When East meet East…

or rather a Southeast from the West?

– #M4H&T @Shanghai, CN

 

I like it when things are always seemingly complex in their ramifications but extend to a normalization that refines itself as a trivial matter. An incoherent blindspot on the outset of the denegation of the self: A recurring blemish in an otherwise perfect ontology as one would like it to be; Such an exposé on how the East would like the West to exist as a denomination of the Lacanian Other upon the sanctified meeting: a necessary alterity to justify its ways of being within the zeitgeist of globalization.

An Asian-focused exhibition with no Continentally-based Southeast Asian artist in a burgeoning venue beyond a curatorial statement – maybe a singular anecdotal event, one might add, that only happened in Hangzhou, this one time when no one would be looking. In another location, I found one of my Thai teacher’s artwork, an established artist I met from my formative years in grad school, in a local Museum housing one of the most tastefully curated private collection of contemporary art in the region. Yet the organization of the burgeoning venue felt compel to officially clarify that Southeast Asian artists are being brought up as the scrutiny of an intellectual issue anchored in western specifications and diversity needs rather than a true appreciation and understanding of Asian culture or more importantly genuine relevance in the wake of their success on the international scene. Forgoing that they themselves are using Southeast Asians, in name only and in this particular case, as pawn in the matter of Western vs Non-Western drivel within the said curatorial statement – Ah! what to make of such pride and antiquated binary proselytization beyond the taxonomy of the colonizing monolith – Ah! So gauche le jouvenceau!

In another anecdotal news, A Philippino-American artist based in New York who has his name scrubbed out from headlining a show with his long-time collaborator while being relegated as a contributor or “the help” rather than an active collaborator of many international exhibitions in a well known Shanghai museum – He’ll understand they might have told themselves to allow a more adequate representation of the local creativity and avoid the scrutiny of an audit by the cultural authority who, I may add, could had acquiesced of the foreigner’s presence out of openness to cultural collaboration and exchange upon the submission of the list of exhibiting artists. But it’s better not to risk it for fear of appearing less than enthusiastic and prideful about the local talent would say a foreign impartial observer of such situation, and beside… how could the Pinoy-‘Rican multimedia artist, who couldn’t make the trip, have known about this “nothing but a mere slight” on the grand scale of things one may add upon the expletive complication.

I’ll give you a hint: Wǒ! I went, I saw and I tattled – yes, yours truly – as I blew but a single kiss from the third floor window in the over-air-conditioned breeze of the comfort of my luxurious room on Nanjing Road next to the Huangpu river graciously procured through an all-inclusive privilege of a cultural exchange visa for a whole summer while hanging out with my fellow residents and new found friends within the artist community in Shanghai. Albeit at the cost of a ruined pair of pink pants and a flooded paper sculpture.

When casually inquiring upon such exclusion, the response is along the tone-deaf disruption of an ancestral harmony that can be only appreciated under the greenest tea of the highest legendary mountain, probably mount Huaguo the birth place on Sun Wukong and his tales of heroism – or just Huanan, where there’s a perfunctory celebration and beliefs of alterity so nuanced and so distinct that is beyond western’s oblivious bluntness, grandstanding, and idiosyncrasy. Yet this could also be qualified as obtuse on any conception of a Supercommunity of the Asian kin, while being oblivious of the blatant objectification of the Southeast Asian artists, brimming in their obfuscation on the scene, with a sleight of mindful rhetoric of their own; in lieu of a simple phylacteral “oups” takes the cake upon the stereotypically silenced subalterns.

There’s this hint of a delicate hierarchical balance within the utmost art of making friends in the Mainland-East where you should always be reminiscent of your standing yet also allowed the chance to save face within the interaction nor remind the other of their shortcomings in a non-confrontational manner. In my case, being a foreigner and a decent individual despite all appearances; And a guest that should know better due to his Southeast Asian khmer-heritage; A liminal space where one is neither cutesy, nor mindful, and definitely not demure at all in nature or presence – The youth would say of dear flashy Grandpa trying to keep up with those Tik Tok trends. Would it be truly an admission of fault if one never brought up the matter to its ineluctable conclusion opening each others to a sense of vulnerability? The wise-fool of countless stories would have pointed unbothered by all appearances and wondering about the meaning of the celebration of kinship and reciprocity beyond friendship – Zhang Guolao where are thou?

[Commentary-Essay in progress on contemporary Southeast asian artists]