Art Making as Research: Communities of Kayan and Big Ear People
Joan Marie Kelly
Joan Marie Kelly painting Ma Peng’s Sister
Art Making as Research: Communities of Kayan and Big Ear People
Joan Marie Kelly
Introduction
This work represents an interdisciplinary collaboration between an myself, who is an artist and an ethnographic tourism researcher from Chiang Mai University, Thailand. As an artist, I am creating engagement with the ethnic community by painting their portraits and hiring local people as models. This is a means to create opportunities for the research team to observe and engage with the community in new ways and broaden the number of community members we engage with.
How it is that an ethnographic researcher conducts research in an ethnic community? The challenge lies in engaging as an outsider, without causing disruption. Gaining trust and confidence within such a community requires patience, and often years of consistent presence. Initially, a researcher might spend time in public spaces, waiting for community members to approach them. However, the practical constraints of research funding and university responsibilities make this slow, immersive approach difficult to sustain. An artist, on the other hand, can create interaction through creative engagement, quickly breaking barriers and building trust.
This creative research took place among the LongNeck Kayan people in Huay Pu Keng Village,
Northern Thailand. The Kayan, originally from Myanmar, sought refuge in Thailand due to conflict following Myanmar’s independence. For generations, they have lived as stateless communities along the Thai-Myanmar border in Mae Hong Son Province, approximately a sevenhour drive from Chiang Mai City. While often referred to as "Long-Neck Karen," they prefer to be called Kayan, a name that literally means “long neck.”
Traditionally, only girls born on a Wednesday under a full moon were required to wear the brass neck rings (Phone Myint Oo, Mai and Regional, 2018). However, life as refugees in Thailand has altered this practice. Agriculture alone is insufficient to sustain the Kayan economically, making tourism their primary source of income. Visitors pay an entrance fee to the village and often pay additionally to take photographs of the women wearing the iconic brass coils.
These coils serve both as a marker of beauty and a means of economic survival (Phone Myint Oo, Mai and Regional, 2018). Therefore I wasn’t sure if due to necessity of economic survival in the tourism environment more women wore the neck rings today. When I asked the Kayan women wearing the rings told me no. However they also told me that with the rings a woman is much more desirable to men as a bride. The women
Good Friends, Kayan Women Mae Hong Son Province, Thailand. Artist: Joan Marie Kelly, oil paint on linen canvas 102cm x 84cm 2022.This is my favourite painting. Under the spontaneous circumstances, the heat, noise and pressure with the people crowded around I have to accept that some of the paintings do not have the flow of others.
A view of the road inside the village
Big Ear Grandmother with grandson
are facing the tourist each day making money. While waiting for tourists dressed in traditional dress she is weaving on her front porch with her weaving displayed for sale. The men come in from the fields at the end of the day and she has dinner prepared for him. I’m sure that being the “bread winner” gives the women agency but I cannot say specifically in what ways because I wasn’t able to investigate this deep enough. The women could speak some English too. The men I painted could not speak English. This must also give the women agency but again I cannot say in what ways.
Despite their cultural significance, the rings cause physical discomfort. Women wear them not only around their necks but also just below their knees. Ma Peng, a Kayan woman, shared with me that the rings around her knees cause pain every day, regardless of how many years she has worn them. While the rings appear to elongate the neck, they do not actually stretch it. Instead, the weight of the brass pushes down on the collar bones and upper body, giving the illusion of a longer neck. The permanent rings are heavy, causing friction against the skin, and over time, the neck muscles atrophy beyond repair Phone Myint Oo, Mai and Regional, Mai. (2018).
Methodology I used as an Artist Collaborate in this Ethnographic Space
Before my arrival, the tourism researcher had already been visiting the village. He had established a connection with Ma Pang, a particularly entrepreneurial Kayan woman, who willingly and immediately took control of managing my work. Ma Pang had learned English from interacting with tourists, never having attended formal English classes. She sells her weaving and earns money by engaging with visitors, often posing for photographs, similar to how she initially interacted with me. However, as we worked together, our relationship evolved into a warm friendship.
The first morning I travelled by boat across a river to reach the Kayan village I must say I was a bit stressed. I only hoped I had all the materials I needed. With no way to get anything once across the river, the Kayan village being located on the other side I did not want to waste a day. I proposed to Ma Peng to painting a series of portraits of people in the village, compensating them for their time as my model in one-hour sessions. Artists customarily pay their models. Why should this be any different here? I did not offer an amount for the hourly wage. I opened this for Ma Peng to decide. This arrangement created an intriguing economic and social dynamic: While the villager sits and is paid, a reversal of the common stereotype in which the White person is the one being paid for little physical exertion. Here, the White woman, was working intensely to create a painting of the villager. The attention of the White person and the villagers who gather around is on the villager. The Colonial stereotype is that the White person does not give intense personal attention to the ethnic villager. The local people observed me concentrating, striving to capture their likeness within the short time frame. The intense heat made me sweat, further equalizing our positions. We shared the same space, and I felt their respect as they witnessed my effort. Showing-up and working has real meaning.
Each wooden structured home has a store front display of the women of the house’s weaving and other ethnic looking objects that are from Thailand but not originating from the Kayan village. I saw the competition between each other’s homes but I didn’t feel a malice from the women towards each other. This was demonstrated through their constant sharing and assisting to each other’s needs. While it is hot year round the homes are open air which circulates air but one can hear everything in each other homes.
What is Painting a Portrait
The act of portraiture creates a unique relationship between artist and sitter. The artist stares, and the sitter stares back. The artist’s gaze is not casual but deliberate, scanning the face and body, tracing contours again and again (Schuster & Kelly, 2019). This way of seeing is unlike ordinary sight, it is almost tactile, akin to the way a massage therapist’s touch makes one aware of their body in a new way. Often, we did not share a common language, yet through this prolonged exchange of looking, a relationship was forged. When I have been in an ethnic community 2 weeks or a month making portraits the community of women has always embraced me into their social circle. We relate as women surviving on our own. They realize I’m single, depending upon myself and even though they are married, they often times feel as if they are depending upon themselves because of the instability of their economic situation. They know my circumstance is different from theirs, yet we have commonality. I feel strongly that if I introduced myself as having a husband who has a corporate job that supports me, they would be happy for me but it would put a barrier between us. I’m also dressed to paint and work in the heat. I think if I walked around in branded clothes it would fulfil a stereotype of Caucasian people. I remember my first visit to Indonesia in the 1980’s. I was asked with confusion, “Why aren’t you fat?” “Is your father fat?” They related fat to wealth and here I was …what? A poor White person!
Ma Pang agreed to organized the models. I paid her a fee to make us lunch on and off. Basically, Ma Pang had me paint most of her extended family, keeping the money in the family. She also had me paint the oldest woman in the village Ma Cle three times to give her a chance to make money, demonstrating her awareness of how my desire to paint can serve well as a commodity and her empathy to do what she can for others with particular needs. I found this older woman, Ma Cle very smart and entrepreneurial. When I observed a group of tourists walking through
the village, Ma Cle immediately grabbed her guitar and began to play music and sing fully dressed in traditional ware with her especially long set of knee rings attracting the tourists to come to her home-front tourist stall and possibly pass over the others. The immediacy with which she prepared herself, suggests a conscious “performance” of identity tailored for the external tourist audience. One might question the authenticity of this experience but I do not. In our predominantly capitalistic world we all have our “performance” at a job or however we market our skills. She is using the tools she has available to her, her culture. This is survival in a Capitalist society. Below is a very short clip of Ma Cle’s performance for tourists. You can also get a glimpse of how she organizes her storefront home.
I thought Ma Cle was in her eighties but although she looked quite aged she is only in her sixties. My misjudgement of her age to such a degree suggests that the physical toll of her life has affected her appearance.
I observed a deep pride in the Kayan heritage, even as it is presented in a way that aligns with tourist expectations. To be prepared for tourists at any minute, Ma Cle and Ma Peng’s houses were always in order and impeccably presentable.
For the first paintings I was on the side of Ma Peng’s house in the shade and it was just myself and the sitter. As I painted different people in front of their houses a crowd gathered. This is what I was looking for to give the researcher opportunity to observe and broaden the members of the community that are familiar with us.
Materials, Heat and Language Barriers
The paintings I created were actually drawings on canvas, made with a brush and oil paint. I was quite nervous because I struggled with the materials, and the heat—at least 32°C (90°F)— made it even more challenging. I don’t like to draw with a pencil or pen. I prefer drawing with
a brush. I use the canvas because it can be rolled and transported easily without damage unlike paper. I sew the edges of the canvas and put rivets across the top side so that the work can be hung like a blanket on the wall leaving out all need for wood frames and stretching of the canvas. By using burnt sienna and turpentine, I rub the entire surface of the canvas initially to create a warm sienna tone all over. This way when I want to change a line during the process I simple wipe with a rag. I had depended upon a Thai friend of the researcher for the turpentine. As soon as I opened the bottle, I knew it wasn’t turpentine— the odour was much stronger. I had no idea what it was, but after coming all this way to the village, I felt I had to use it anyway. It was not only a paint thinner. I had cloth rags with me, but given the strong smell, I didn’t want to tone the canvas near Ma Peng or anyone else, so I moved away from the house. When I rubbed the thinner and sienna onto the canvas, the substance lifted some of the primer, which I could see on the cloth—a serious problem. The substance immediately dried into the primer even as some of the primer was on my rag therefore the sienna tone didn’t spread evenly. The tone wasn’t evenly smooth there were now dark and light patches. This you can observe in the photos of the first paintings. I finally found a hardware store on my own in town and use google translate into Thai to ask for turpentine and got the correct product. No one knew I was struggling, but for me it was a complete panic.
Painting is a very Intimate Process, disrupting power structures
One day in the late afternoon husbands came into the village from working in the fields. I was painting a meticulously dressed woman in a colourful traditional dress and headdress and neck rings. A crowd surround us. The particular woman posing with was the wife of one of the husbands. When he saw her he burst out laughing. The volume of the whole crowd rose and laughter was everywhere. My model was smiling ear to ear, so I presumed she enjoyed the attention. I could not know exactly
what they were saying but I distinctly had the impression that perhaps he had not seen her in the spotlight since their wedding day? I was very happy his response was laughter and not being uncomfortable or resistance to this shift in dynamics, seeing all the attention of the village on her. Portrait painting has a unique way of temporarily transforming social roles and often times placing women in roles of attention and admiration shifting social status. The portrait raises the status of the sitter, and perhaps shifts how the sitter sees themselves in relation to the Kayan community. It is not hard to notice the status and agency the women who is organizing the models has when everyone wants to be one who makes the money for sitting an hour. Every ethnic community I have worked in making portraits, the role of organizer created agency, yet the other women seemed very accommodating, waiting their turn. I felt no aggression towards her. If anything I saw the women being super supportive of her. This process of an artistic engagement oriented method exposes subtle power structures and community values in ways that traditional research might not capture.
I painted two women together who are not wearing neck rings. A woman who could speak English came over to me and asked if I would paint a woman without the neck rings. She was bold to overt Ma Peng’s control of my schedule I thought. I told her “Yes.” She responded “Oh I thought you would not want to paint a woman without rings.” Of course I consider women without the rings important as all members of the community are. The painting I did of these two women together came out stiff. I feel the same way about the Brother-in-law painting above. Compare the brother-in-law to Ma Peng’s husband. There is a lightness and flow to Ma Peng’s husband. Usually less is more. Sometimes it’s the pose they take. I don’t dictate the pose. Perhaps I should take control over it. I have always thought of it as fate and maybe I don’t like telling the models how to sit. I cannot find an image of the painting of the two women without rings. Maybe it’s because I subconsciously left it out not being pleased with it. Presently, I am
Portrait of Ma Peng
professor of Practice at teaching position at Woxsen University in India. My paintings are in storage in the USA therefore at the moment I cannot shoot the original but I will as soon as I have an opportunity.
Other Ethnic Groups living Together within the Kayan Village
A small minority in the Kayan Village were from other ethnic groups having fled Myanmar. Among them were the Big Ear and Red Karen communities. I did not hang out with the women in either tribe. Ma Peng took me over to their house for me to paint a specific older woman although there were many younger people. When my hour was up she came and got me returning me to her house where I often ate lunch. My Peng kept control over my schedule. I think it is generous and considerate for Ma Peng to have me paint the older women who may not be able to earn as much money as others in the village. My paintings capture the ear plugs in the lobe of the ears. One grandmother of the Big Ear community, came to pose holding her grandson who she was caring for during the day while her daughter worked. I told her the baby posed too. The infant has a clef palette. When I inquired the mother told me that they have a scheduled surgery to repair it. Although unnecessary, I paid the baby the same hourly wage. It felt fair. I don’t know exactly how she felt but she gladly took the money. These small gestures I feel build trust.
No one was with me as an interpreter during these painting session. At some point Ma Peng no longer accompanied me during the sessions. She would drop me off at the sitters house. I assumed she trusted me and felt comfortable with leaving, giving her time to carry out her chores and being available for tourists. Other times she would have the sitter come to pose in front of her or her family member’s house attracting the attention of tourists.
Shared Female Experiences
I became close to several of the women. I absolutely feel strongly that every male ethnographer needs to bring a women with them. Women are not going to open-up to a male about how they feel personally about love, marriage and the intimate contours of their lives. I asked a woman who was not wearing the neck coils why she isn’t wearing them. She doesn’t want to. This led to a discussion of how this impacted her options to get married. I learned from the women that a man doesn’t want to marry a women without the neck coils because of her lack of economic opportunity the neck coils attract from tourists. What does her life look like without a husband? She wasn’t bothered at all because she said she always has a home with her family. I saw her often creating weaving with other women in her family sisters and sister-in-law’s.
Another woman and I talked about arranged marriages. She told me a story of loving a man her parents would not allow her to marry. She ended up marrying the man her parents chose. As a result the man she loved left the village. To this day she does not want her daughters having the same experience. She will not impose her views on her daughters. They will marry who they choose. I asked her what her wedding night was like if she did not have feelings for him. She told me of five or six members of the village coming to their new home with alcohol after the wedding. Everyone was drinking into the night. Finally everyone left leaving the new couple alone. She said they went to separate rooms and slept. It took about a week for them to finally sleep together. This told me that within the marriage she had agency to not sleep with her husband if she did not want to. When I asked her if she loves him now? She explained, he is a good man. She fixes his meals takes care of the house and does his laundry if that is love then she loves him.
At one point Ma Peng asked me to wear the traditional dress. I have never been to any ethnic village or community in Asia where the women
have not wanted me to wear their traditional dress. It’s a way of sharing connection and intimacy through clothing, adornment and hair styling. I feel to not go along is rejecting their traditions and rejecting who they are. It’s an extension of hospitality and affection and maybe curiosity rather than cultural appropriation. There are pictures of me in traditional dress on the internet and often I have been criticized by Western peers who have never been to Asia for cultural appropriation.
The day Ma Peng wanted to dress me in traditional dress. We were sharing female experiences but I was also aware of the fact that this too would attract attention to her home-front store, and what is wrong with that? If I can help her in any way I would. The Thai ethnographer who I was there with got very angry with me for putting on the traditional dress. I can understand him being concerned about cultural sensitivities shaped by his concerns over power dynamics, representation or historical exploitation but he assumed it was my initiative to do so without inquiry. This I feel showed his dismissal of the possible agency of the Kayan women, never considering that they are who initiated this gesture. It tells me he looks at himself as a protector of the Kayan community instead of one that allows for reciprocal exchange and space for the voices of the women involved. This experience brought up the reoccurring issues of scholars having ethical concerns while those in the culture have their own perspectives which do not align with the outsiders critique. By him not accepting that I would be relating to the women in this way through their initiation, he is asserting intellectual and social authority over me, possibly of male scholar and female artist. He being the arbitrator of ethical conduct. His academic role granting him authority over interpreting cultural interactions rather than my direct engagement. I was dually happy that the women embraced me socially, that we could connect, and that I could give them a tiny bit of economic relief when they posed or if that used me to show-off to tourists.
Facilitating a Drawing Workshop for
Children
I can’t say this was a successful workshop for collecting information. The children were laughing and drawing, so it was enjoyable for them. However I wanted to ask more uncomfortable questions as prompts for their drawings. I am aware of how there is a prominent cultural norm throughout Asia where people don’t talk openly about uncomfortable subjects or directly address solving problems. Therefore, I waited too long into the session to give a tougher question to the children. They were obviously restless. The question I was able to pose was “what do you fear the most?” The drawings were made quickly, I think because they were anxious to run off as a group. Every child drew a natural disaster, such as the strength of the wind or the river rising and flooding their home or their home floating down the river. The children told me through an interpreter what the drawings were about. However, I don’t know if because they were in a rush a few people thought of the natural disaster and the rest followed which is a possibility with children. All and all I thought the response to this one question was very interesting and led to me ask questions that led to being told of past recent floods and damaging wind storms. I had not realized how vulnerable the village was seated along a river while homes are built with very impermanent methods.
Ma Peng’s Husband
One of the Kayan women at her “home store front” starting a new weaving by calculating the length of the warp threads.
Studio Atelier for Khmer Arts
SaKa (Studio Atelier for Khmer Arts) is where 2 young artists, Sak and Karona, express their creativity by mixing figurative and abstract works about nature and life. They are the emerging artists of the modern Khmer art in Siem Reap.
A very nice studio where art is found in several forms from painting to creative art! 2 young creators with a certain talent. A place full of discoveries. Very beautiful gallery!
Very talented young artists. They develop fast and every time I see them I am surprised. Beautiful paintings, sculptures etc. Highly recommended.
“
If you find yourself in Siem Reap, make sure to visit this exceptional art gallery showcasing the stunning oil-on-canvas works of Korona. Today I had the privilege of meeting this talented young artist, and his still life paintings are truly a sight to behold. The way he captures light, texture, and detail on canvas is remarkable, creating pieces that feel both timeless and contemporary. Korona’s work reflects a depth of skill and passion, and it’s clear that he is an emerging talent destined for great recognition. The gallery itself is a perfect setting to experience their art, offering a refreshing space to appreciate not only his work but another creative artist called Zak from the region as well. Korona’s oil paintings leave a lasting impression, and it’s exciting to witness such an inspiring artist on the rise. For anyone visiting Siem Reap, this gallery is a must-see, and I have no doubt that Korona’s work will continue to impress and inspire for years to come. Well done to the gallery team from Christine .
“
Still dead
Not blue anymore
irene chou
irene chou
Irene Chou (Zhou Luyun) (January 31, 1924 –July 1, 2011) was a Chinese artist, one of the most influential exponents of the New Ink Painting movement in Hong Kong. A leader in the New Ink Painting Movement, Chou was at the forefront of reinventing traditional ink paintings into a contemporary art form. Her contribution to ink paintings has made an impact both regionally and internationally, making way for modern ink paintings in the global art scene.
Irene Chou was born in Shanghai, where she studied economics at St. Brian's University. Upon graduating in 1945, Chou worked as a journalist for Peace Daily Shanghai. Thereafter she left for Taipei in Taiwan and in 1949 for Hong Kong. Her mother, a professional calligrapher gave her the first leson.[3] She began to learn painting formally in 1954 when she became a student of Zhao Shao'ang, a master of the traditional Lingnan school of painting. In her traditional landscape and bird-and-flower paintings Chou demonstrated a solid grounding in traditional Chinese painting methods such as qiyun (spiritresonance) and moqi (ink-play). She said to have found inspiration in the study of qi-gong. Initially Chou drew influences from bright Chinese opera folk paintings and Great Seal Style calligraphy. The use of calligraphic lines in her work was informed by years of studying calligraphy and traditional Chinese ink painting techniques, especially the 'Storm Drum' script,
which was first used to inscribe stones during the Qin dynasty (221-206BCE).Although Chou started her career working with more traditional Chinese painting methods and styles through landscape and bird-and-flower paintings, she later experimented with various techniques and paints as she moved away from more conventional ink paintings and the popular Lingnan style.
In the late 1960s Chou get touched with abstract expressionism. The progressive theories on art and ink painting of her colleague Lui Shou-Kwan of the Lingnan School inspired her to experiment with different techniques and various types of paint, including oil, acrylic and watercolour. Kathy Zhang mentioned that artists working in this vein followed Lui's precepts and combined Western and Chinese art. Chou explored the "splash ink" technique, the layered "piled ink" technique, and pointillism in her works in the 1970s. However, her signature mark became the "one-stroke" technique she applied to her abstract paintings, which was reminiscent of the New Ink style that was becoming popular in Hong Kong in the 1980s. Through her work, she attempted to combine Western and Chinese art while simultaneously paying homage to Chinese traditional art. Irene Chou was the Hong Kong representative for the United Nation's Women's Liberation.
After the death of her mentor Lui Shou-Kwan in 1975 and her husband in 1978, the style of Chou's work changed fundamentally. But this depression gave her enormous energy and so her style became bolder and more spontaneous. Her works from this period were informed by her exposure to abstract expressionism, NeoConfucianism, Buddhism and Taoism. Her works of the 1980s were representative of the New Ink style emerging in Hong Kong. Her works in the 1980s demonstrate her mastery of a range of techniques associated with both the 'impact structural strokes' –the artist's distinctive violent and short brushstrokes associated with her Impact series style and the dense ink associated with her 'Dark Painting' style developed in the late 1970s. The artist carefully applied multiple layers of ink wash to both sides of the thin xuan paper (rice paper), systematically creating a sense of structure and depth, while forming a dark, thick and concentrated ink layer with a luminous surface and soft tones. In the 1980s she won several awards and became a key figure in the contemporary Hong Kong art scene.
At age 67, Chou experienced a life-threatening stroke, and after intensive physiotherapy, she moved to Brisbane, Australia, from Hong Kong to be closer to her son. This experience led her to have a more melancholy approach to her art in this decade as Chou depicted images of rebirth on blackened backgrounds. In the following years she studied Buddhism and got interested in Aboriginal painting. The paintings were dark " I am not afraid of using black as some people are. ...In fact black is part of me the person". In the early 21st century her work became lighter and clearer with contrasting colours. She died in Brisbane, aged 87.
From Wikipedia
The Universe in my mind
Untitled
Heavenly Dance
Miwa Komatsu
Father's example, Mother's Heart, Children's love
Miwa Komatsu
The creative philosophy proposed by Miwa Komatsu, “The Great Harmonization”, is a theory of life suggesting that all living beings are equal at the soul level and that every entity can coexist while maintaining its individuality. At its core lies the primal sense of awe that every human possesses, a universal sacred feeling that transcends specific religions. Miwa Komatsu has named this the “Sense of Sacredness.”
“Through my paintings, viewers' souls are invited to engage with a realm inhabited by mythical beasts, prompting the question: ‘Is your soul beautiful?’ In this capacity, my art serves as a portal, facilitating access for all and fostering connections between souls and the mysterious world of mythical creatures. This, indeed, is my mission.”
-Miwa Komatsu
Miwa Komatsu has been highly receptive to the invisible world from her childhood: her early experience of being immersed in nature, surrounded by animals and rich natural landscapes, developed her distinctive view of life and death that all beings were created equal in soul. With an abundance of expressive power, she has presented her works under the theme of “Divine Spirits.” At the age of 20, her painting 49 Days was widely appraised for its extraordinary skills and personality, marking the beginning of her career as a professional artist. In 2015, Komatsu exhibited her Arita porcelain guardian dog at Chelsea Flower Show in London; the work won the golden prize and entered the collection of British Museum.
Miwa Komatsu is known for one of her artistic expressions, live painting, which is not just a performance, but a solemn ritual, an awakening to the “Sense of Sacredness”. In 2019, Miwa Komatsu captivated the audience in Cleveland with a live painting performance at the Cleveland Museum of Art in Cleveland, USA. Continuing her artistic journey, in 2022 and 2023, she showcased her talents with performances at Itsukushima Shrine in Japan and Mont-Saint-Michel City in France, respectively, marking a new chapter in her art career.
"Un" Guardian Lion Dogs Evolved Form
With the voice of the wind
Guardian Lion of Historic Ruins
Vocal in Reverence of the Grand Nature
VR Prayer- Vermilion Bird
Sounds of Festival
Ask me not of Grief
Ask me not of Grief
For I have been burnt by its friendly fire
with blood and bits of oozing mortal flesh spun flaky and ashen by its biting cold breath. That was in the past.
Grief dug its teeth into me once more in the Pandemic with my mother gone into hallowed ground On the tenth of December twenty-twenty. Those interlinked circles, those zeroes in the last month of that year became black holes in my brain
With my mother gone
Without a kiss, without a last embrace, without the promise of forgiveness and grace.
Churchill's thin red line divides me from Shillong, Assam, and Tripura.
The train from Dhaka runs smoothly on tracks, across tiny hamlets straddling vast paddy fields.
I cross the River Surma in Sylhet city on a speed-boat with Hubby by my side.
I am soon seated in the verandah of the restored Colonial bungalow, cosily nestled under the shade of the Meghalaya range.
January's chilly misty velvety hilly tops are suddenly enshrined in gorgeous sunshine.
I feel awe.
I feel blessed by this vision. I feel I have crossed a portal into another dimension.
I feel uplifted. As if I have stepped into a circle of Light, a ring of Nothingness of Being.
The Meghalaya Hills View from East Bengal
Rebecca Haque is a Killam Scholar and independent educator. She is a poet, writer, and translator affiliated with Multi-Ethnic Literature of the World [#MELOW], Asia-Pacific Writers & Translators Association [#APWT], and New York Writers Workshop [#NYWW].
Rithika Merchant
"After a successful collab with Dior, Rithika" "Merchant is ready for a break"
"The artist, whose Malayali heritage served as the backdrop for Dior’s Paris Haute Couture Week Spring/Summer 2025 show at Musée Rodin, talks about the nine-month-long process of creating the artwork"
By "A k a
"On Monday, the internet erupted when Mumbai-based painter Rithika Merchant’s surrealist, other-worldly drawings became the scenography for Dior’s Paris Haute Couture Week Spring/Summer 2025 show. Her creatures—ungendered, half- animal, halfhuman, with a bird-like countenance (Ibis for wisdom, and crows and kites because they swing past her windows in Mumbai all the time) decked the surrounding walls of the catwalk at Dior’s couture show. As proxies for humans, they are seen enjoying head massages under hibiscus blooms (a story that Merchant borrows from her mother’s childhood growing up in Kerala), they comb their hair with tender self- care, and in other places, embody her personal wishes and manifestation for women and the world.
“I am very proud of my Malayali heritage,” says Merchant. “Malayali women are extremely fierce, and it's a matriarchal society. These stories are borrowed from my ancestral oral histories that I think also resonate with the ethos of what Maria Grazia [Chiuri, creative director at Dior] does with the house that is so much about female empowerment,” she says, as we sit down at the Musée Rodin where her artworks engulf us from all sides, hours after the show took place.
Her artworks thread together stories from home—one about Revati Amma, Merchant’s
great grandmother on her maternal side in Kerala, who started a milk cooperative, is a study in financial independence and integrity. “It’s my favourite story…” she says. “Revati Amma wanted the women around her to be in charge of their own money. She started the cooperative as a way for money to go directly to the women who joined her in business.” Merchant’s mother, who was at the show to celebrate her daughter's work, instilled similar values in Merchant. “I was raised a feminist. Mum always told me to be extremely self- reliant. Which I am. And she taught me to be that way. And I think those stories need to be told.” Merchant joins an army of women—Faith Ringgold, Eva Jospin, Madhvi Parekh—spotlit - by Chiuri in her past couture collections."
Merchant moved back to Mumbai in 2022 after spending a large part of her life in Barcelona. The timing could not have been more serendipitous. It was in Mumbai during the 2023 “Dior show that Merchant met Chiuri, thanks to an introduction by Karishma Swali, creative director of Chanakya Ateliers and Chanakya School of Craft. “I took my book to Maria Grazia, and she loved the embroidery hoops that I tend to use while painting. She kept stopping on the pages where there were pieces with embroidery hoops and she wanted to incorporate them somehow
Art installation Dior featured
Life Form I (Herbivore)
into the final project,” remembers Merchant
It was during Merchant’s first visit to Chanakya in the early stages of the project that she knew the collaboration was a definite yes. “It’s just incredible what they do,” she says. The hoops are her way of paying homage to the hands that have played a role in bringing her paintings to the towering tapestries. “Sure, I am the painter, I made all this stuff, but this would not have happened without all of them at Chanakya. Being able to incorporate the hoops in the final pieces felt very full circle. It’s a nod to the actual hand of the artisan.”
After seven months of painting, ‘The Flowers We Grew’ was ready to go into the skilled hands of the Chanakya artisans. Two months later, everything down to the colour matching of the thread had been impeccably transferred from paper to panel. Now housed in the Musée Rodin from January 28-February 2, Merchant’s artworks are available to view in person”
After seven months of painting, ‘The Flowers We Grew’ was ready to go into the skilled hands of the Chanakya artisans. Two months later, everything down to the colour matching of the thread had been impeccably transferred from paper to panel. Now housed in the Musée Rodin from January 28- February 2, Merchant’s artworks are available to view in person”.
‘Artist Rithika Merchant’s Dior collab is an homage to powerful women’ - The Nod Mag
Life form predator
Festival Of The Phoenix Sun
Ithell Colquhoun Between Worlds
Dryad Vine
Ithell Colquhoun
Tate St Ives Exhibition Ithell Colquhoun : Between Worlds until 5 May 2025
The first major exhibition of visionary artist Ithell Colquhoun
One of the most radical artists of her generation, Ithell Colquhoun was an important figure in British Surrealism during the 1930s and 1940s. An innovative writer and practicing occultist, Colquhoun charted her own course, investigating surrealist methods of unconscious picture-making and fearlessly delving into the realms of myth and magic.
Colquhoun explored the possibilities of a divine feminine power as a path to personal fulfilment and societal transformation. Her understanding of the world as a connected spiritual cosmos brought her to Cornwall, where she deepened her creative explorations, inspired by the region’s ancient landscape, Celtic traditions, and sacred sites.
This landmark exhibition of over 200 artworks and archival materials traces Colquhoun’s evolution, from her early student work and engagement with the surrealist movement, to her fascination with the intertwining realms of art, sexual identity, ecology and occultism. It culminates in a room dedicated to Colquhoun’s interpretation of the Tarot deck – her most accomplished fusion of her artistic and magical practice.
Explore Colquhoun’s enthralling, multi-layered universe through writings, drawings, paintings, early theatre projects and mural designs, many of which have never been shown publicly before.
The exhibition will debut at Tate St Ives in February 2025, journeying to Tate Britain from June to October 2025.
Ithell Colquhoun is in partnership with Lockton. With additional support from the Ithell Colquhoun Exhibition Supporters Circle, Tate International Council and Tate Members."
INTRODUCTION
Ithell Colquhoun was one of the most radical artists of her generation. An important figure in British surrealism during the 1930s and 1940s, she was also an innovative writer and practicing occultist who charted her own course between the worlds of art and magic. Her work was multilayered and boundary defying, responding to profound social change, shifting belief systems and technological advancements in the twentieth century. It proposed an expanded spiritual and natural universe, while introducing complex ideas about gender and sexuality.
Colquhoun turned to magic in her search for divine self-fulfilment and societal renewal. Born in Shillong, India to a British military family, but raised in Cheltenham, UK, she looked to a range of philosophies from across the world. Informed by modern occult movements seeking spiritual truth, she used and reinterpreted ideas from ancient wisdoms such as the Jewish Kabbalah, Christian mysticism, Egyptian mythology and Indian Tantra.
Colquhoun was also attracted to surrealism’s focus on the unconscious, dreamworlds and taboo subject matter. She recognised overlaps between surrealist methods of automatic picture-making and occult divination rituals seeking knowledge of unseen spirit worlds. Her chance experiments often led to"imagery suggesting erotic bodies and landscapes infused with sacred feminine power. From the 1940s, her interest in myth and magic brought her to West Cornwall, where she was inspired by ancient sacred sites and Celtic folklore.
This exhibition details Colquhoun’s evolution from her student work and engagement with surrealism to her fascination with the intertwining realms of art, sexual identity, ecology and occultism. It draws on the artist’s personal archive of writings, automatic drawings and magical exercises, the majority of which have never been shown publicly before.
and Cyclamen
Hyacinth
Water Flower
Nude and orange sky
udomsak krisanamis "Toi
et moi"
(You and Me)
udomsak krisanamis
"Toi et moi"
(You and Me)
You and Me is Udomsak Krisanamis's first solo exhibition in France. After living and exhibiting in the United States and Europe, the artist immersed himself in these cultures before returning to Thailand, where he now lives and works. Since the late 1990s, he has developed an aesthetic that is both abstract and imbued with popular references, exploring a form of visual and emotional attraction.
Udomsak Krisanamis composes his paintings by superimposing layers of materials without hierarchy: paper, newspapers, cardboard, plywood, noodles, acrylic, ink... In this exhibition, all these materials are recycled, then transformed. They are appreciated not for their initial uses or source, but for their form and colour. The works, created with hypnotic precision, evoke networks or musical scores, where rounded shapes are highlighted, reminiscent of musical notes, constellations, or ornamental motifs. These circles are primarily sought in texts, letters, and numbers. From the beginning of his career, Udomsak Krisanamis created a connection with the languages he learned by crossing out words he understood. From this technique emerged segmented drawings, used as backgrounds in his compositions. With this process, newspaper texts become lines and grids, rejecting any linear narrative in favour of an intuitive and meditative reading.
A music lover and passionate about figures like Frank Zappa, famous for his improvisations, Udomsak Krisanamis also creates with spontaneity and feeling. He claims a romantic sensibility, nourished by the emblematic songs of American rock and pop. It is natural that
he creates his works without planning ahead, doing what he loves, until they make sense to him, restoring importance to formal beauty. By bringing his personal references and passions into the exhibition, the artist invites us to discover his personality and shares with us the pleasures of his daily life. The titles of his works and exhibitions, as well as the selection of vinyl records in the space, refer to songs or films from popular culture, thus building a bridge between his Thai and Western influences. Through this approach, he reaffirms abstraction as a universal language.
The title "Toi et moi" (You and Me)suggests a closeness with the visitor, a direct relationship that emerges over time spent in the exhibition. This approach also evokes the game of seduction, the challenge of dialogue, the pleasure of taking the initiative and entering the world of others. The exhibition invites visitors to immerse themselves in a space where the beauty of forms and objects becomes an open door to reflection, but above all to the joy of a shared moment. The entrance is on a red carpet, as if each of us could play an important role in participating in this exhibition. Visitors can play the piano, listen to a vinyl record, or perfect their putting thanks to an installation combining mini-golf, games, music, and painting. More than simple contemplation, You and Me is an invitation to interaction and conviviality. Through these simple and accessible gestures, Udomsak Krisanamis offers everyone an interactive experience, where art becomes a pretext for encounters. Postage-paid postcards are made available to the public, then sent by the gallery, after everyone has written a word, a thought or their feelings with their loved ones
following their visit to the exhibition.
Thought is the enemy of flow , a musical quote written on the exhibition postcard, sums up the state of mind in which the artist wishes to immerse us: to live fully, to abandon ourselves to spontaneity and the pleasure of the moment. Thus, Udomsak Krisanamis invites us on a journey where we can take the time to appreciate the beauty in the simplest moments.
Boogie Oogie Oogie
Everyday disco
Perambulate
moist
A book in parts by Martin Bradley
moist
A book
in parts
by Martin Bradley Chennai
Brian Holland had turned, looked at the slightly older, slim, Malaysian Tamil woman laying on the bed next to him. He’d sighed. Still beautiful, Chandini Pillai had lain, her long, black, crinkly hair streaked with white had snaked its way over her pillow, Medusa like, and had begun to attack Brian’s distinctly dowdy pillow as well.
Despite the rasping of the air conditioning (on full blast), the air inside the bedroom was still rabidly hot. Brian had massaged his brow, trying to stave off the headache he felt had been coming on. That small, blue-washed, room had been stifling. Brian had felt like he was suffocating. Harsh Tamil Nadu sunlight blasted the curtains, trying to gain access to the room which barely contained the carnal bed. They’d rented ‘Little King’s Cottage’, in Chennai’s Anna Naga (which had originated as a suburban village called Naduvakkarai) as an introduction to more protracted living, together, in Chennai.
Brian had got up. He’d edged around the bed containing Chandini. He’d gently opened the door to the lounge so as not to disturb her, and sighed once more. Chandini had still slept as he closed the door quietly behind him.
Brian had sat on the room’s ageing and threadbare teak sofa, for a blessedly peaceful moment. Sleeping in that claustrophobic bedroom had been difficult for him.
Chandini had continued to rest.
Chennai had been characteristically hot. The lazy wooden ceiling fan in Little King’s Cottage hallway had conjured barely enough air to ruffle Brian’s hirsute body. There had been no air conditioning in that space, which had been fine in the early morning when the front and back doors were open, giving air and a view through the metal grill to the dusty outside. It was only then that a through breeze cooled the entire apartment save, of course, for the minuscule bedroom.
That day, like most days in Chennai (by the Bay of Bengal), began bright and vaguely golden, in a slightly romantic way.
Any ideas of Brian actually having peace and quiet had been shattered by the renovation noise starting up all around. Chennai had begun to drag itself into the day and into the twenty-first century.
Brian had known that, outside his area, there were Hindu temples, beyond Anna Nagar and bathed in the same marvellous light that he had been experiencing. Those temples stood as a water-colourist’s dream, full of magical configurations and unexpected colours. In other areas of Chennai small parks browned under the heat, and seemingly endless flat roof spaces existed on ‘Madras terrace rooves’ commonly referred to as karai kuraai in Tamil. That was where women in bright saris hung washing, and security guards smoked bidis wrapped in tendu leaves as they turned off the night’s water supply, in that severely parched city.
As the sun had risen, garland sellers had proffered sweet jasmine flower strings to devotees. Turbaned men had pulled huge wooden carts, filled with wood, paper, clothing discards, and all manner of loads. They’d pulled their weights through the increasingly busy streets, vying for passage against cycle-carts, white long-horned cows, bullock-carts, Bajaj tuk tuks and more engine driven traffic than they could have imagined possible in their more innocent Rajinikanth fuelled boyhoods.
Chennai had been constantly changing. Urgent modernisation had battled with antiquity in skirmishes which lasted decades. Constantly, everywhere, were the ravages of modernity. Road-widening, fresh housing and office constructions, had been enabled by emaciated female labourers carrying piles of red bricks on their heads.
Outside Little King’s Cottage, across the red dirt track laden with potholes, the bagged fresh milk sellers had been setting-up their shop.
The weathered Indian couple sold as much as they could, of whatever they could, to local residents. Brian had been lucky to have them opposite, selling water and milk (which needed to be boiled, to kill the bacteria). Brian had gone there daily, to obtain the morning milk (to boil for his and Chandini’s tea). Though, in reality, she didn’t like his more English way of making tea. She preferred a host of tea bags in the aluminium saucepan, not just Brian’s one, and with cubed sugar. Chandini preferred him to go for the milk. It was some caste thing that he’d never heard of. There were so many caste things that Brian hadn’t heard of being in Chennai, with Chandini.
It was Brian’s third month in India. It was no less hot, no less dusty, no less brown or bloody irritating than it had been when he’d first arrived. That was when he’d had to wait, dripping with sweat, for that seemingly endless hour for Chandini’s flight from Singapore.
Chandini and Brian had met ‘online’. She’d called herself Geetha then, and had pursued him from the start. A friendship which had led, quite naturally (she’d thought), to her instigation of phone sex. That had been quite a new experience for Brian. Not unpleasant, but also not terribly satisfying either.
Chandini was still married, though considered herself single. She’d phoned Brian using a shop-bought phone card to mask her illicit calls. Her husband had been a retired Malaysian police inspector who, according to Chandini, was constantly being arrested by a string of younger women; and had been throughout their 30 year marriage. His infidelity had been enough for Chandini. She’d began looking around for younger, whiter, flesh. She’d found Brian on ‘Friends Never Yet Met’, an international, online, dating service.
It wasn’t quite love at first text. Such a growing infatuation had developed, which eventuated in Brian selling his Indiana red, second-hand, Rover 200 and purchasing an air ticket which took him on the ten hour flight (with one stop over) to Chennai (formerly Madras) in India’s Tamil Nadu.
But before his adventure to Chennai, Brian had bought another air ticket, to Singapore, to see Chandini in the flesh, as it were.
No sooner had Brian landed at Changi airport, Singapore, than he’d phoned Chandini to meet with her.
“Brian” She had sounded breathless.
There had been a long pause.
“How’s your flight? Your hotel. No problems I hope.”
“The flight is fine, I’ve yet to get to the hotel. I’m so looking forward to seeing you in real life.”
“I am so sorry. I’m a little busy this evening. Can we meet, tomorrow, in Little India, Do you know it?”
“Yes, I like to eat Thosai in the Baahubali Restaurant, when I’m in Singapore.”
“Really, that’s excellent.” She’d said “Meet me at 6pm, at Leaf Restaurant, 131 Serangoon Rd, in ‘Little India’. You can’t miss it. It’s near the Sri Veeramakaliamman Temple. Again, sorry that I’m a little busy right now”.
“It’s okay. I’m a little bushed, so It’ll be good to get some rest before we meet.”
“Brian, I am so happy that you’ve come to Singapore. We’ll meet up tomorrow. I do hope that you sleep well.”
The following day Brian had walked from the Santa Grand Hotel, and through the back streets and into Little India. Walking in foreign climes was always a challenge to Brian. However, he’d planned his route carefully, taking note of the roads needed for the short cut, and was there, outside the temple, well within time.
He gawked at the hustle bustle and practically tasted the air thick with its heady scent of myriad incense sticks. Brian had been beguiled by Singapore and its promises.
A few moments later, Brian had stood looking at who he supposed was Chandini through the Leaf Restaurant plate-glass window. He guessed that it was her from the various digital photographs she’d sent him. Chandini’s dark hair waved around her head, her eyes had been offset with thick black (kohl) liner like some Indian Cleopatra. Sonnets thick with Baudelairian symbolism came to Brian’s mind as he gazed, bemused, at her. For Brian, to see her was for him to be intoxicated by her as she sat draped in her simple, but intriguing, temple sari, talking to another, younger, female figure.
Brian had waited a while to gather courage, then eventually had gently tapped on that restaurant window. It took a moment or two. She’d turned to the window looking directly at Brian. She’d taken his breath away with her seductive smile.
Her companion must have said something, for Chandini had walked out to greet Brian. The words from their correspondence had rushed into his head. She’d smiled again and took his hand, then led him to the table where Chandini’s older daughter, Anju, waited. They’d kindly ordered Idli, Thosai, and tea for Brian, guessing that he hadn’t eaten and had chatted small talk until Anju began leaving, giving her apologies. Chandini had immediately grasped Brian’s hand under the table, in reassurance of all that they had become to each other, and all they had promised to be.
“It’s so Lovely to see you here” She’d said huskily as her smile had widened.
During all the usual chit chat Brian had eaten. Chandini had already finished her meal and watched Brian eat with his right hand, smiling to herself. They’d left Leaf Restaurant and had walked out into the warm Singapore evening. For a short while they’d walked and excitedly talked. There was a palpable sexual tension between them as the equatorial Singapore night sparkled and Chandini’s eyes sparkled too. She’d hailed a cab and ushered Brian inside.
“Woodlands”. she’d told the driver.
Chandini had welcomed Brian into her condo and, as she had drawn the green, faux William Morris print, curtains she’d offered tea and reminded Brian that her husband was away, in Malaysia. Chandini led Brian to her bedroom, on the pretext of showing him around her condo. She’d removed piles of saris from her bed, turned, kissed him, warmly and deeply, then bade him sit on the edge of her bed. It hadn’t been long before Chandini was re-enacting in real life, those things she had mesmerised him with over the phone. For Brian, it had been many years since someone had taken his manhood into their mouth, unbidden and seemingly enjoying the act while he lasted.
In the early morning Chandini had suggested that Brian leave, before the neighbours were up and about. She’d walked him across the road, both smiling as he entered the hailed taxi which had then taken Brian back to his hotel, and to a very thoughtful breakfast.
The second time Chandini and Brian had met had been at Chennai airport. Brian had arrived early and was met by Vijaya, Chandini’s younger daughter, along with Mohammad, her driver. They waited the extra hour for Chandini to disembark from her Singapore flight, and then drove the half hour from the airport, through the dusty and crowded streets of Chennai, straight to Grand Residence hotel, where Chandini and Brian walked to the hotel reception. As soon as was possible, the couple had picked up from where they had left off that night in Singapore - all second youth passion and anticipation energy.
Almost from the following morning you could have seen the cracks appearing. What had been a very passionate night, had turned into a much cooler day. Mohammad, the driver, had waited for them outside the hotel, and had taken them south, through crowded streets, criss-crossing traffic, lumbering bovines and into the very heart of Chennai city itself. Throughout the journey Chandini had chatted solely to the driver, in Tamil, leaving Brian to observe the Chennai streets, its furniture and its denizens.
Down one street, opposite a Muslim restaurant, Brian had met Chandini’s youngest daughter, Vijaya, for the second time, and her music director husband Shan. Brian had been given no choice about the meeting. He’d not been used to that. Chandini had nearly snapped Brian’s head off when he mentioned about being asked, not told about things. That had been the first time. Brian had taken a deep breath and thought no more of it. Vijaya was a little more like her mother than she cared to admit.
Trying to be polite, as he was in their apartment, Brian attempted a conversation, talking to Vijaya
“How long were you on the UK?”
“The three years of my degree.” Replied Vijaya a little sharply for Brian’s taste.
“You didn’t think of staying on, practicing in England perhaps?”
“Stay, no I did not.” Brian could tell that Vijaya was getting little heated when she spoke about the UK.
“Oh, why.” Brian had been generally interested in her experiences.
“Why, because it’s a terrible place, full of loud, ignorant and racist people.”
“Oh, come on Vijaya, that’s a bit unfair”, Brain said expecting her to climb down from her lofty position. She hadn’t.
“Oh yes it is right. I couldn’t wait to get back home to sanity.”
“Hmm...well, I lived there for fifty-three years and I can tell you that you are misjudging some very nice, kind and generous people who are certainly not any of those things. There are many kinds of people, just as there are everywhere. Okay, so some are a bit rough and may be in difficult circumstances, but many are not. ” Brain had replied, ironically raising his voice as he did so.
“That’s total rubbish.” Retorted Vijaya.
Chandini had stepped in with “Okay, okay I think that it’s time to change the subject”.
The more Brian and Vijaya had met the more there’d been heated disagreements, with Shan always remaining as neutral as he could.
Brian and Chandini had began alternating between Little King’s Cottage and where Vijaya was staying with Shan, in their apartment in central Chennai. For Chandini, the cottage had been too far from central Chennai to continue to reside in. The four of them tried to rub along in the third floor apartment as a temporary arrangement.
Shan had been working on film music for his maestro, A.R.Rahman, at the time. Shan had spent long hours composing on his computer system, working with layers of sound and eventually dropping it all onto a large hard drive which he then sent to his maestro, who was then in America. For Brian, the whole process had been fascinating. He was used to manipulating images in Photoshop, but he’d never guessed that you could do the same with music. That had been the saving grace of Brian being there, and enduring an increasing hostility from Vijaya - to learn
about the construction of modern Indian filmi music, seeing how Shan had created background and incidental music for Indian film soundtracks.
Outside of that tiny, padded, music studio, for Brian each day had been like walking on eggshells. They’d all tried to get along, but it was never going to work. There was too much against the relationship, and not enough for it, to work. Chandini and Brian began doing more and more things apart. The previous ferocity of their sex life had dwindled to practically nothing.
Weeks later, and it had been a sundering heat with the nightly domestic-water, on since 5pm, being turned of at 8am. Even in the early morning there’d been a clear, brutal, punishing, heat. Dusty South Asian traffic had snarled, horns had tooted in frustration, while Shan’s antique Toyota Land Cruiser Prado, which had been continually threatening to break down, had broken down at a crowded road junction. There had been a loud, mysterious, clunk and the heavyweight car had refused to budge. Everything was tried and, eventually, Brian had helped push that monstrous dead weight to the side of the road, for safety. Cars had tooted everywhere. People had been quick to curse but not quick enough to help. After numerous frantic phone calls, a tow-truck had finally arrived outside Seena Bhai, 1977 Dosa Centre where Chandini and Brian had sat eating.
Chandini had greeted the tow truck driver on arrival. As agreed she’d climbed into the ancient cab, adjusted her sari, turned as the tow-truck had moved off. She waved, without smiling.
Brian sat for a while. And, out of concern, called her cell phone. It rang, but there was no reply. Brian guessed that she was busy. Maybe she was accompanying the truck back to the mechanic’s garage. Brian kept calling Chandini’s Chennai cell number.
No answer, and no answer to his text messages either.
Brian finished eating his breakfast, paid, and left.
By the time Brian had got back to Little King’s Cottage, all of Chandini’s bags had gone. All trace of her had vanished. There had been no note. Nothing.
He had taken a Bajaj (three-wheeler) to Shan’s apartment, but when he got there no-one answered. For a while, the perplexed Brian Holland had visited Seena Bhai 1977 every few days, just in case he might see Chandini there. On one visit Brian saw Mohammad, Shan’s driver and had, in conversation, discovered that he’d taken the three of them - Chandini, Vijaya and Shan, to Chennai International Airport, heading, it was supposed, back to Singapore. Brian had enlisted Mohammad’s to help him get a tickets to Sri Lanka, out of curiosity about the island, and a further
flight to England.
In Sri Lanka, Brian Holland had sat in Colombo’s Grand Oriental Hotel, weeping. He’d never seen Chandini again. She’d never answered her Singapore cell-phone number to him. A few days later Brian had left Sri Lanka, still saddened.
After a while, for Brian it was as if he had never shared his time with the mystery woman called Chandini. It as if Chandini had been a wraith.
...Read part three in the next issue of The Blue Lotus magazine
hua liu
Liu Hua 劉華, graduated from the Department of Chinese Painting of GuangzhouAcademy of Fine Arts in 1982, once taught at Hengyang Normal College (now the Department of Fine Arts of Hengyang Normal University), and now lives in Suzhou as a professional artist, engaged in painting, sculpture, photography, art landscape design, graphic design, Art theory research, and network writing, author of "Into the New Landscape". From 2001 to now, he has devoted himself to photographing and researching Suzhou classical gardens and modern experimental ink and wash creations for 24 years.
Htein Lin
Parinivana
20 MARCH – 1 JUNE 2025
HTEIN LIN ESCAPE
At the centre of the exhibition are over 45 works from the 000235 series (1998-2004). Titled after Htein Lin’s International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) number, they demonstrate the ingenuity and originality of his art made in confinement: printed and drawn labyrinths of swirling arteries, suffering organs and razor-sharp bones marked with the tops of toothpaste tubes, medical bottles and pill packets (Biology of Art, 1999); vibrant self-portraits painted with syringes, bowls and the artist’s fingers in the absence of brushes (Self-portrait, 2000; Peacock Self-portrait, 2002), and poignant representations of prison cells isolated by interlocking limbs (Sitting at Iron Gate, 2002). The time-stamped paintings record the rhythm and emotions of prison life: excitement for the new millennium (Happy New Year II, 2000); longing for pleasure (Dancers, 2000); and darkness mitigated by hope, fostered through Buddhism and daily Vipassana meditation (Parinivana, 2000).
Htein Lin’s visual language is further explored in a selection of drawings from the 1990s and 2000s. Shown in public for the first time, they evidence his early interest in using everyday objects as painting tools and street life in Myanmar. In comparison, How do you find Birmingham? (2024), a new painting commissioned by Ikon, forms a vibrant panorama of the bustling city. Part of a wider series featuring cities including London, Belfast and Barcelona, its title references Htein Lin’s interpretation of the friendly question from locals when he moved to the UK and visited other foreign countries from 2006. It combines architectural icons such as Birmingham’s Central Library and Dhamma Talaka Peace Pagoda, the only Buddhist temple in Europe built in the traditional Burmese style.
Video works give an insight into Htein Lin’s writing and performance. The Fly documents a 2005 performance in Yangon at the Institut Français following his release from prison in 2004. First
Self torture for six years
performed for inmates while he was in prison, the work was inspired by George Langelaan’s 1957 short story in which a fly enters a room and influences subsequent events, reminding him of the flies he had encountered while being interrogated in prison. When I was a Lousy Millionaire (2022) revisits the artist’s time as a member of the All Burma Students’ Democratic Front (ABSDF) in a jungle-based resistance movement fighting for democracy and human rights. After a devastating internal rupture between two factions, Htein Lin was severely tortured and saw over thirty of his comrades killed by other rebels. Beginning with an account of the friendly communal removal of head lice in his village, he draws a parallel to his first experience of body lice while chained in freezing mountain temperatures, examining the moral choices made about killing in times of conflict.
A key element of Htein Lin’s project for Ikon includes artworks made with residents of HMP Grendon in Buckinghamshire. An off-site exhibition at the prison (1 - 22 May), includes portraits of prison residents and soap block sculptures inspired by the artist’s carving technique. The display follows workshops developed in collaboration with current HMP Grendon Artist in Residence
Simon J. Harris, and explores subjects, materials and tools synonymous with prison art in Britain and Myanmar.
“Although I am currently unable to travel outside of Myanmar, knowing that my work is being shown in exhibitions overseas like Ikon keeps open a window for me to look out on the world. It also offers a chance for the world outside to see what is happening in Myanmar”.
Htein Lin
This exhibition is supported by the British Council’s Connections Through Culture grants programme and ai. gallery.
For more information, press appointments, high-res images and to request interviews please contact Rebecca Small by email r.small@ikongallery.org or call Ikon on 0121 248 0708. Social Media: @ikongallery #IkonGallery @
Sitting at Iron Gate
Htein Lin was born in 1966 in Ingapu, Myanmar. At university in Yangon, he studied law and performed Anyeint (traditional Burmese theatre). He first studied visual art in a refugee camp on the Indian border with Mandalay artist Sitt Nyein Aye, while involved in student politics and the 1988 pro-democracy uprising.
Returning to Yangon in 1992 after four years in exile and escaping detention by student rebel faction, he worked as a comic actor and artist, pioneering performance art in solo and collaborative works. In 1998 Htein Lin was accused of opposition activity and imprisoned. During his seven years in prison, he developed his visual art, using items available to him such as bowls, blocks of soap and cigarette lighters to make paintings and monoprints on cotton prison uniforms and found textile.
The 000235 ‘prison paintings’ capture the harsh living conditions, suffering, hope and resilience of prisoners. The hundreds of drawings and paintings which survive from this period are held in the artist’s archive and the International Institute of Social History, Amsterdam. His multidisciplinary practice spans painting, sculpture, installation, performance and writing, and explores personal and diasporic experience; Buddhist philosophy; and memory and identity in Myanmar tradition and culture.
Htein Lin’s work is held in public museums around the world including M+, Hong
Kong; International Red Cross and Red Crescent Museum, Geneva; Singapore Art Museum; and Museum Five Continents, Munich. His work has been included in major exhibitions such as the Singapore Biennale (2016), ‘SUNSHOWER: Contemporary Art from Southeast Asia 1980s to Now’ at Mori Art Museum, Tokyo (2017) and the Asia-Pacific Triennale (2018).
In Myanmar, his work has been presented in solo and group exhibitions at the Goethe Institut and the River Gallery, among others. In 2007, an exhibition of the 000235 ‘prison paintings’ took place at Asia House, London.
He has worked with social justice and human rights organisations such as Amnesty International and was a judge for the Koestler Trust Prison Art prize, UK (2010–2013). In 2021, he co-founded the Association for Myanmar Contemporary Art (AMCA) to support a new generation of artists and audiences. He lives and works in Kalaw, Myanmar.
Amiya Nimai Dhara abstracts
Amiya Nimai Dhara
Amiya Niami Dhara is a sculptor, painter, and tabla player. He studied nature deeply such as houses, trees, birds, animals, santhal childs , figures expressions , tribal village and valleys ( khoi) by sculpture and paintings according to conventional santiniketan style. He not only a versatile artist but also a experimental, new thinking artist. He worked with various mediums like - sculpture, painting, and mural paintings in fresco technique. In paintings he used basic colours such as red, blue, yellow, green , black, and white. He create paintings by using these basic colours. He do not think about any subjects matter. The relationship between nature and human gradually became his subjects. He was inspired by the miniature, ajanta and jaipuri frescos, which is applied in the background of his works. His drawings have a self identity.
Akash Balmiki
wat arun
Wat Arun, Bangkok,Thailand, is one of world's renown iconic landmarks.
A Buddhist temple has existed at this site since the Ayutthaya kingdom. 1351–1767 AD.
It's one of the most spectacular and recognisable Thai landmarks. Idyllically situated amongst picturesque river scenes, capturing the stunning contrast with the surrounding modern cityscape.
wat arun
Wat Arun is one of world's renown iconic landmarks.
A Buddhist temple has existed at this site since the Ayutthaya kingdom. 1351–1767 Ad.
It's one of the most spectacular and recognisable Thai landmarks. Wat Arun assertively stands in awe of Bangkok’s skyline well established prior to industrialisation. Visitors journey here in pilgrim like status, due to it’s one of few temples you are permitted to climb its main staircase, rewarding the intrepid with panoramic views of the bustling Chao Phraya river,the grand palace and Wat Pho on the opposite bank.
It’s design is dissimilar to many other Thai temples with its imposing 82m tall (269ft) spire (Prang).
The temple derives its name from the Hindu god Aruna. Embodied as the radiations of the rising sun. The first glimmers of morning light reflect against the temples pearly iridescence giving it a majestic appeal.
King Taksin (1734–82) when establishing the new capital of Thonburi, following the fall of Ayutthaya (previous Thai capital), brought with him from Vientiane, Loas, the emerald Buddha which was previously housed in one of the two small
buildings located in front of the Grand Pagoda.
The utmost sacred Thai religious icon, the Emerald Buddha, and enshrined it in Wat Arun. It was subsequently transferred to the Temple of the Emerald Buddha in the grand palace in 1785 AD.
The main central spire was completed in 1851 AD.
It symbolizes mount Meru from Hindu cosmology which is considered to be the center of all physical, metaphysical and spiritual universes.
The surrounding spires are devoted to the wind God, Phra Phai. The giant white figurine is Sahassa Deja and the giant green figurine is Thotsakan. The Giants (Yaksha) face in four directions to offer protection. The central spire is topped with a seven pronged trident, known as "Trident of Shiva". At the second terrace there are four statues of the Hindu God Indra riding on Erawan, (a colossal elephant with three heads). Around the base of the spire are various figures of ancient Chinese soldiers.
In Buddhist iconography, (study of pictures) the central spire is considered to have three symbolic levels. The base represents Traiphum indicating every realm of existence. The middle signifies
Tavatimsa, the Tusita Heaven, where all desires are gratified, and the top denotes Devaphum indicating six heavens within seven realms of happiness.
The spires are decorated by shells of tropical sea snails and pieces of porcelain, which were previously used as ballast by trading Chinese junks, visiting local ports, many centuries ago.
During 1809 to 1824 AD, a rebuild and restoration of the temple was initiated. It’s original central Stupa (a place of burial or a receptacle for religious objects) was raised even higher. With subsequent restorations in 1868–1910, and also in honour of the bicentenary celebration of Bangkok’s founding in 1980. The most extensive restoration work on the spire was undertaken, from the Fine Arts Department in 2013 to 2017. The work was meticulously undertaken to reflect the temple’s original appearance whilst preserving the decorative patterns and colours on the numerous ancient tiles.
HE’S OFF again
Dutch cyclist Peter Van Der Lans is on the road again.
Coming to a country near you, this hardy and intrepid traveller has, once more, pushed off from The Netherlands, to continue his bicycle explorations. Watch this space...
Not just Bebinca
Multi-layered Bebinca (Credit: Nolan Lobo)
Not just Bebinca
In the 1990’s I’d first visited Goa, India, from England. Then, subsequently, I revisited and luxuriated in Goa’s weather and its proximity to the sea. I had initially stayed in North Goa’s Candolim and later in Calangute, not only because I’d got cheap flights and accommodation from what was then a British TV ‘Teletext’ site, but also because Goa was then seen as being Indialite, due to its enduring Portuguese influence (officially from 1510 to 1981 - but in reality well past those dates).
As well as becoming intrigued by the ‘real’ Goan Vindaloo (incidentally nothing like the fiery British version), enamoured by cashew and coconut Feni (forms of Portuguese alcohol also known as ‘fénnim’) I then became fascinated by the local multi-layered cake known as ‘Bebinca’ (aka ‘The Queen of Cakes’, and ‘Bebinca das Sete Folhas’, Bebinca of Seven Leaves - referring to that cake made with seven layers).
Fatima da Silva Gracia (in her book 'Cozinha de Goa: History and Tradition of Goan Food’, 2012) explains …
“There is a legend that says that Bebinca was made by a nun called Bibiona of the Convento da Santa Monica in Old Goa. She made it with seven layers to symbolise the seven hills of Lisbon and Old Goa and offered it to the priest. But, he found it too small and thus the layers were increased. There are some claims that it is made with 20 layers. But, ideally it is 14 or
16 layers”
So enamoured of Bebinca was the esteemed epicurean and author Madhur Jaffery, that she reminds us (in her book ‘Flavours of India’, 1994, page 98) that “There is a billboard on the way to Panaji from Goa's airport that says, ‘8 Layer Bebinca. Don't Leave Goa Without It'. It is advice to be heeded.”
Goa’s Bebinca origin story is certainly romantic. However, there is much, much more to learn than at first would appear. Here is a speculation regarding Goa’s intriguing multi-layered cake…
Essentially, the cake known as Bebinca begins its culinary journey with a batter of all-purpose flour, eggs, coconut milk (squeezed from grated coconut flesh), nutmeg powder and sugar mixed together in a batter. A small amount of batter is poured onto a deep pan greased with gee (clarified butter). Once this layer is slowbaked, then comes another layer with gee and caramelised sugar. This process goes on for many layers, maybe 7, 8 or up to 20 layers resembling a tower of pancakes. Once the ‘cake’ is fully baked, the very sweet Bebinca is best served on its own, or with authentic vanilla ice cream.
In 2022, Goan Head Pastry Chef Elroy Pereira, of ‘The Benares Restaurant’ (London’s Mayfair), had introduced a limited-edition ‘Bebinca Coconut Layered Pancake’. He combined “…
sweet coconut and caramel sandwiched between five delicate layers of pancake, served with a scoop of refreshing coconut ice cream…”, as an alternative to the classic pancake stack.
While Portuguese India (Goa) had that distinctive multi-layered cake known as Bebinca, there have instances, in Europe and Asia, including in the Philippines, where something similar is known as ‘Bibingka’, and in Macau as ‘Bebinca de Leite’.
Research suggests that the early origins of a cake bearing similarities to Bebinca may be found in Europe, specifically within Germany and Italy (where the first recorded recipe appeared in a 1426 cookbook). In those early European recipes the Baumkuchen (Tree Cake) was a ‘spit’ cake, made on a spit over a fire. It was constructed by brushing even layers of batter and then rotating the spit around a heat source. Each layer was allowed to brown before a new layer of batter
Ein new Kochbuch, Marxen Rumpolt,1581
was poured.. The name ‘Tree cake’ comes from the look of the cake when cut, revealing layers resembling the rings of a tree when cut across.
Further recipes can be seen dating from a 1581 German recipe book (Ein new Kochbuch or "A New Cookbook” by Marx Rumpolt). The Baumkuchen or ‘Tree cake’ had a hole through the centre (left after the spit removal) which the more modern cakes, made by a different method, do not.
In Holland there is a Dutch multi-layered cake called ’Spekkoek’ (bacon looking cake), which still is an extremely popular spiced cake, and has been before at least 1905, when it was known as ‘Echte
Indische Spekkoek or Real Indonesian Spekkoek (as advertised in ‘Het Koloniaal Weekblad (28 September 1905) : Orgaan der Vereeniging Oost en West’ or The Colonial Weekly (September 28, 1905): Organ of the Association East and West). One proposed history of ’Spekkoek’ sees it hailing from Indonesia, created by Dutch housewives, in Batavia, missing the spiced cakes and biscuits of Holland.
Meanwhile, a cake which has become known as ‘Kek Lapis Legit’ (Legit Layer Cake) may have originated in Indonesia from the idea of ‘Spekkoek’. In neighbouring Malaysia that cake is now called ‘Kek Lapis Sarawak’ (Layer Cake Sarawak). Contemporary Sarawak, Malaysia,
Baumkuchen
Kek Lapis Sarawak
(which shares the island of Borneo with Indonesia and Brunei), has developed a ‘cake of many colours and many flavours’ from the original cake of many layers.
Those Sarawakian versions of ‘Kek Lapis’ have since become known as ‘Kek Lapis Sarawak’. It is rumoured that the ‘Betawi’ people came from Jakarta, Indonesia, to Sarawak in the 1970s and 80s, and have passed down knowledge of their ‘cake’ (known as ‘Kek Lapis Betawi’), to the Sarawakian locals. Wikipedia tells us that the “Betawi people, Batavi, or Batavians, are an Austronesian ethnic group native to the city of Jakarta and its immediate outskirts…”.
A practical re-invention of ‘Kek Lapis’, in Sarawak, to become the colourful and flavourful ‘Kek Lapis Sarawak’ (layered cakes) has, since 2010, become protected as ‘Intellectual Property’ (exclusive right granted to an invention). Products may now only be called "Kek Lapis Sarawak or Sarawak Layer Cake" if they originate from ovens in Sarawak. Kek Lapis bakers outside the state may only legally name their products as "Sarawak-style" layer cakes.
Of course, the multi-layered cake ‘Kek Lapis’ must not be confused with the multi-layered ‘kuey Lapis’ (Kueh, or kuih in Malay) which are types of local Malaysian snacks.
In conclusion, while there are quite obvious similarities between the European ‘Tree Cake’ (Baumkuchen), Holland’s ‘Spekkoek’, Indonesian ‘Kek Lapis’ and Goa’s ‘Bebinca’, they are just thatsimilarities in their many-layered looks.
Ed.
Kek Lapis
Het Koloniaal Weekblad (16 november 1905) : Orgaan der Vereeniging Oost en West
Martin Bradley is the author of a collection of poetryRemembering Whiteness and Other Poems (2012, Bougainvillea Press); a charity travelogue - A Story of Colours of Cambodia, which he also designed (2012, EverDay and Educare); a collection of his writings for various magazines called Buffalo and Breadfruit (2012, Monsoon Book)s; an art book for the Philippine artist Toro, called Uniquely Toro (2013), which he also designed, also has written a history of pharmacy for Malaysia, The Journey and Beyond (2014, Caring Pharmacy).
Martin has written two books about Modern Chinese Art with Chinese artist Luo Qi, Luo Qi and Calligraphyism and Commentary by Humanists Canada and China (2017 and 2022), and has had his book about Bangladesh artist Farida Zaman For the Love of Country published in Dhaka in December 2019.
Canada 2022
THE BLUE LOTUS
The Blue Lotus magazine is published by Martin A Bradley (The
LOTUS BACK ISSUES
(The Blue Lotus Publishing), in Colchester, England, UK, 2024
