopez Garcia and David Hockney through to European Grand Masters such as Velasquez, Caravaggio, Fra Angelico and Fra Filippo Lippi. Such an informed approach allows Gan the vocabulary to play with motifs from art history and popular café culture scenes whilst developing his own unique approach to technique and subject matter. Notably, what prompts further examination of the artists works are the subtle and surreal technical shifts that destabilise our viewing experience. In l'm in a Mamak Stall Gan creates a monumental vision of the everyday. Through his use of first person perspective, as if audiences were

seemingly never ending problems, Gan Chin Lee's mamak scenes looking at once through the eyes of the artist and of someone standing behind him, we see through mainly frontal but slightly peripheral vision. However, rather than a seamless transition of forms what is presented is a composite gel fragmented panels from different settings. It is a jarring visual feeling united only by the continuation between the right and middle images of the artist’s disjointed arms and legs as he sits purveying the scene. The light curvature of the walls and inward tilt of the setting undulate the eye to create a sense of the surreal and dreamlike.

 

Gan states that the collaging of multiple scenes is a process of fragmentation and recomposition in order to create an 'incomplete painting’. This reflects the limitations of human sight in that we are never able to view things in their entirety whilst also attempting to liberate the viewer from this by presenting different perspectives in one work. Perhaps this could be taken even further to discuss notions of recognition, what do we choose to observe in busy scenes, who do we notice and who do we ignore as our eyes are tempted in multiple directions simultaneously? How does this selection work in the cultural context of Malaysia, who is notable and who is invisible?

 

This process of fragmentation is taken even further in works such as I'm on the Way of Turning Back and I'm in Papa Rich. Here images are created in clearly separated panels that form diptychs and triptychs. Singular figures sit facing the viewer, while details of the artist's seated image guide us into the frame. Scale and viewpoints once more are not seamless but slightly altered to create in between spaces or ruptures that act as physical breakages and visual focus

points. Mimetic of cinema camera angles it also serves the drama of perspective. This enhances the distance between the foreground figure of the artist and his companions as they contemplate their separate existential questions or entertain themselves through mindless games on mobile phones.

 

The climax of Gan's body of work is undoubtedly Status Anxiety a clear evolution of I'm in a Mamak Stall. The artist has edited his figures into singular and small groupings over four panels that form a disjointed running tableau scene. Subjects stare in multiple directions inwards and outside of the picture plane or close their eyes as Chinese newspapers that discuss MCA internal fighting gently fall from laps. Viewpoints lower and rise as led by the lines of tiled floors and walls to create more exaggerated perspectives. Although constructed as one single work each image could also stand alone in its own right as the ordinary become symbolic statements of Malaysian life.

 

The strength of Gan Chin Lee's work lies in the way he creates his images through first hand sketching out of the studio, and the shared experiences between artist and subject. His command of draftsmanship, composition and experiments in perspective all provide the necessary tools to continue the artist's curiosity about his Malaysian context. Situating his vision within the mamak he presents a cross section of Malaysian life that is at once harmonious and isolated from one another based on race politics propagated by the government. However instead of finding solutions to these seemingly never ending problems, Gan Chin Lee’s mamak scenes of ordinary Malaysians presents a sense of anxiety, as we wait for answers to the ongoing questions of local life.


(This article was published at catalogue of Gan Chin lee’s first solo exhibition: Fragment/Defragmentation, 2010, MEA Award Winner Showcase)


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Silent Conversations

Eva McGovern


 

For decades now, the Malaysian socio-political condition has been a rich source of artistic inspiration. Fuelled by the paradox of

multiculturalism artists continue to celebrate and criticise what is undoubtedly the country's biggest strength and weakness. Although Malaysia is promoted as truly Asia', filled with diverse cultures and peoples, the inability of government to transcend destructive racially divisive political policies results in a never-ending state of tense oscillation between progress and regression. Malaysian artist Gan Chin Lee continues to be inspired by these issues through a classically inspired type of portraiture and genre painting that adds to an ongoing artistic conversation about Malaysian identity. For Soliloquy, his first solo at Valentine Willie Fine Art, Kuala Lumpur, Gan employs a common device from theatre and literature to collect his thoughts. A soliloquy is a lengthy speech or monologue by a main character to discuss their feelings, dilemmas, and motives for their actions. Shakespeare is filled with many of these famous speeches such as Hamlet's To be or not to be?. However, rather than a verbal or textual proclamation, Gan instead presents a visual sequence of angst, longing, and frustration on the Malaysian condition. Negotiated by the artist's own personal experiences as a Chinese Malaysian, his portraits and genre paintings reveal the feelings of the rakyat through the uniquely local setting of the mamak stall as well as other scenes from Malaysian daily life. These highly emotional portraits of the artist himself, the people he has observed as well as his friends and family present a subtle combination of anxiety and optimism on the future of the country.

 

Mob, Kedai Kopi Sungai jarom and Silent Majority are developments from his previous exhibition Fragment Defragmentation that once again looks at Malaysians in the mamak stall. A fond destination in our cultural landscape, the mamak is a site to discuss, lament and laugh at the state of the country. Through its inconspicuous familiarity it has become a 24 hour comfort zone for Malaysians to enjoy food as well as debate their frustrations amongst the safety of friends. Gan keenly observes

these sentiments through numerous moments of sketching, discussion and interaction of unknown protagonists as well as the artist's friends, colleagues and students across Kuala Lumpur, Klang and Petaling Jaya. With relatively little social outlets for teenagers, the mamak is one of the few places to go for entertainment. However, rather than choosing moments of lighthearted amusement, Gan presents glimpses of boredom and stagnancy. His figures in Mob seem wistful and confused

as they waste time before going home. The nine youths in Silent Majority depict a powerful solitude of young people lost in unknown thoughts of existential angst or simple moments of listless boredom whilst staring into space. Further emphasizing this sense of isolation Gan punctuates his painterly realism with exaggerated perspectives and multi-paneled images that create an undulating experience that is at times dreamlike and disorientating. He states that the collaging of multiple scenes is a

process of fragmentation and recomposition in order to create an 'incomplete painting'. This reflects the limitations of whilst also attempting to liberate the viewer from this by presenting different perspectives in one work. However, he goes one step further in Silent Majority and isolates his figures entirely into single portraits creating a sense of remoteness and seclusion, alluding to their own private monologues. Off-setting his multi-paneled works, these nine portraits create a further feeling of fragmentation as part of the constellation of artworks throughout the exhibition. Such elements reflect moments of segregation and distance between the different races, cultures and religions or the country that unfortunately have the potential to lead to misunderstanding and social division.

 

Although Soliloquy is a personal lament about fragmented moments of isolation in Malaysia, by purposefully including older works from Gan's practice, he inserts important notes of optimism and brightness. Barber Shop in Little India presents a sensitive portrait of Indian Malaysians in Penang. Proudly staring back at the viewer, with hints of smiling faces, this group of men and children declare their individuality whilst the Chinese characters on the shop front's glass window insert them within the network of multicultural Malaysian. Skillfully rendering their features, he presents a dynamic and active exchange between subject and viewer. Lonely Friend is another classic example of portraiture that can be found throughout the artist's practice. Depicting a young woman sitting in an interior setting, she stares directly at the viewer with the mirrored cupboard revealing the contents of her room. The textures of her lace blouse and cardigan showcase the artist's strength in realism and the subject's stoic gaze hints at a direct but contemplative nature. This elegant connection and appreciation of the human spirit can also be clearly seen in Grandma, a portrait of the artist's grandmother. Peacefully sleeping in her rocking chair the artist lovingly recreates the design and folds of her clothing, and his sensitive use of light and shadow conveys the contented serenity of this important member of his family.

 

Gan's observations and reflections reach a powerful crescendo in Crying Soul. It is here that the concept of the soliloquy comes to fruition most clearly in the exhibition. As a self-portrait it reveals the unsaid thoughts of sadness, anger and loneliness experienced by the artist through swirling brushstrokes and an expressive use of colour. The creases and contortions of his face echo the misery in his eyes, contrasting against a light turquoise background. It is a painful image filled with sorrow and indicative of his continuing frustrations about the Malaysian condition. Stripped of all idealism, this searing portrait presents a lost soul searching for answers. In a personal statement

Gan states:

"I went alone to Beijing for my postgraduate course. My life there was

a simple three-step formula of eating, thinking and sleeping. Life was

lonely but full of thinking; it was taboo to use the same color plate as

other students, So it was all a thinking process. In order to draw skin one

had to understand the skeleton, as such things must not be judged from

phenomenon but from its essence or nature. My loneliness stimulated

my thoughts in order to analyze my life from a bigger prospective. like

many others I cherished the opportunity to study overseas, but/ thought

to myself why is that so many others are allowed to enjoy government

sponsorship while some are not? Is it fair or is it rooted in a jealousy

created by different communities in one nation?'

 

Although highly personal and rooted within the rhetoric of Malaysia, Gan Chin Lee's poetic visions are produced through a keen understanding of dramatic artistic influences from Antonio Lopez Garcia and David Hockney through to European Grand Masters such as Velasquez, Caravaggio, Fra Angelico and Fra Filippo Lippi. Such an informed approach allows Gan the vocabulary to play with motifs from art history and popular café culture scenes whilst developing his own unique approach to technique and subject matter. His commitment to draftsmanship and understanding of perspective and proportion has produced a confident approach to form and composition. However, it is the human element of his work that resonates most clearly with audiences. His portraits or visual conversations about Malaysians create a personal monologue on the status of the country that is filled with dilemma, but, despite these frustrations there still remains faint glimmers of hope as the politics of

race and identity continue to unfold across Malaysia.


(This essay was published at catalogue of Gan Chin Lee’s 2nd solo exhibition : Soliloquy, 2011, VWFA)

 


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Brief Introduction and Q&A session 

Simon Soon 


 

While Gan Chin Lee's paintings have been characterised at times as bleak and dispiriting, he points out that he has never looked at them pessimistically, "at best I feel that they carry in them a kind of beauty of the melancholic". Many of Gan's paintings portray today's young generation, eating or just hanging out with their friends in the mamak stalls or kopitiam.

 

Before the age of the Internet, the mamak stall and kopitiam were where ordinary folks held court, to air their grouses and exchange views on current affairs. Moreover the mamak stall and kopitiam are sentimental to Gan, for these were the places where he spent his idle youth, amongst friends, whiling away the night. For many Malaysians, regardless of their ethnic and class background, the mamak stall continues to be a favourite gathering spot. The artist believes that one is able to see here a microcosm of Malaysian society".

 

There is often a sense of anticipation in his work, as in his Status Anxiety series, or, at times, of listlessness, as in the Silent Majority series. In these figurative tableaux and portraits, he proves to be an acute observer, searching in the fleeting

expressions of many young Malaysians for their sense of who they are, where they belong and where they are heading. (SIS)

 

Q

What is your proudest achievement so far?

A

I have an old friend who keeps telling me that my Mamak

Stall series has accurately captured the zeitgeist and

situation of our generation. This is what I am most proud

of because this is where I want to take my work, I want to

capture the ethos of a particular era.

 

Q

Where do you think your work will be heading to next?

A

The drifting current of an immigrant community is a

subject I will continue to explore. This is because many of

those around me have plans to leave the country at any

time. But I think this is something that many people face

in today's world, especially in this era of globalisation.

Of course, when it comes to technique, I will always be

striving to improve myself.


(The article was Published at Today and Tomorrow : Emerging Practices in Malaysian Art, 2013, Adaptus)


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顏振利:繪畫作為探尋社會地景的路徑

Gan Chin Lee: Painting as the Path to Social Landscape


文/高森信男


  2015年,被人蛇集團受騙而漂流於海上的羅興亞人(Rohingya),在難民船中奄奄一息;正當世界因此而震驚時,東南亞各國表現出了他們的冷酷與種族主義。相對於在電視新聞上反覆播放的畫面,畫家顏振利卻透過了吉隆坡的街角,來回應這次的全球人道危機:在顏振利的畫筆下,一名羅興亞長者疲憊的捲曲在街角,他的身軀彷彿隔絕於難民和移民議題的爭論之外,自成一套生存的系統。


  在顏振利的作品《No Place for Diaspora》中,畫作所描繪的羅興亞長者,看似僅是社會關懷視角下的身軀,但其身軀的政治性和文化性,即是其身為一個被緬甸和東協(ASEAN)所排除在外的身體。這種被「排除」的身軀,亦正是畫家顏振利所擁有的身軀。近年來隨著東協政治經濟影響力的成長,東協地區的當代藝術正在被大量引介至全球藝術市場之中;早於東協,中國的當代藝術發展也早就成為了全球當代藝術的重要地標。顏振利身為大馬華裔,看似身兼了跨越兩者的優勢;但實際上顏振利被同時排除於兩者之外:顏振利繼承了多數大馬華裔所擁有的失落、和身分認同焦慮,卻又不可能在留學北京中央美院期間,成為「中國人」的一份子。


  《No Place for Diaspora》所呈現出來的焦慮,除了面臨認同與所屬之外,還包括了尋求「安身」之處的卑微要求。在作品中,羅興亞長者的身軀和年輕移工的工寮場景並置,營造出特殊的場景;其強烈的符號,亦回應了畫題所直述的社會寫實場景。除了對於荒謬的社會現實進行批判之外,不少大馬華裔或是印度裔藝術家常會以探勘、建構、再現、解構移民史或大馬近代史來作為抵銷認同焦慮的重要創作路徑。然而顏振利所採取的卻是另一個路徑:他將視角看向不斷湧入大馬的新移民,透過新移民所投射的未來,顏振利的作品填補了缺席的過去。


  在馬來西亞,要客觀的討論來自孟加拉、緬甸等地的新移民是相對困難的,因為移民政策總是和不受歡迎的政府決策被綑綁在一起,譬如著名的6P whitening Programme,即是一例。但是對於顏振利而言,對於移民的描繪,更多時候是回到個體的角色,來作為自我心境的鏡射。或許對於顏振利而言,描繪自畫像、描繪台北街頭海鮮攤的食客、描繪在mamak stall用完餐後的空虛年輕人、和描繪這批眼神略顯不安和焦慮的新移民,其實是同一件事情。這些移民彷彿是一面鏡子;透過針對移民的描繪和觀察,年輕畫家在他們的臉龐及眼中看到了自己於留學時期所萌生的認同焦慮。透過這種描繪的路徑,對於認同的焦慮從內在的心境感受,向外延展至當代的大馬社會處境;該描繪除了成為聯結內在心境和社會環境的橋樑之外,它亦可能是畫家自我療癒的工具。


  在作品《Reunion Island》中,藝術家早期對於「食客」表情的細緻描寫,被以另外一種符號化的形式所取代;在黑暗中的路邊餐館,人們既參與交流,又在這種交流的過程之中,漸漸的喪失可辨識的主體性。這也是為何在畫作之中,許多坐在餐桌前的人們,其身體和臉龐被刻意以黑色顏料塗蓋,彷彿其已經消失在黑夜之中,和餐館中的所有人融合為另外一種整體。在作品《Self and the Other》中,甚至可以看到有些人物已經呈現透明化,有些人的臉龐則以白色的筆觸覆蓋;這種透明、穿透和蒼白的街景人物,和消失的黑色人物呈現出了極大的對比。這種壓抑和焦慮的場景,和右側聯作中,展示身體又充滿消費慾望的女性人物,呈現出了極大的反差,並牽引出互相對映的聯想空間。


  大馬的華裔、印度裔和其他少數族裔,承襲了一種與生俱來的認同焦慮,這種創傷經驗透過凝視更大的傷痕(譬如羅興亞人的人道災難),是否反而有可能獲得部分的舒緩呢?在處理「新村」這個歷史的傷痕時,顏振利就採取了另外一種更為宏觀的修補路徑:在作品《Post Colonial Encounter》中,顏振利並不試圖直指歷史的傷口,反而任由形形色色、生存於現實空間中的人物填滿了新村的街道。因為英國殖民而創建的新村,不僅是大馬華裔的歷史傷口,如今又被各類的移民填補了空間上的空缺。在這裡,「Colonial」一字有了多重的解讀,而透過正視當代的族群地景,顏振利找到了一種延續歷史空缺的路徑;這個路徑不只指向未來,亦通往畫家內心的世界。


  寫實繪畫似乎並非是「當代藝術」的寵兒,但正因為寫實繪畫傳承某種來自西方傳統的宗教性及社會性,對於被繪者而言,寫實繪畫引入了一種其他形式難以擁有的「莊嚴」特質;社會各階層的人,似乎有可能透過這個途徑,而成為代表其所屬時代的「聖像」(icons)。對於繪畫者而言,寫實繪畫則是一種深入剖析及觀察的路徑,令人得以從社會的景觀出發,探索景觀背後的層次。在顏振利的作品中,我們看到一張張蒼白的移民臉孔、焦慮的眼神、飯後杯盤狼藉的無聊氣息、甚而是透明的身軀,都被顏振利所採取的人道主義視角,將芸芸眾生幻化為一片人間的喧囂景觀。在這片景觀之中,被描繪的對象似乎重新具備了某種主體性,得以回歸個體的尊嚴;讓觀眾直視這些被尊嚴所充滿的臉龐,正是被繪者或畫家自身得以擺脫被排除及失根的感受,重新建構歸屬感的時刻。


(本文收錄於顏振利第三次個展In-Between的展覽目錄裏,2015, RKFA)


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Gan Chin Lee: Painting as the Path to Social Landscape

 

In 2015 tens of thousands of Rohingyas, unwanted in their homeland and duped by trafficking syndicates, were left to die in the open sea. While the world watched in shock at these atrocities perpetrated against humanity, Myanmar and its Southeast Asian counterparts displayed their indifference and racist mindset regarding the cruelty. 

Acting against the recurring footages that were repeatedly aired on the television, artist Gan Chin Lee rose to respond to this crisis against humanity through what he had seen at a street corner in Kuala Lumpur. 

With his brush, Gan brought to life an elderly Rohingya man curled up in a hidden corner of a dingy street in the Malaysian cosmopolitan. The man lives in a different reality, unaware of debates and discussions about refugees and the migrant crisis. The interpretation of the Rohingyan in Gan's work titled No Place for Diaspora Men might appear to represent any other urban dweller forced to the fringes of society, but it is also a reflection of a political and cultural symbol shunned by Myanmar and the rest of ASEAN.  

While members of ASEAN continue work on strengthening their political and economic influence in the last few years, many contemporary works of art from the region have received critical reception in the global art scene. Prior to artworks from the ASEAN region, contemporary art from China was the benchmark in the global contemporary art market. Gan's identity as a Malaysian Chinese may appear as an advantage in the ASEAN and Chinese markets, but Gan was unsuccessful in both despite his seemingly privileged identity. 

Like the Rohingyas he paints, Gan, who descended from Chinese migrants, felt a similar sense of loss and had an identity crisis as most Malaysian Chinese do; at the same time, he was unable to blend in well and be part of the "Mainland Chinese" while pursuing his studies at the China Central Academy of Fine Arts in Beijing, China. The anxiety shown in No Place for Diaspora Men is not only a struggle for recognition. It also signifies one’s humility and a longing to belong. In the painting, the elder Rohingyan is juxtaposed with a scene showing young migrant workers sleeping in a cramped single room. This juxtaposition represents a strong symbol in response to the harsh realities ofsociety.

A critical stance against the absurdity of social reality has always been a characteristic found in works by many ethnic Chinese and Indian artists in Malaysia. They have adopted a creative path to explore, construct, reproduce and deconstruct the history of their immigrant forefathers in order to cope with their identity crisis. However, Gan adopted a different path. He diverted his attention to the current crisis and the influx of a new generation of migrants in Malaysia. It is in the eyes of these communities that Gan fills the gaps of his past. 

In Malaysia, there is almost no room for an objective discussion on migrants from Bangladesh, Myanmar and other countries. Stringent immigration laws and policies are more often than not daunting and impeded by opaque rules.  

Gan's depiction of migrants in his works mostly showcases them as individuals, which he finds serves as a mirror for self-reflection. Perhaps to Gan, drawing a portrait of himself, of diners enjoying seafood at street side stalls in Taipei,or images of expressionless young adults finishing their meals at mamak stalls, is similar to the restlessness and anxiety felt by migrants in a new land. They, the migrants, are his mirror. 

Through his paintings and observations of these communities, the young artist senses their feeling of loss, having been stripped of their identities, similar to his own experiences studying abroad. Through his work, Gan has tried to capture the realities of the identity crisis faced by the migrants as an extension of contemporary Malaysia. The depiction has not only become a bridge that connects his internal expressions with the external social context, it also serves as a coping mechanism for the artist. 

In Reunion Island, his depiction of the diners’ faces, which is an emphasis on the details of expressions in his earlier work, has been replaced by another type of symbolic art form. Sitting on stools propped along a food stall at poorly lit street, the diners are seen communicating with each other, but they also appear to be gradually losing their recognisable features. This is explained in the deliberate use of black paint to mask the subjects bodies or faces, as if they are fading into the darkness of the night. All the customers in the restaurant are seen to be merging as an entity.

In his Self and the Other I painting, some of the figures appear translucent while other faces are drawn in white paint. The depiction of these pale street characters brought to life on canvas is a great contrast to those fading into the darkness.

The anxious and solemn mood portrayed in the street scene is distinct from the painting on the right, which illustrates female bodies symbolising a desire for consumption. The juxtaposition allows plenty of room for imagination. 

Ethnic Chinese, Indians and other minority races in Malaysia are very much aware of the pain of going through an identity crisis. Would looking at a bigger scar - such as the crisis faced by the Rohingyas - mitigate the painful experiences?

While handling the historical scar of the "new village", Gan chose a macro perspective in an attempt at reconciliation. In Post Colonial Encounter, he did not point directly at the historical scars, but chose to fill the streets of the new village with people from all walks of life. The new village, constructed by the British colonialists, is not only a historical scar for the ethnic Chinese but it is also filled with migrants from different backgrounds. The term "colonial" in this context has multiple interpretations. It is through this contemporary ethnic landscape that Gan has found a path to fill up the historical gaps. It is not a mere reflection of the future, but also of the heart of the artist. 

Realistic painting does not seem to be a favourite of contemporary art. Realistic painting has roots in the religious and social aspects from the Western tradition that gives a sense of "dignity" to the subject, which could not be achieved through other forms. It is through this form that people from different social classes became icons of their time.   

However, as far as the painter is concerned, realistic painting is a path that requires in-depth analysis and observation. This enables the audience to dissect the social landscape from the beginning to further explore the meaning of the work of art. In Gan's work, we see many pale faces of the migrants, the restless looks, the boredom and messy arrangement of cutleries, as well as opaque bodies painted from a humanitarian perspective. He has turned these into a lively landscape. 

The subjects seem to possess a certain ownership on canvas and reclaim their dignity as individuals. It is at this moment when these dignified faces are observed by the audience that the artist is able to let go of the feeling of being rejected and uprooted, and to be able find his sense of belonging. 

(This essay was published at catalogue of Gan Chin Lee’s 3rd solo exhibition : In-Between, 2015, RKFA)

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‘In-Between’ is a captivating look into the lives of migrants

Terence Toh


An old man lies on a street corner, desperately curled up for warmth. A group of workers break their backs lifting loads of oil palm fruit, all in exchange for a paltry sum of payment. Two men cut the neck of a chicken for food, while a young girl looks on the distance, uncertain about her future in a culture that is alien to her.

These are scenes from the lives of migrants – we see them everywhere, on our streets, in our workplaces, in our restaurants. They do the thankless jobs that everyone shuns, and a lot of our local businesses could not thrive without their contributions.

And yet, due to prejudices and the actions of a few bad apples, they are often shunned and misunderstood.

The plight of foreign migrants, these stories so often unheard, are the focus of In-between, an art exhibition by Gan Chin Lee which is showing now at the Richard Koh Fine Art Space in Kuala Lumpur until Dec 3. The exhibition is billed as a personal response to the universal identity crisis experienced by migrants worldwide, but framed within the context of the Malaysian urban environment and beyond.

“We employ a lot of migrants in this country to help us. But a lot of them are considered to be an invisible group. People interact with them every day but they don’t ‘see’ them, they don’t bother with their concerns,” says Gan in a recent interview at the gallery.

“I wanted to create awareness about them through my paintings, to tell a story of survival and desperation,” he adds.

According to Gan, 38, he was inspired to create this body of work after being involved in Wawasan 2020, a group art show in 2012 which explored themes of development and migrant issues.

Spurred, Gan took to the streets, interviewing migrant workers in over 20 places, including factories in Sungai Buloh and a wholesaler’s market in Selayang. He collected the stories of the people living “in-between”, some of them trapped between an old home they cannot return to, and a new home they were unfamiliar with.

He spoke to people from Bangladesh, Myanmar, Nepal and other countries. Some of them were economic migrants, some of them refugees.

“I opened up to them first. I told them I was an artist, interested to know about them. And they were quite willing to share their stories,” says Gan. “There were quite some stories that touched me. Some of the Rohingya people ... I didn’t know much about what they went through before this, and the ethnic conflict in their country. A lot of them went through a very long journey to come here. Some of their relatives died along the way.”

For a better grasp on the subject matter, Gan has read up on the rise in radical Buddhist nationalism in Myanmar that has fanned prejudices against the long-persecuted Rohingya Muslim minority there. However, In-between isn’t a sharply political show, by any stretch.

Instead, it brings into focus an artist’s understanding of migrants – and refugees – seen as individuals. Through this exhibition, Gan has tried to look into the realities of the identity crisis faced by them here.

Gan honed his painterly craft at the Central Academy of Fine Arts in Beijing and the One Academy of Communication Design, Selangor, where he currently also works as an art lecturer. In-between is his first solo show since 2011’s Soliloquy in Kuala Lumpur.

He has been exceptionally busy this year, with his work featured in six group shows, including the recently opened Eyeball Massage, Fingers Exercise group exhibition in Penang.

The migrant themes in In-between are a follow-through from shows like Malaysian Art, A New Perspective and I Am Ten at Richard Koh Fine Art

However, he has moved on from multi-panel paintings, like Between Here And There, which showed his style in amplifying a perspective.

In person, Gan comes across as passionate and well-read, a man who chooses every word carefully before he speaks. He mentions that he is influenced by the post-colonialist theories of Indian-born writer and thinker Homi K. Bhabha. Each of his works in In-between are divided into two: a large section drawn and coloured in a more realistic manner, and an accompanying piece presented in a more raw “work-in-progress” style.

“The bigger part represents reality, or the things I’ve found from our surrounding world. The other part I consider a correlation, another image I have in my head to react to it. I want people who look at my work to have a link in between these two images,” says Gan.

In his work No Place For Diaspora, for instance, one side depicts an old bearded Rohingya man sleeping on the street, while the other features dozens of migrants huddled together in cramped quarters. Is a migrant’s journey merely trading one form of discomfort for another?

Self And The Other II showcases a group of migrants hard at work in an oil palm estate, next to another group of people at a putu piring stall.

“These migrants are doing things to support their families back home. I find myself thinking, they are also part of the backbone of our country’s economy as well,” says Gan.

Reunion Island, which was first seen at the I Am Ten show, returns to remind the masses of how the simple coffeeshop landscape has changed.

“Without migrant workers, there might be no more coffeeshops – who will man the food stalls and serve us?” says Gan.

One of the most striking images, however, comes from the work Phantom Existence. A group of migrants stand in the foreground, their pale facial features a metaphor of their “ghostly” existence here.

Yet in the background, a group of locals eagerly take photos of them with their smartphones, or point accusing fingers at a nearby bus, which it is implied the migrants travelled on. Political banners loom in the sky, a reference to the “phantom voters” rumours of the last election, perhaps?

As a whole, the In-between exhibition forces us to confront our perceptions and reactions to a group of people who live on the fringes of society here. As an artist choosing to take to the streets and to study the different social classes, Gan has made the most of his documentation.

“Different artists have their own goals and beliefs. For me, expressing my views through social realism is the best way for me to understand my country better,” says Gan as he sums up his current exhibition.

(The article was published at The Star Newspaper, 24/11/2015)

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The Art Of Balance

Emelia Ong 

 


Gan Chin Lee is an oil painter who paints the human figure in its contemporary everyday context. He is also an art educator at The One Academy where he first trained as an illustrator. Today he is recognised as a contemporary realist, known for his thought-provoking depictions of Malaysian urban life. His painting approaches were developed from his classical training in Beijing, which was gradually refined to reflect his personal temperament as well as his outlook towards subject matter.

 

Gan studied fine art at the Central Academy of Fine Arts where he explored various approaches and techniques towards painting: from Classicism, to Neo-Classicism to Romanticism, to Impressionism. He has since developed his own style of painting which combines his fascination for the figurative with more technical considerations for the different methods of layering paint.

 

In his practice, he strives to produce what he terms Avant-Garde Realism; in other words, a fresh take on Realism. Realism was an art movement during the mid-19th century, where artists sought to represent their subject matter more "truthfully and without romantic stylisations. The 'real' replaced the 'ideal' as subject matter. Since then, various approaches to Realism in art have reflected the changing ideas about what constitutes the 'truth' or the real'. Realism began to reflect the

complexities involved in redefining the 'real' through visual, physical, psychological or spiritual experiences. Today, contemporary artists who worked within a realist mode, such as Gan, no longer subscribe to easy definitions of what the 'real' is.

 

Gan's practice becomes a way of making sense of his own experiences living in Malaysia. His titles reflect a range of themes such as hybridity, urban society, migration, and diaspora. These themes capture our collective urban concerns and how we

think about ourselves in relation to society. He notes that contemporary life has been marked by migration.

 

The phenomenon of migration has subsequently engendered a sense of displacement, not only for the immigrant but also for the locally-born. Gan skilfully captures these tensions in the expression and composition of his figures. His works enunciate the balance involved in maintaining our individual identities as they are subsumed within collective identities. He is also insistent that a unique method of paint application be produced to reflect such contemporary anxieties.

 

Traditional methods can no longer translate the new urges and struggles of the present. They need to be adapted, reworked and transformed. Gan has been honing his techniques for the past ten years in order to reflect the negotiations between the traditional and the contemporary, the urban and the rural, the self and the other. His approach to life as well as to art seems to centre on this consistent effort to find a middle ground, in order to achieve that balance.

 

Finally, his contemplations about contemporary realism are essentially his attempts to understand opposing ways of thinking among different communities, whether of different ages, cultures or environments. He concludes that ultimately, we need to find ways of living together peacefully without conflict or violence. Thus the artist speaks critically through his practice and becomes the voice of moderation.

 

GROWING UP

Can you recall your earliest exposures to art?

I loved comics a lot... Hong Kong comics, Japanese comics like 'Dragon Ball'. Initially I thought I would end up as a comic artist. When I went to The One Academy, I wanted to be a comic artist and I studied Illustration for that purpose. After graduation I worked for two years as a comic artist but it was very different from what I had imagined.

 

How is it different?

If you want to create a successful comic strip, it is not about your drawing skills. It is about how you tell a story. The script is very important, and the storyboarding as well, but I found that I was not interested in that. I realised that I enjoyed producing single paintings more than creating storyboards. 

 

When I was small, I was also quite addicted to Chinese woodcut prints and paper cuttings, like those we often see during Chinese New Year, for example, a child holding a fish, and so forth. These things sometimes come back to me in my practice. 

 

In my current practice I try to absorb the formality of ukiyo-e' and Chinese traditional woodcut prints. I try to combine that kind of flat beauty into my traditional style of figurative paintings. I want to create something fresh, by inventing some kind of so-called Avant-Garde Realism.

 

LEARNING PROCESS

What was it like to switch from commercial illustration to fine art?

In the commercial line, I got to step 'out of the image' and think about pleasing the client or target audience. But fine arts is about the artist's ego and you've got to put your own observations into the painting. It is not about an acceptance of the audience. Instead, you've got to lead the audience to think, and you've got to think of pushing the boundaries of the visual language in contemporary trends. For me, it's a lot harder.

 

Can you recall the time when you were studying Illustration at The One Academy, how has that been beneficial to your practice now?

 

Somehow it strengthened my foundational skills and my self-organising attitude. Like I couldn't really work from day until night constantly, so they taught me to be alert [to stay focussed], work ethics, self-discipline.

 

During that time, I also learned some computer skills. That's why I now use Photoshop, Illustrator, these kinds of software

quite effectively. So, in my final stages, I will use these softwares to speed up the progress.

 

It also helped me to not shy away from modern technology and software. I think classical approaches in painting works better when combined with more advanced technology.

 

You went to the Central Academy of Fine Arts in Beijing to study painting. Can you describe that experience?

There was so much culture shock. I thought I would do quite well but the comments from the professor were not so encouraging. Gradually, I refined my techniques in a few years. That's why it's important to learn from art history. When I look at how different artists interpret the way they are seeing, correct my old habits from them. 

 

What made you choose that Academy?

The system in Beijing Academy is different. We've got to take an exam to be accepted. First, for Art History, then for Drawing, then for Painting. They give you a test, then randomly give you a title. You've got to react to the title on the spot. They also categorise their studios into four studios: So I'm in the first studio which focused on paintings from the art periods of Classicism until Impressionism. The second studio is more focused on combining Expressionism with Chinese aesthetics. The third studio would be more focused on contemporary issues. Then the fourth studio is really focused on materials and methods.

 

What were some of the prevailing painting approaches taught whilst you were studying at the Academy?

Actually, ten years ago, figuration was still the mainstream genre within the Beijing art circles, but now it's falling out of trend. But China is huge and there are many different circles. Guangzhou is very different in their ideology - very experimental and conceptual. But in Beijing, a lot of artists still do propaganda-type paintings that portray the beauty of the labourer... those types of subject matter.

 

How did the Academy approach painting?

In the 1970s, they were very much into Russian realistic paintings. They sent people to Russia to study the methodology – how to start learning about the figure from the skeletal structure and musculature. Then, I think after the 1990s, there was a big change. A lot of people graduated from Europe. More avant-garde thoughts developed. Many went to Europe to study the development of Realism, not Social Realism, but the contemporary development of Realism.

 

I remember that we observed a lot of different body types for models. From youngsters to adults, to old people. They taught me not to limit yourself to just appreciate one or two types of anatomy while I was studying. Both skinny people and fat people have got their own beauty, it depends on how you understand the inner relation to structure, those sorts of things. Then after you graduate, you can decide what kind of body type you are more interested in.

 

What about Abstraction? Were they outwardly against it?

In their opinion, no matter how good you are [in abstraction], you are still [copying] European artists, you wouldn't be more avant-garde than them. Then, they say if you want to work in abstraction, choose Chinese ink painting, which is more true.

 

Who was your teacher?

Hu Jian Cheng. He was a classical painter. They define themselves as Neoclassical painters, interested in the concept or the

meaning of contemporary realism. I am always interested in drawing the figure, anatomical subjects, so I appreciate the historical knowledge I gained from the first studio. Although in the future, I might not continue in that kind of approach [taught in that studio]; but I wanted to start from there.

 

SPACE AND PLACE

What brings you to this current space?

 

I bought this house because it's close to my hometown in Jenjarom, so I can go back to visit my parents very often. It's just about 20 minutes away. It is also in between my hometown and working area in Sunway. I have a car, so this location is not a problem for me. I like this sort of peaceful and quiet environment, also to have a better excuse to skip all those activities in town.

 

How often do you teach?

Two times a week, so the rest of the time I spend in my studio.

 

This is my first studio. I'm thinking of moving to another area because currently, this place is obviously too small for both of us (me and my wife Jennifer,? who is also an artist). We think it's better to separate the working area from the residence.

 

How does sharing a space with your spouse affect your working style or working process?

Sometimes I run out of this studio to go to the coffee shop, so that I can really focus on my writings or thoughts. And sometimes when I do research, I would rather she [my wife] not join me. We try not to influence each other too much.

While working I don't allow her to step into my area. I don't allow her to throw her opinion about too directly before I ask. So, I set the rules, if I don't ask you, don't simply give any feedback. But when I pass through the living room, I will surely see her work and, sometimes, she will stop me to ask for my opinion of her current work.

 

CURRENT PRACTICE

Can you talk about your current interest in the migration topic?

I think this interest stems from my cultural identity as a third generation Chinese immigrant. I think, because we live in Malaysia, we [my family] couldn't really relate to the 5,000 years of art and cultural development in China. 

 

When I started this series, I did research on migrants all over the world. Migrants from other countries such as the Filipinos in Hong Kong, the Africans in the U.S., the Irish in the U.K. and there were a lot of similarities in their experiences. I did that to get a sense of the experience of migration, but essentially, my work still centres on what is happening locally. And it's not so much about what is happening cross country [transnationally], but what is happening when you move from the village to the city.

 

I came from a Chinese New Village, and when I came to the city, there was this culture shock. The infrastructure and the way society lived. It was in total conflict. When I was researching this topic, I got a chance to talk to the people who still live

in the New Villages today. Their ideologies are so different. It's important that we learn to understand each other and be able to communicate. How do we gain acceptance and tolerance for each other? How do I get this balance? This is one of the hardest things to learn.

 

Do you try to maintain a connection to life in the village?

Definitely. That is why I chose Shah Alam. Because it is a place that is closer to nature. However, what I like about modern life is the convenience it brings. There are many things we do today that are a lot easier. So, we need to find that balance   between modern life and maintaining our relationship to nature. It is difficult, but it is our responsibility to continue to fight. As an artist, I want to create something inspiring from this struggle, to urge people to continue thinking about this.

 

MATERIALS AND TOOLS

What kind of linen do you use and do you prime the linen yourself?

Currently I'm using Korean linen. It has a richer texture which dominates the final visual outcome. I also use some China

imported linen, which is cheaper. Of course, some suppliers sell good quality linen from the U.S. or European countries, but those are a lot more expensive. Now I just buy primed linen which is acceptable. But I do quite enjoy the processof priming the linen myself, because I can decide how bold it is and try out more possibilities.

 

What brands of oil paints do you use and where do you source them?

I use Winsor & Newton and Old Holland. I got my first Old Holland oils from France the very first time when I visited. After that, I got addicted to the quality of the oil. At that time, KL suppliers didn't sell any Old Holland colours. The nearest place was Singapore, so I had to travel there. Then, two years ago, we persuaded Ricky, the owner of Premier Art in Publika, to

start bringing in this brand. 

 

Do you have any special preferences for the solvents you use?

I buy odourless turpentine because I have a sinus problem and I can't bear that kind of smell. I use mostly linseed oil. I also use solvents as a better quality turpentine and then liquin, the transparent gel which smoothens the colours. Basically, these are the most common mediums that I use. Since I chose oil, I know it is quite bad for health so I try to make my studio as open as possible. Some particular oil colours can be bad. Like Cadmium Yellow and Zinc White.

 

Do you use something other than the basic traditional art materials to paint?

I'm in transition between the old and the new. In the beginning, I tried using the computer to do digital paintings for about 2 to 3 years, but I didn't like it. It was distracting and I developed neck and spine problems from sitting in front of the computer. I also don't like that kind of feeling, adjusting brush strokes on the screen and having the same physical momentum. I don't like that kind of ‘fake’ feel. So now I only use it to supplement my painting and combine it with traditional approaches.

 

WORKING PROCESS

Normally the procedure of my painting process is separated into a few stages. The first stage is outdoor research. I will go out every day and research the things I'm interested in. Line sketch, camera, record, documentation, interview. When I enter the production stage I will wake up before 7 a.m. or so, and after breakfast and all sort of things, I will start to work on it - at least 10 hours per day or longer than that. I will not step outside anymore. Even if there are activities in town I will still focus on my work. During this period, it is very hard to step out of my paintings and still talk normally to other people - I will be thinking of the paintings all the time. So, after the production stage, there will be another stage; that is, working with the gallery, like photo shooting, inviting the writer to write on the works, etcetera. I think public holidays mean nothing to me right now. Every week I spend two days -but most of the time more than two days - at the Academy (teaching). So I try to work as much as I can for the rest of the days.

 

How long do you work on a painting?

It depends on the size and, since I am working on a few pieces together at the same time, [it is hard to tell]. But, on average, one painting per month. So in a year, I would only produce 10 to 12 pieces of paintings. Right now, I'm figuring out a new painting style. So I'm looking for a new visual language which combines the alla prima painting style with chiaroscuro painting style. So, this is faster compared to a typical chiaroscuro painting [process].

 

How do you maintain the spontaneity in your figure drawings when you work with photographs?

My previous learning process is very important. When I was in Beijing, I was totally drawing from 'life [models]. In those

few years, I established my own methodology. I don't blindly follow the reference. I get whatever I want from the photo, and then combine that with my own drawing habits and my sense of aesthetics. I do my own sketches. It helps me to maintain originality'. I don't rely on the projector but I use a very traditional construction method. I use proper gridlines and enlarge images from my sketches according to the gridlines.

 

How do you decide when the work is complete? Does that depend more on the concept or on the style of painting?

It's very difficult to say. Every piece is different. When I think that I have created enough visual interest, I leave it. It could still be very raw but it is complete. 

 

For example, when I look at a classical painting... I feel like it is too refined. I prefer something more spontaneous. I get inspiration from Velázquez°, a Spanish painter who has a kind of raw touch and raw brush work. While layering, I found that certain textures looked nice when I decide not to overpaint it. I want to reserve that kind of natural texture

or brushwork and maintain that spontaneity.

 

When you use photographs as references, does that in anyway affect the way you compose?

I compose it mentally first and then use the photos as my supporting materials. But I need to compromise. If I have the budget, I could hire people to sit for me and that would be the best way. But in Malaysia it's very hard to achieve that because the selling price of artworks cannot compare to those in Taiwan or China. There, being able to sell for a higher

price means that [those artists] can imagine more ways to help enhance their execution. But the price of artworks in Malaysia would not compensate for these types of practices, which can be costly. So I have to choose [my method] and I have to get used to it. But I have sorted it out and solved this problem by taking photographs.

 

How does teaching affect your work?

It's good and bad. Teaching occupies some of my personal time and, when I am painting, I get distracted by the things I need to do as a teacher. However, the good thing is that I always get some unexpected inspiration from my students. It's something I never thought about. And when I do preparation for lectures, I also learn during this process.

 

Notes

1. Ukiyo-e is a Japanese term meaning pictures of the floating world', referring to the distinct Japanese woodblock print art forms popularised during the Edo period (17th-19th centuries) in Japan.

2. Gan's wife, Jennifer Liu Hsin Ying is a Taiwanese artist who is now based in Malaysia.

3. During the 1950s, the British colonial government created over 400 new settlements as a counter-measure against presumed communist anti-colonial guerrilla forces. Over one million people were forced out of their homes and resettled into these New Villages', which were fenced and guarded to prevent communist influence and coercion. Today, the remaining inhabitants of these New Villages

consist of a marginalised ageing population who lack access to wider community support.

4. Alla prima is an Italian term for 'first attempt', also known as wet-on-wet', a technique for oil painting that requires the fast application of new paint on a freshly painted previous layer, while it is still wet.

5. Chiaroscuro is an Italian term for 'light-dark, technique of contrasting the effects of light and shadow to depict three-dimensional form and volume.

6. Diego Rodríguez de Silva y Velázquez (1599-1660) was the leading Spanish Baroque painter in the court of King Philip IV and one of the most significant artists of the Spanish Golden Age.

7. The 'crit' or critique session is an evaluative exercise during which the student presents his or her work. The critique group consisting of faculty and students will provide the student with feedback, constructive questions, advice, and frank comments.


(This article was published at Living Art : The Inspired Lives of 14 Malaysian Artists & Their Art Practices, 2020, Areca Books)


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Allamanda

Azmir Zain

 

Allamanda was produced by Gan Chin Lee (b.1977, Selangor) based on recollections of his younger days in Jenjarom, Selangor, site of a 'New Village. It is one of many settlements set up under the Briggs Plan during the Malayan Emergency of 1948 - 1960 to separate insurgent communists of the MNLA, the armed wing of the MCP led by Chin Peng, from suspected sympathisers amongst the rural population.

 

The period saw the relocation of an estimated 544,000 people, largely of ethnic Chinese, into more than 400 newly-constructed New Villages across Peninsular Malaysia. The number relocated was equivalent to almost 29 per cent of the total Chinese population in Malaya in 1947. Curfew hours were imposed, while most settlements were secured by high fences, barbed wire, and guards conducting round-the-clock surveillance, all intended to sever the flow of food, medical supplies, intelligence and recruits to the communist guerrillas in the jungle.

 

These steps generally succeeded in undermining the communist insurgent efforts. The Malayan Emergency was eventually declared over in July 1960, with more than 1,300 Malayan troops or police personnel killed and a further 2,400 wounded. Close to 7,000 MNLA fighters died, with 1,300 others wounded. Civilian casualties were estimated at 5,000. Chin Peng and his remaining forces meanwhile retreated to secret locations near the Malaya-Thai border. Some families in the New Villages moved back to their previous localities, while others and their progenies stayed on or migrated over time to the cities for employment or education, as Gan did. 

 

In the aftermath, the resettlements under the Briggs Plan were not without its critics. Some point towards the manner in which the New Villages was managed, if anything, only further inflamed sympathy for the communists and deepened ethnic polarisation. Social and welfare concerns within the New Villages also arose, prompting the MCA, newly formed in 1949, to focus its resources during the Malayan Emergency towards managing those challenges. Debate persists too on how the MCP and MNLA should be positioned in Malaysian history - whether that of anti-colonialists, given they also fought against Japanese occupation during WW2, or as an instrument to forcibly establish a socialist government in Malaya.

 

The central feature in Allamanda is plainly the bright yellow allamanda flowers spilling out over the home's wire fencing, while an elderly Chinese couple looks across. The bespectacled female's facial appearance, meanwhile, suggests experience and adversity. Gan envisages this scene to have taken place in a New Village as the couple are symbolic

of the first generation of New Villagers, many of whom lived there for the remainder of their lives after the Malayan Emergency. 

 

He also conveys that the allamanda flowers, though not native to the Malaysian soil, have found themselves a new home in this country. They were in fact commonly planted in gardens within the community where he grew up. These flowers - familiarising in their new environment whilst also attempting to flourish - are a metaphor for the experience of the Chinese community of the Malayan era. 

 

The scene here is peaceful, as Gan is inclined to think back of his childhood. He also produced in this work an image that acknowledges the difficult history of a segment of the Chinese population in Malaysia while at the same time, looks forward to a brighter future for the community and the country.



(The article was published at A Glimpse of Malaysia in 60 Artworks, 2021, Galeri Z)


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