Miang Keladi

Let me firstly introduce two malay words: 1. miang, which is generally translated into English as ‘itch’ and its various derivatives: ‘itchy’, ‘itchiness’, ‘itching’; and 2. keladi, which refers to the many species of Araceae, some of which are edible. Some time back in history, keladi entered the English lexicon as referring to the taro plants as well as the yams, the latter of which is a cosmopolitan term for tuberous plants, including sweet potatoes.  Anyway, when put together in the following order, miang keladi becomes a phrase that takes on multiple meanings of kiasan (simile) and simpulan (turn of phrase).  One author recently translates this phrase as ‘itchy yam’, and says that it is an example of malay idioms that use ‘names of food to express an idea’, which the author does not explain but simply states as ‘a cheeky and mischievous person’[1]. Another author states that the phrase means Orang tua yang miang[2], which I will directly translate as ‘an old person who is itchy’. 

Okay! this is becoming pitifully strenuous especially to my non-malay speakers. But to the rest, it is fast becoming hilarious. Therefore I will try something different.  

I am presenting a Caladium plant to a young and energetic couple, who happens to be my great friends. Someone else had suggested that I’d accompany it with an art piece, and now I also have to write a story to go along with it.  I am duly obliging because I love doing these things – thankfully. 

My autistic brain automatically tells me to pursue an idea, miang keladi, which sounds very compelling if not sexy.  So the brain gets into ecstatic work mode, and lo and behold! The next thing I know I already have a design for its implementation.  That is, it will use the many stamps that I have been collecting for so many years (photo below).

Of course, it will also use a piece of leaf of my very pretty Caladium, which I have harvested and dried specially for this purpose (photo below).

This particular plant has an interesting story to tell because I picked it (dug it out from the ground was more like it) next to the pavement somewhere along Jalan Universiti whilst on my walk back from the hospital many months ago. I guess I had always wanted my own Caladium ever since I saw some people showing off their plants on Youtube not too long ago.

Now let me explain more things about miang keladi.  The family of plants called the Araceae (this is standard modern botany by the way) of which Caladium is one amongst many genera, has many shared traits, but the one of interest to us is that their sap, which in Caladium is of milky colour, contains the needle-shaped crystals of calcium oxalate. This means that when it comes into contact with our skin it causes us to feel itchy, almost a burning sensation for as long as it stays in contact.  I can attest to this because I have experienced it myself more than once.  This is the unambiguous and unmistaken meaning of the phrase, miang keladi.  Their itchy sap is a defense mechanism that evolution has bestowed upon this amazing plants, and so it’s little wonder why they now have a global presence. Imagine how degrading it is for them when a bunch of lecherous humans have the gall to consider their time-tested survival trait as nothing more than ‘lusty older persons’. 

But let me put another spin to this tale, for I am getting very good at it.  After all many discerning minds will find something is amiss when no other explanation is given for why the keladi is chosen above other plants whose saps, or any other plant parts, are equally itchy.  Why didn’t my uber-poetic forebears find meaning and purpose in miang buluh (bamboo hairs), miang kuinin (mango sap)? Well, look no further than the flowers of our keladi and you will agree with me that it is a sure winner (photo below).

Anyhow…I hope you like this story.

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[1]http://mjs.um.edu.my/index.php/JML/article/download/3795/1703/9637

[2]https://maksudperibahasa.com/miang-keladi/

drama melayu raya hari ini: rumah tertutup

the visitors from out of town came all the way from up north with the sole intention to ask for forgiveness and maybe some tarts and money as well, but alas! they left without achieving any those things because their brother and sister and little ones in worship decided to not open their door to the visitors. raya or no raya, they do not forgive nor forget easily. after all their minds and memories are better than those of the african elephants. remember, we are talking about the pontianaks and toyols, who since time immemorial, have always been creatures of abject superiority. When the hadramautis sailed to these shores to change the names of the poyols (coinage of pontianak and toyol), the latter resolutely complied because they saw it in their haze-free dreams, at night and in broad daylight, that there were gold, silver and silky skins to be had.

anyway, this year the spirits moved me so much on the morning of raya that i simply had to make this arty fartsy thingy that this arty farty person thought was quite artless.

cog in the wheel

S/He was happy once.  It was a time of deep affection and bountiful playfulness at home.  S/He had doting parents, who had adopted S/He at birth. The mother was a housemaid at the main house of parish’s chieftain.  One night one of the chambermaids gave birth to a baby in the water closet.  As nobody else wanted to keep it, the mother offered to take it home.  Both foster parents were actually overjoyed because they had been childless, all those years they had shared together.  So they raised S/He with boundless love and devotion.   

But it was not to last.  Barely 11 years old, S/He was taken and raped by the father’s Lord’s young heir, who was only a few years S/He’s senior but much stronger, worldlier, brimming with lust and devoid of empathy.  

This is medieval Tanah Melayu, a time and place that is widely feudalistic, deeply superstitious and yet highly sophisticated.  S/He’s fate was cut in stone as one’s fate is immutable since birth precisely because you are what your forebears create you for.  No question asked nor answered.  You are taught that you can’t never alter or change who you are, so you’d better learn to be flexible and fluid. This is a super-strict society that does not spare its recalcitrant members.  Those who don’t follow will die at the gallows.  And those who do, well it depends on their class.  The higher your class the better your rewards are in this life.  Who says life has to be fair?  

S/He cried during the first time, but then it got less painful during the second, third and S/He has lost count of how many times S/He has lain with Putera.  Maybe because Putera has over the years learned to be tender with S/He.  S/He has learned to be good at it too.  Learning to be good at something that you have to do to save your life isn’t a sin surely.  Initially S/He thought it was better to die but slowly S/He has come to a realisation that death would not provide any solace for a lost soul like S/He.  Moreover it is really easy to die in this society. Better to suffer than to die, S/He keeps this mantra close to heart.

qualified am i? boleh tahan

i am as qualified as anyone as an artist.

recently a friend sent me an article that calls into question the decreasing public faith in a university education and, especially I think, its resultant qualification. I have no business in defending any one of these because my livelihood does not depend on academia, but as someone who is concerned about global climate change, feminism et cetera, I am going to weigh in on this topic. first of all, I am not at all surprised that Malaysian academics, who I am sure were the target of this article, don’t seem to be at all concerned about this issue, precisely because their level of complacency and denial has gotten to the point of no return. secondly, I agree with the opinions that learning can and should be done at any time and in any place. Perhaps ‘learning’ is not the same as ‘educating’ as the latter requires teachers, whereby much of learning is pedantic, instructional, and unequal as opposed to a shared learning experience. Therefore the teachers (educators) must be compensated for their time, effort and knowledge – this is commonly done in modern economies by giving them salaries. This is fine and dignified, for as long as there is no other value being attached to the relationship. But what happens when such compensation goes above and beyond its allowable limit? That, e.g. “Professor” is “Yang Berbahagia”? So it is easy to see a future when society’s expectations sky-rocket, everyone is put under unnecessary pressure that more often than not, puts many individuals at risk of imploding. Yet, there is still much wisdom to be had, shared, learned in universities as long as we are humble enough to admit and accept that each and everyone of us is worthy of learning there.

all art is valid. but in case you are wondering what my paper qualification states about my art/artistic education has been to date: 1.SRP 1988 Lukisan (1) 2. SPM 1990 Lukisan (1) 3. Intro to History of Art, Duke University Summer 1996 course (A-) 4. Drawing, Duke University Spring 1995 course (A-)

are artists scientist wannabes?

of course I accept that we all draw our inspiration from something, or someone. but when an artist takes the liberty to interpret the theory of evolution by natural selection by putting together a bunch of plant specimens as a show piece – is this acceptable creative license or blatant misappropriation of science in art?

the truth is most scientists who are worth their salt actually don’t give a fuck what artists do – these hardworking scientists simply don’t have the time for that kind of silliness. I was one of them, and it is only now that I am working alongside other artists that I start to fret about the issue of ”misappropriation”.

Instead of judging these poor artists as misappropriating science, it is perhaps better to regard their works as paying homage to science. And scientists will do better when they engage with artists – be a critic!

Why is it okay for artists to use (reference) science in their art? As a scientist, I aim to spread the truth about the world we live in to as many people as possible because such a correct understanding of how the world operates and functions is essential for our survival as a species. This collective understanding is not something to be taken lightly because it is actually responsible, sensible, rational and humbling. People who are not trained as scientists are therefore welcome to help spread the truth, but how they choose to do it is really up their creativity and imagination. But if and when it becomes untenable, e.g. that what they are doing is getting others to be cynical or skeptical of the truth then I will no longer tolerate it. It therefore becomes my moral responsibility to counter their mistruth as much as I humanly can.

In fact, there are individuals who are comfortable as both scientists and artists: professional scientists who are using the arts such as painting, writing novels, poems etc., as their medium of expression. And then of course the computer scientists whose vocation is to make digital art possible; are they not themselves artists?

openness and mutual engagement are vital for all. This is especially urgent in the current war against global climate change. No one is exempt. The practice of artists needs to reflect their commitment to this species-level endeavour. Large-scale art events / festivals must be green / zero-waste. The culture of throw-away, and the use of pollutants in the production of artworks must be discarded. Time to get honest, folks.

N @ SOE23

I am sharing here with you the information about Mr Hoy that the SOE23 organisers appended to their invitation letter:

Within 24 hours upon learning about the SOE23, I’d a fairly good idea of what I wanted to do, as you will see in this proposal, which I also shared with the other Malaysian artists who were planning on joining:

and yes, I was truly inspired by their story. Perhaps it resonated on a deeper level, and that I was being nostalgic. The mention of kerbau instantaneously reminded me of the smells and sounds of these beasts, as my family used to own several of them when I was very young. Sometimes I would get to play with them… whenever the kerbau were taken to the grounds of the old rumah pusaka. I even wrote a little poem for the Hoys:

Mister Hoy is an agent of change, he works in the mobile marketplace. He travels in a caravan. He is loved by many in every town he passes by. He talks fast in his mother’s and foreign tongues. He always counts his cash but never puts it in the bank.

Madame Hoy never leaves her village. She and Mister Hoy were married in a lavish wedding befitting a daughter of a wealthy village headman and the son of a successful Mister Hoy, Sr. They were betrothed since birth, and were taught family values for just as long.

And I made plans and started doing online research:

Proposed workplan

1. Background study comprising literature, maps, photographs – anything that can provide a good glimpse of that time and culture. Specifically I wish to compile a list of what the animals and people subsisted on (food, water, even drugs). This information is related to their journey routes (and duration), e.g. along riverbanks where certain species of vegetation grew (?still grows).
2. Fieldwork to collect plant species (and possibly water and soil samples), kitchenwork (vis-a-vis labwork) to make dry specimens. 3. assembling materials#1,2 to look like ‘artwork’ 

Fast forward to 24th February, I flew to KK via Bangkok on AirAsia. It was my first time on mainland Southeast Asia. I had read about the Khorat Plateau in geography textbooks in secondary school, or even in primary school. I even consulted an old Collins secondary school atlas to try to imagine it, like a teenager would in those days. Safe to say that I was suffering a serious a childish adventure fever at this time.

On the following Sunday, I was taken to a cattle market near the village of Sila located in north of the city. There I recorded the sounds of cows, water buffaloes, their bells and people conducting business transactions. A short section of the recordings was eventually used in my art installation. And as I became more familiar with the city and people, I decided to revise my original plans:

SOE23 Survival Notes continued

If it was not for the internet it would have been a totally different experience. At least for me, the internet made it possible to contact my loved ones via whatsapp, and to listen to my favourite songs on Youtube on my old phone, as well to contact people in Thailand. But like I mentioned in my previous posting, I didn’t rely on the internet and its various co-dependencies (Google, Metaverse, Tik-toks et cetera) as much as the others did. For sure I didn’t use google to communicate with the Thais, although a few of them tried to do just that, and was let down by google. I suspect it was because the AI translator was not trained enough to recognise what the user was saying. An expat American who has been learning the language of Isaan/Thai for more than a decade told me that Isaan pronunciations could be quite different from the standard Bangkok Thai. Her example that I can still remember is the word, Phrang, meaning ”white person” (Omputeh in Malaysian lingo), is pronounced Phlang – as the R-sounding is interchangeable with the L-sounding alphabets, at least in the Northeast Isaan region. I joked that it was the same with some Malaysians who deliberately mispronounce fried rice as flied lice in stand-up comedies. Somehow the joke was lost on my polite listeners. But on one occasion Google translator did not disappoint: one morning when I was feeling really low a young housemate approached me and asked why I was crying so I said, ”I am feeling very homesick”. Then she said some things into her phone and then quickly gave it to me to read the translation: ARE YOU OLD ENOUGH TO BE HOMESICK? I just burst out laughing and so did she!

SOE23 survival notes

The SOE art festival is organised by a group of people consisting of mostly a KK collective called Kultx, helmed by Manaporn Robroo (aka Tum) and his mate, Wit. Tum is an artist who also runs at least one art gallery in the city. Wit is an artist and part-time teacher.  Some time during the covid 19 pandemic a friend of Tum’s who is an academic based in Bangkok, Professor X (whom I did not get to meet – or maybe I did but I was not aware of it) proposed that they should organise an art festival in Khon Kaen, which they did in 2021. It was a small event consisting of friends – Thai artists from KK, Chiang Mai and Bangkok.  Then in 2022 they decided to organise a second event but due to circumtances that I am still not quite clear about, it had to be postponed to March 2023.  For this year’s event, they managed to secure some fundings from the government and a successful art foundation / gallery (Maielie).  I first heard about the SOE23 in December 2022 via a Malaysian artist who is part of their circle.  I decided to join it because I thought it was a good chance for me to learn something new. I had no idea what was in store for me; and that it would be a life-changing experience.

First off, almost all the artists were young and able-bodied women and men below the age of 40.  They were fast, energetic, work-hard-play-hard bunch of people. I arrived in KK on the 24th of February and was put up in a shared accommodation with at first two other women artists, in an art gallery housed in a three-storey (with an attic) shop house with only a bathroom/toilet to share between us. For many days I was sleeping on a hard springy mattress in a room facing the brutal afternoon sun. I was travelling light and brought few changes of clothes, which I hand-washed almost every day. I didn’t have to cook, as food was aplenty – on the streets, at the markets, in convenience stores (mostly 7-11), cafes, and restaurants. But I did have to buy plenty of bottled water, as I had to rehydrate myself frequently due to the punishing hot and dry ‘late winter’ of the Khorat Plateau.  Physically it was a very tough time for my body because I was suffering from a horrible ear infection (for which I was on medication) that caused me to be hard of hearing in the right ear. On top of that, the diet was drastically different from what I was used to in Malaysia– it was meat meat meat, mostly pork or beef, offals, blood curds or sausages in soup or fried, or braised, or grilled, eaten with noodles, rice (often with sticky rice) with plenty of raw vegetables (this I really loved) for breakfast, lunch and dinner. And although it was easy to get coffees (either local or italian-style), I simply couldn’t find a shop to get a cup of black tea with milk sans sugar (“cuppa”).  Another adjustment that my aging body had to make was the lingering whiff of marijuana in the air.  It relaxed me, which was good for my ear infection! But I also noticed that my wayfinding ability was massively impaired by the ear infection (or maybe it was also due to the marijuana coursing in my blood) because I simply couldn’t orientate myself  and reading maps was very arduous.  I felt utterly lost, isolated, depressed.

As Khon Kaen sits on a vast expanse of flat land of the famed Khorat Plateau it was strangely beautiful, but the staircases of the shop houses that I visited are very steep. Most buildings are not taller than four storeys, and had seen better days.  But since investment is now flowing from the North and the monies from ganja farming, the construction industry is fast picking up pace.  Although good city planning was quite evident in the parcelling of lands and linearity of the roads, and the working traffic lights, I found trying to cross the roads, even though motorised vehicles were driven much slower than in Malaysia, extremely tricky.   The traffic system is just mind-blowingly difficult to understand.  More importantly, not speaking Thai / Isaan was limiting my communication with people around me, especially the artists whom I badly wanted to connect with. The language barrier was breaking me down – and Thai / Isaan is not a language that anyone can pick up easily – in fact, I only managed to (mis)pronounce fewer than ten words (sawadikap, kap koon kap, chai, mai, ha).  In the end, I didn’t even make any more effort to learn more, and instead I was enjoying the ‘funny’ way the Thais spoke English with me, and I started to imitate it for my own entertainment.  I was also limited by my lack of social media footprint, something that those people did not appreciate nor understood.  In my comfortable life in Malaysia, I relied on whatsapp to talk to very close friends (Thais don’t use this application as they have Line), had only one working blog, and used emails for longer missives. The SOE23 organisers, in contrast, used social media to share news on workplans, advertise the goings-on et cetera.  Most of the time I had to depend on word-of-mouth of one or two individuals whom relayed the information to me – I have no idea how much accuracy was sacrificed during the translation from Thai to English. I walked everywhere because I didn’t know how to order a grab car or motorcycle, nor use the public transportation of Tuk-tuks, buses or taxis.  I covered my recently shaven head with a bandanna under my cap because the sunshine was burning my already tanned skin.  Why did I shave my head? To fulfill a long-time curiosity of what it’s like to be bald and how I would look like, or even treated by others. I’d wanted to do it at a temple but my Thai friends advised me against it and I complied mainly because I knew I would not be able to follow the eight strict rules of Buddhist monkhood. So I told people that I was going to do it for fashion and paid a hair salon owner 150Bahts to shave off my salt-and-pepper shortish hair using an electric clipper one hot morning early on in the first week of my stay.

Surrounded by other people’s art // I stumble and fumble // …

I turned to my art, nature and the strengths of strangers to get back on my feet. I drew and wrote down my thoughts on as many things as possible.  Walking around the lake did not feel so aimless because everyone was also going round and round.  I observed people, the other fauna and the vegetation, the sun and the moon whilst soaking their energy and silent understanding.  I ate dinners that I bought from the lakeside street market alone by the lake. I envied the many couples, especially the young shy ones.  They all seemed blissfully happy.   Throughout my stay I neither imbibed nor smoked weed, all thanks to having to take my ENT meds.  I was getting quite sick of having to listen to other people’s choice of music, so whenever they asked me what I liked I quickly told them to play my favourites.  And I happily danced to Rod Steward’s Maggie May whenever someone complied.  I missed my guitar badly so I went to a jazz bar to listen to a brilliant young guitarist whose singing was kinda poor.  I had a mocktail called the midnight flower, which really was super sweet lychee syrup in a cocktail glass.  

Somehow, despite of or maybe because of all these madness that was going on inside and around me, I managed to complete my art installation two days prior to the opening day, which was on the 11th of March. I guess it is my wont that whenever I am in survival mode my competitive button simply gets switched on. I was unfazed by the positive remarks on my artwork. Felt irrelevant to what I was really trying to convey and share.  It was after all my debut offering to the world – fuck off if you don’t get it!  My growth as a creative person was stupendous, and my body was getting strong.  I was beginning to jaywalk like a pro and to speak like a normal person, again.  But then it was already time to say goodbye and to return to my ordinary life in Petaling Jaya.  

ps: I am writing this entry three days after I got back.  There’s simply so much to write about and I am still processing the experience so I am not very coherent.  But better to record as much as possible whilst things are still fresh in my mind.

your art is you

surrounded by other people’s art i feel vulnerable

i stumble and fumble

decades’ old habits are hard to shed

they sometimes flow quickly into my art

the shy sun in khon kaen, 2023

limbo

it feels like my life is on hold – perhaps it is designed to be this way. the reason is that although I am rightfully (technically?) 50 years old since November 7th, I am legally still 49 years of age until February 1st when it is an officially recognised fact that I was born into this world. This administrative error is no mere blip for my life as it turns out. I might have gotten an additional year of blissful innocence away from compulsory primary schooling, and I wonder if that additional year of experiential learning had subsequently given me other advantages over my ‘peers’. But now all I want is to be 50 right on time. I may not be all prepared but I am ready.