For our Art issue, we invited artists from Singapore and the Asian region to ponder the questions surrounding creativity, inspiration and purpose in today’s world. Here, we speak to Marcos Kueh from Malaysia, who’s represented by The Back Room.
What would you say are the best things about being an artist today?
I think it’s being able to discuss contemporary topics and issues. I start the discourse from Europe, where I’m currently based, because sometimes it’s hard to identify issues from within living in the country. With the role [of an artist], there’s this new responsibility to have a say in problems—to put up discourses for people to consider.
This idea came to me when I realised that people look up to your work and now there’s the power of getting people’s attention. With this, you can have a dialogue with them as well. Introducing discourses in this way is very effective, and as an artist—there are more avenues to talk to the public and more dynamic ways to present problems. The gallery floor, in particular, is a sublime place to experience dialogue with time, love, and soul. It’s a more tangible way of experiencing dialogue.
What are the biggest challenges facing the art world now? How do you overcome them?
I mean, I’m a brand new artist—I just started! I’m still getting comfortable with this career since starting one and a half years ago. I was trained as a designer before moving into textile development, so holding the responsibility and title of being an artist is still brand new to me, and it’s a bit hard to answer.
I’m just trying my best, and focusing on figuring out what I have to say as a human being and where to take it. A lot of the problems that we face today feel like “someone else’s responsibility”. I think I want to consider what it could be like to focus on ourselves and to find the answer when looking inwards. As viewers of these artworks come along this journey, they’ll find that a lot of problems can be solved by reflecting on themselves, rather than responding to outside stimuli.
For example, one of the main topics that I’m taking up is colonisation. While you could talk about oppression in an academic sense, tackling the dialogue in an emotional approach, which a gallery space allows, gives you the safe space to contemplate things as well.
How should one approach contemporary art?
Wow, this is a pretty broad question. Going to preface this by saying that I really care about this topic [contemporary art], and it’s my main interest as well. I have been studying in Europe for five years and realised that the culture towards art in Europe is very different than say, in Southeast Asia. For them, art is part of their weekend activities—people go to the museums and experience discourse from artists. In a way, people in Europe are already trained to experience art in a specific way, whereas in Asia, I feel like because our weekdays are consumed with work, so our focus, or what we do on the weekend, is on consumption in different ways, like shopping or eating. Learning how to experience art is still a new thing for us, and that is why it’s so important to have spaces with art.
It’s almost like reading a book. Even though the book reads a certain way, what you experience is vastly personal. That is why I like to make works that people can experience on a personal level. Even if the texts and words on the works are not read, that’s okay too, as long as you feel something.
I don’t think that there should be a restraint on what you can experience and think. Once the thoughts are there, there should always be the freedom to just ask. I don’t mind confrontational questions, either. I think that it’s healthy to have a lot of curiosity about art and artists.
Sometimes it feels like contemporary art can be intimidating when you lump it in with money, but I think that the general public should not take on the burden of the relationship between gallery and collector. The public should just experience and enjoy the art. The artwork should just function as something that you’re wondering about. That is why public institutions are great, as money and experiencing art are separate. However, art fairs are an important ecosystem of the arts—I’m also constantly learning. Contemporary art is always evolving. Whatever issues the world is facing, you’ll see artists talking and presenting works about the topic. What I like about European institutions is that the discourse is very fast and current. There are a lot of things to contemplate and a lot of perspectives to contemplate, whereas in Asia, we’re still learning.
Why do you create art?
I mean, I started picking up discourses. It’s not so much that I was purposely trying to make art for galleries or institutions, but I think that my train of thought started from my curiosity about human beings, and sharing what it means to be an “exotic human being” from Sarawak. I remember being in Kuala Lumpur once and people asked me things like “Do you guys still live in trees?” and “Are you from the jungle?” That got me wondering: how is it that we’re from the same country but those from east Malaysia know so much more about people from west Malaysia [than the other way around]? Why don’t the people in west Malaysia make the effort to learn more about us? It’s almost like two different Malaysias. But when I moved to Europe, the Europeans would say that the whole of Malaysia is the jungle, so it’s always about the day-to-day experience of bringing up certain triggers visually. I don’t think my art is so much about telling people how I [want to] solve problems, but for people to feel my questions and also all the confusion, suppression, or frustration I feel.
I also create art to consider different ways of approaching dialogues or discourses. If you go to a fair, the first thing you experience is not my anger. It’s about colours, and size, and I feel there are so many ways to confront issues, while still being entertaining and colourful. This does not mean my discourse gets lost. I think that it’s possible, in a gallery space, to push for all these discourses without being angry and confrontational. When you look at all these discourses online, there are so many ways to tackle an issue. But as an artist, you take time to consider a gentler way to talk about issues.
I think that when dealing with discourse, the anger always comes and goes. I don’t think anger is a bad thing—when you’re angry, it means you care, and the more you care about something, the more you want to talk about it.
How do you continually find inspiration?
In Europe, I go to a lot of museums to look at other people’s discourses, not only to see what people care about but also to look at how the discourse is presented. I also go for a lot of walks, to sit with feelings and questions. Sometimes the answers come with time, and sometimes you keep it. But you need a lot of space and time just to be able to translate it. I remember working and surviving in Kuala Lumpur, and there was not a lot of space and time for me to do that. There wasn’t any space for things to grow inside of me.
Nowadays, I don’t really get up early anymore, what with the constant travelling and being in new time zones. (I actually don’t really like to travel; I’d rather stay put in a space and spend a lot of time there). Travelling takes a lot of focus, and when you work, there can’t be any distractions.
I really like it in the morning, when I wake up. I’ll have breakfast and go for a long walk when the weather is nice. I think that’s best. And sometimes you go on a walk and I have this theory that the brain picks things up best at walking speed. We also cycle and drive a lot in the Netherlands, but I feel that whenever I’m cycling, everything is a blur.
How do you stay true to who you are as an artist?
I don’t know. I guess I just need to trust the process and be honest with myself. Maybe one day I’ll become a rich uncle with a Pomeranian in my apartment, and people won’t like me anymore. I’m trying not to overthink this—this is such a big question—but an element of staying true to yourself is to be okay with not being liked. That’s something I’m trying my best to do. I also think you have to be very honest with yourself. I’m such a people pleaser though, so it’s hard.
As an artist, I try to keep myself different from the discourses in the gallery. I think that’s how it should be. A lot of the discourses in the gallery are big questions or idealisations of my value that sometimes I feel like I can’t even keep up with. It’s like imagining those painters in churches painting the saints, and you start relating yourself to the saints. You’re just going to get depressed because you’re not that great of a human. I hope people don’t see me as this perfect hero who has everything solved. I think it’s important to be a normal human being so people can relate to you and your discourses, and it’s accessible.
What’s something you would like to explore next, and why?
I think one of the reasons why I made this trip to Singapore is that I’ve been working really hard in Europe, but I want to reconnect with the Southeast Asian region. I was a very specific human being before I left. I was an office worker. In Europe, I’m an exotic human being who’s talking about discourses. I worry that the discourses I have in Europe are discourses that have evolved because I can only talk about Southeast Asia in a way that I remembered five years ago. I’m working towards having more projects in Southeast Asia so that I can be in the present. I also think you need to be in the environment to pick up problems that people are worried about, and that it’s important to be in the environment for the work to be of my own experience.
The dialogue that I have in Europe is very different from the dialogue that I have in Southeast Asia. Hopefully, the work that I do in the future can be more nuanced and relate to specific problems in this region. Sometimes I feel like it’s not helpful to always introduce European problems into Southeast Asia because there are so many problems here that aren’t talked about.
As for the medium of textiles, I’d say I’m open to different mediums, but I am now focusing on being an industrial weaver. I don’t think people are very familiar with industrial weaving, even though textiles are such a big part of everyday life. It still feels so invisible. I want to be consistent and present, and to continue to work with textiles.
How do you continually find inspiration?
In Europe, I go to a lot of museums to look at other people’s discourses, not only to see what people care about but also to look at how the discourse is presented. I also go for a lot of walks, to sit with feelings and questions. Sometimes the answers come with time, and sometimes you keep it. But you need a lot of space and time just to be able to translate it. I remember working and surviving in Kuala Lumpur, and there was not a lot of space and time for me to do that. There wasn’t any space for things to grow inside of me.
How do you stay true to who you are as an artist?
I guess I just need to trust the process and be honest with myself. Maybe one day I’ll become a rich uncle with a Pomeranian in my apartment, and people won’t like me anymore. I’m trying not to overthink this—this is such a big question—but an element of staying true to yourself is to be okay with not being liked. That’s something I’m trying my best to do. I also think you have to be very honest with yourself. I’m such a people pleaser though, so it’s hard.
PHOTOGRAPHY JAYA KHIDIR