See you on the other side

See you on the other side

Gerald Mak

Gerald Mak is an interdisciplinary artist based in London with roots from Hong Kong. He works across drawing, sculpture and ceramics. Recent circumstances and personal experience, namely a decade-long residence in London, the protest in Hong Kong, residency trips to Jingdezhen China, and the coronavirus pandemic have led Gerald to recognise his latent concern over his identity, and notions of otherness and human relationships. His practice is continually driven by this ongoing negotiation with his lived experience in London, and his identification to Hong Kong’s schizophrenic, postcolonial identity crisis.

He has turned to watercolour to document what he finds funny, absurd, beautiful and different during his residency in China, also drawing on his research into chinoiserie, satires with animals, and inspiration from internet memes like pepe the frog. Existing on paper and ceramic tiles, the imagery weaves together semi-autobiographical narratives as Gerald takes on the role of a traveller, and a cultural observer. These are painted in a visual language that blurs the boundaries of fictional and real, historical and contemporary.

With his carvings on clay, he explores gestures that symbolise relationships he considers current, be it of harmony or conflict. These are drawn from habits, personal relationships, or hand signs communicated in the protests in Hong Kong.

New Beginnings and Old Subjects

September 27th 2018 , Victoria and Albert Museum I was just starting my Masters. I was brimming with motivation, to try new things, experiment, be introspective, discover myself. Vital things that mark a new beginning. In the role of a student, an artist, someone in their late twenties.

Doing some research, I was walking through the collection of ceramics, somewhat tucked away on the top floor of V&A, which I always find amazing as it is not as frequented as the other rooms; it emanates a sort of calm.

In one of the cabinets about grand dining (‘cos I am all for the grandeur), sat this Meissen porcelain lemon basket that stood out as ostentatiously ornamented but absent in colour.

Oddly specific for its purpose, the lemon basket is self-indulgence epitomised for the aristocrats of 18th-century Germany. The centrepiece was a showoff, first as a container for lemons which at the time were exotic, rare imports; and secondly an index of scientific/ alchemical achievement.

It was made in this hard paste European version of porcelain first invented

by BĂśttger, to emulate the Chinese porcelain revered by the Western

market.

The other thing to unpack is the (mis)representation of Orientals in the rococo-opulent motifs and adornments on the basket, consistent within the genre of Chinoiserie. Figures are often dressed in loose robes, wearing straw hats, holding parasols with the backdrop of eagles and chrysanthemum.

And here I thought, how inappropriate and regressive? But also a big part of me recognises these conflicting emotions- is it problematic to also admire the craftsmanship, the sheer decadence of the piece? And in reading the piece now, it is camp, cliched and rather funny.

I am drawn to chinoiserie visually, its pattern and ornamentation, and its furniture/ interior pieces suggesting forms and context for my illustrations and ceramic pieces. But it is not just a nostalgic genre brought about by the West imagining the exotic Far East, it could also be seen as a hybrid design language that was developed by both European and Chinese artisans, merchants, artists at the time. There are nuances, underlying problems of misrepresentation, misappropriation, power dynamics at play and making within a globalised setting that are concerns still relevant today. In a way, I see chinoiserie just as, for example, Yinka Shonibare and Matt Smith in their respective practices reference a nostalgic aesthetic, then take ownership and gain authority in their narrative, giving power to the voices that are colonised and subjugated.

Desire for Communications and Relationships

May 21st 2019, Victoria and Albert Museum Eight months later, I came to the V&A for its library to write my dissertation.

The lemon basket planted a seed in my head, and by May sprouted into a dissertation about - the other-. I remember in the introduction mentioning the extradition bill that triggered the ensuing protests in Hong Kong.

It felt essential for context. It felt like a looming chaos far beyond my control and understanding, a new type of disorientation for years to come.

Little did I know the events would escalate to an ongoing turmoil a year forward. Upsetting and strange, to read the news on feeds, having difficult conversations with family, constantly receiving fake news and inflammatory opinions from aunties on the big family group chat while having to maintain civility and decorum.

But this felt at once personal and distant as I navigated these feelings through screens and social media, from as much a geographical distance as a growing cultural difference from my birth place. I have been living in London for over ten years now. Some habits and perspectives have inevitably climatised, been adapted to. I have shed tears over the unfolding of these events, which is uncommon as I was brought up to be smart, detached and pragmatic, to not take things personally.

But of course this is personal. It is a bit of an identity crisis for crying out loud.

There is a growing sense, or an awareness of a loss of self determination and always feeling in some way in the shadow of colonisation and not being in control. In a way, still after ten years of residence here, I feel caught in a position of being a stranger in a strange land; a phrase that comes up time and again.

Summer 2019, Hong Kong --> Yixing , China In summer, I went back to Hong Kong for a family visit, and we had a family vacation trip to Yixing in China to look at teapots. On the first day I remember my parents’ anxiety and refusing to leave the house with me if I didn’t change my blue t shirt because it may be read as too close to a black t shirt and thus, I would be identified as a protestor, or a supporter. It was five in the morning, we needed to make a move to catch a flight. I was groggy. I was aggravated. Without much resistance but definitely with a grudge I relented and changed to my bright orange, Disney resort T- shirt with Goofy popping on my chest because, of course an American capitalist empire like Disney would be a much safer representation.

Travelogue

October 2019, ---> Jingdezhen, China While the protests were raging in Hong Kong, I headed to Jingdezhen, the porcelain capital in China to do a study abroad residency with my coursemate Jasmine. We did a stopover in Hong Kong so I could see my family. I must admit it felt strange going to China during such sensitive times. It was a mixture of paranoia, unease, curiosity and excitement to be present there in my birth place while it was all happening then heading to China, one of many targets of such rage.

A lot of conversation I had at the time with friends revolved around exchanges of experiences when we crossed borders to China from Hong Kong, whether we were interrogated or have our phones checked, rumours of friends reported or listened in by police in plainclothes and ended up being detained for voicing different opinions while inland. And here I am being the great ambassador and representative of my college on a residency with Jasmine, my dear coursemate who is very white, British with pink hair.

So much for not wanting to draw attention to myself, a lot of the times I was pegged as the translator or tour guide but would instantly give myself away with my accent and lack of response for genuinely not understanding.

Being frugal most mornings and evenings, Jasmine and I would take the bus to and from the studio. But Jingdezhen bus service is temperamental; they come as they like despite the bus schedule. Three months in and we still couldn’t really figure out the pattern. We could be waiting anywhere from one minute to an hour. Regardless it became part of our routine, waiting at bus stops, cursing at the bus app, people and motorcycles watching; it was all good fun.

People watching, I came to realise, was a big part if not the highlight of some days being the quiet, observant Piscean I am. I always had my phone ready during these times waiting because so many gems would pop up and I’d be sorry if I didn’t record them. Two things I noticed: One, they love a hose down there. Day and night there are trucks driven around the city playing with this amplified ice cream truck music, spraying water and washing the roads. Jingdezhen is after all a ceramic city with not only a lot of clay, but also construction sites going on. So there is a lot of dust.

Two, the lovely elderly people who I refer to as uncles and aunties are agile.

So often you would find some aunties and uncles stretching in public and they are so comfortable with themselves. Almost every evening you could also find groups practicing their choreographies to their stereos in many outdoor plazas. An absolute joy to watch. I admire their confidence and how wholesome, sweet and healthy that dance culture feels.

Jingdezhen night times 2019, studio bus stop There is a construction site right by the bus stop we waited at every evening we left the studio. Work went on day and night on site, sometimes even 24/7 as some artists we met on the residency complained about drilling noises past three or four in the morning. That seemed emblematic of the developing speed/ culture of the city I witnessed during the three months, whether it be at a commercial or residential site.

Jasmine and I usually left the studio around nine. Right in front of the bus stop there was a makeshift ditch on the road. As we spent all that time waiting we found schadenfreude in motorcyclists getting caught in the ditch more often than one would expect, even when some were just walking their bikes. And that ditch was often overflown and this guy from the construction would diligently clean the street with a hose. With a broom he would brush all the water and debris caught in the ditch, jabbing plastic bottles down the drain.

October 23th 2019, 09:00am, hotel bus stop This uncle and auntie seemed to hit it off and started chatting to each other. Uncle was a bit of a cool cat, donning a cap and a vest. He had his back leaning against the bus stop pole while his left leg was resting on the rubbish bin, both legs so straight forming a perfect ninety degree angle.

Auntie entertained herself in conversation and neck exercises, in three parts. In her first act, she had her hands on her waist, her head bobbing back and forth in these steady rotations. After roughly two minutes, she proceeded, with arms still on her waist, looking to the right every other second. This went on for another three minutes. The choreography is finished with a hula hoop twirling of the hips, and a subtle body shake.

November 12th 2019, 9:08am, hotel bus stop I love a good old rule of three. This morning an uncle, smartly dressed in his brown coat jacket, did not disappoint with his three act choreography. He started off with this taichi-esque circular motion with both arms gesturing the infinity sign. It was like pushing away all that negative energy and dust.

Two minutes later, he started massaging his scalp, both hands, in circular motion from the top down to the side of his ears, then cheeks. He then finished with swinging his hands around back and forth, each second hitting his chest and bum.

J u n e

3 r d

2 0 2 0 ,

L o n d o n

h o m e

This lockdown brings back memories of the one experienced seventeen years ago when SARS hit Hong Kong. I was twelve years old then, in my first year starting at a new school. For my twelve year old self it was bliss (and surely a nightmare for my parents), to be staying home, all classes suspended (there was no zoom or any type of online learning back then).

Just a lot of video gaming and tv, masks and bleach. I was aware but ignorant of most things.

Seventeen years on, so much yet not much has changed. Still pretty ignorant, after two full months at home I have reverted to being an adolescent, often bored and trying to find things to do despite many that need doing. There is, in my nature but also societal pressure to stay positive and productive. I find solace in reality tv shows, tried darning, been speaking to boys online yet nervous to meet in person. I have become socially awkward and nervous around people again because of the isolation.

It is difficult to write/ think about now while being in the moment still, especially when so many uncertainties and frustrations are abound and growing. Not just ones induced by the global pandemic, but also frustrations with the ongoing conflict in Hong Kong, and deep rooted systemic racism, that the Black Lives Matters movement is bringing to light as I write this. And

perhaps because there isn’t the passage of time to allow for introspection and retrospection, the thoughts are more naked and embarrassing.

It is important to acknowledge this uncertainty, despite being uncomfortable like with so many things unfolding now, to know when to shut up and listen, and put in the effort to learn and unlearn. I remember my friend Matt saying to me, being uncomfortable is good- it challenges you, it keeps you thinking.

All this time at home now has given me space for introspection, to be aware of my privilege too, having this space and these circumstances. The other logs are written in retrospect. The passing of time has allowed clarity and perspectives to how I process those past experiences somewhat. And in regards to thinking about the present, I might not be able to make with clay yet, but I can write, take ownership of my practice and find an authority in my voice. That much I can be lucid and have control over.

See you on the other side