Malaysian art now - National Art Gallery

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ARTIST IN RESIDENCY
Malaysian artist, Marvin Chan,
the alternate for the Freeman
Foundation Asian Artists’
Fellowship 2010, was awarded
the alternates grant by the
Vermont Studio Center in May
2010.
This thriving artist community
is a melting pot for artists and
writers from around the world
to explore and develop their
work. Bringing back with him,
in his bundle of experience,
are pieces he constructed
representing the people and the
place. In this article is a piece
he wrote refl ecting the subtle
changes surrounding his journey
from what he knew to what he
realized.
This being his fi rst time in the
US, made him look at things
differently, bent on making the
best of this opportunity to go
beyond the confi nes of what
he already knew, he set himself
free to the unpredictability of
the medium instead of focusing
on a controlled process. As
he became more aware of
the different environment, It is
interesting to see how he is able
to react and reinvent the way
he makes his art and capture
‘meaning’ in a refreshing
aspect.
In his own words, these works
are a combination of painting,
recycled materials and found
objects which I put together
to portray the people I met. I
use the packaging from the
things they use or consume,
I sometimes supplement the
work with found objects to
underscore an aspect or a story
of the person. I did these in
Vermont studio center to make
a cumulative representation of
the artist community there.
What process can teach us
I see my self
In the mirror,
I see my self
In the people,
I speak the same language
But not the same meaning,
I am not,
but I am
A table which I made into a ‘life’ to ‘painting/collage’
interfacing device
otherwise called a palette. THE
I displaced my self
and now I see
I am standing in klia,
waving to my wife,
I walk further
into the glass enclave,
still waving to my wife.
I do not know
what to expect
nor what is
really
expected of me.
All I know is trepidation.
The fl ight
will reach Hongkong
in three hours.
I am relieved.
Only three hours from home.
I am in khai tak airport.
I am three hours
away from home.
I call jessica.
Five hours later.
the fl ight attendant waves to
show
the nearest exits and
demonstrates
how to put on a lifejacket.
This will be the second time
today.
It looks bleak.
The cabin jitter
is brought to a crescendo
by a chorus of screaming
engines,
the plane peels
away from the tarmac,
pulling me
further
away
from what I know.
A carpet of clouds,
a cough
wheeze
the smell
COUNSEL of STRANGERS l Marvin Chan
Portrait of Victor Castro from Mexico.
I used the Whisky bottle we were drinking from,
after work of course.
of airline food
punctuate my melancholia,
I am starving.
15 hours
I am in JFK airport,
it looks strangely similar
to the old Subang airport,
swiftlets glide
past tarpaulin sheets
stuck to the ceiling
joined to plastic tubes.
that hang downwards to...
somewhere
stains pepper the carpet,
and immigration offi cers
pepper the crowd.
they scowl
scrutinize
and direct
I am greeted by
a stoic looking
Latin-American
immigration offi cer,
he stokes my intention
on why I am here for a month.
So I answered him
I couldn’t stay for two months.
He was perplexed by my
answer,
I wanted to sleep.
5am,
a beeping
sound yanks me
from my cocoon,
the cold
New York wind
bites.
I am on my way
to burlington.
We were piled into an airplane
no bigger than a bus.
the fl ight attendant
did her ritual
and then the seats shook,
the earth pulled away like a shy
lover
dashing into the clouds.
We arrive,
it is snowing.
It is spring.
Strange but refreshing,
I haven’t seen snow in a while.
My pants drop
as I removed all metallic
objects(my belt buckle
included)
from my body,
past the metal detector
and into a van.
In the van;
after all this trouble,
I had better come back
with something.
And I probably did.
I found my self,
in the counsel of strangers.
Day one,
I brought nothing,
to refuse myself the comfort
of knowing
familiarity
and left myself
no choice
but to learn.
I had 4tubes of colors.
given to me by Andrea.
Andrea runs the studio store.
A pack of brushes
from Katherine Widen
66cents.
“My mom gave these to me”
she said.
The fi rst week swept by
in waves of delirium,
An ebb-tide of the past,
present
and the future.
I didn’t have canvas,
I didn’t have painting mediums,
I didn’t have a piece of paper
to write this down.
I found a door.
some walls.
some trash.
a cafe.
a bottle of turpenoid.
and
an epiphany.
I fi nd myself
in the people.
Mark Hallet
Dan Allen
Harlan Mack
Who smile at me
gave me brushes
canvas and a location
I often hear people
pose the question,
who am I,
who are you,
who are we?
(I will kiss the land from where I
come from.)
But for now
I am
Max Naff
Katherine Widen
Kim Su-hyun
Kendra Denny
Ariel Churnin
Mary Lamboley
David Kearns
G todd haun
Tatiana Klacsmann
They were the
people who worked
in the church studio
Joshua Abelow
Catherine Altice
Nandi Comer
Lourdes R Correa
They are also
the people who
call out my name.
Suzanne Bennet
Marie-Claude Bouthillier
Zel Brook
Welcome to my studio for the month.
A space I was eager to defi ne as my diary,
yes, marvbook :P
The walls were permeable
so we could hear each other