BeatRoute Magazine B.C. print e-edition - November 2016

Mandy TSUnG
intersections in oil and ink
KENDELL YAN
Mandy Tsung is constantly asked the
question, “Why do you paint women?”
In defiance, she questions them: “Do
you ask all of these men why they paint
women in this certain way? Do they
ever have to explain themselves?”
Tsung is a queer, half-Chinese,
intersectional feminist whose
work in oil paintings and tattoos is
concerned with the nuances of race,
female expression, sensuality, and
sexuality. “Because I am a women
I have these experiences,” she says,
“I’m speaking for myself when I’m
painting a woman, whereas I feel like
men don’t know they are speaking for
women...they paint what they see as a
surface object...maybe they don’t have
the concept that a woman is a person.”
Besides, most of her models are close
friends of hers who identify as nonbinary,
so while she paints the female
form, she actually doesn’t just
paint women.
In August, Tsung worked with a
group of artists on a show called “Dirty-
Knees” that focused on the varying
experiences of growing up half-Asian,
of being borne by two distinct cultures
but never fully belonging to either.
Language is one of many currencies that
afford cultural flexibility. “By the time I
was old enough to learn Cantonese,” she
says, “I just wanted to be Canadian. You
want to assimilate and there’s so much
pressure to do so.”
Being queer has a huge influence on
Tsung’s work, but having hit her “queer
puberty” after college, she struggled
in understanding and claiming it.
“Someone was saying I objectify women
in my paintings,” prompting counsel
from her queer friends, “they said we
see women in a sexual way because
we’re attracted to them, but you can
still make art that conveys sexuality
without turning them into passive
objects...that’s harmful.”
Her portrayal of the female form
is subversive insofar as her approach
to the subject, “I’m a woman,” she
hesitates for a moment, “maybe I’m a
non-man painting non-male people.”
There’s a difference and Mandy Tsung
QUeeRvieW MiRRoR
my gay grampas
DAVE DEVEAU
Though scientists and academics have
pondered the notion of a gay bloodline
for almost as long as gays have walked
this mighty Earth, the findings still
feel hazy, or at least my limited-atbest
research has come up with more
questions than answers. In traditional
families, these stories trickle down
the family tree to give us a sense of
who we are and where we’re from:
of the bigger picture. But without
some kind of bloodline, how are the
stories of our queer ancestors passed
on? Where do young queers get a
concrete sense of what came before?
The internet and popular culture do
not legacy make.
I’m not saying life revolves
around our queer experience, but we
can’t deny that our experiences are
shaped by our queerness. If we want
to learn from our community’s rich
history and get a sense of where we fit
in the landscape of queer activism and
social understanding of queer issues,
it’s pivotal for us to make contact. So what
can we do? To start, we can say hi. Just hi.
Our queer elders are all around us — At
the bar, in Jim Deva plaza, at Pride. But we
need to be willing to connect. We have to
be open to the possibility that we want
to share our stories and that we’re not
wants people to learn something
about why that difference exists in a
movement of artists painting women.
Queer tattoo culture and non-white
tattooing traditions have greatly informed
her painting practice as well. “With certain
designs I’ve made with half-Asian people in
mind they tend to go into that community...
people get it, I don’t have to write a
statement about every tattoo I make,
hitting on each other, but just trying to
genuinely connect. (Though by all means,
hit on each other if that’s your jam.)
When I lived in Toronto ten years
ago I had gay grandpas. These were men
who I’d seen at the bars so many times
that I thought I should at least say hello.
One was a drag queen, decked out in
heels, even at 76; the other was his partner
of 50 years. I found that inspiring, both the
heels and the longevity of their relationship. I
didn’t know them well. We never spent time
together outside of the bars, but I also spent
a hell of a lot of time in the bars, so it felt like
quality time. As a bright-eyed little homo,
these men opened my gay eyes. Hearing
about the early years of their relationship,
about their unwillingness to actually admit
to one another that they were in a
relationship together as a result of the
turbulent world around them, made me
deeply grateful for how far queer rights
have come.
Through the work my husband
and I do through his company Zee Zee
Theatre, we have been fortunate enough
to meet a huge spectrum of queers from
various generations, and we’ve been
welcomed into the fold of many a dinner
party where we were the youngest by
30 or, at times, 45 years. What a gift.
Through these dinner parties we were
able to meet two gentlemen who we
consider some of our dearest friends. There
are decades that divide us and we have
it’s understood through experience.”
In January Mandy will be
collaborating with two other artists on
a show titled “Strong Female Character”
at Hot Art Wet City, as well as a solo
show in New York in the Fall of 2017.
Mandytsung.tumblr.com
@Mandytsung
1hand.bigcartel.com
had very different life experiences, and
we take the time we have together to
share these untold stories from our gay
lineage. These incredible men, at 65 and
85, have become our gay grandparents,
though they would kill us if we ever
said that in front of them. They’re
dear friends, but the notion applies.
It’s through them that we get a better
understanding of our queer selves and
certainly of the great strides that have been
made in queer liberation, and the luxuries
and privilege that our generation holds.
Let me be clear: These men are not
our daddies. They are not picking up
the cheque. They are beautiful and
kind men who have a wealth of life
experience that they’re willing to
share over a glass of wine and a lot of
belly laughs.
A few years ago we asked our
gay grandparents if they’d allow me
to write a play about them, and we
were thrilled when they said yes. They
were very candid in what they shared
and I’m so proud to be able to share
their life story, of sorts, in the form of
a Technicolor gay musical at The Cultch’s
York Theatre this March. It’s called Elbow
Room Café: The Musical and it’s about
their legacy, about the stamp we want to
leave on this community, this world once
we’re gone. How people will tell the story of
who we were. Lucky me to have found gay
grandparents whose story I can help tell.
November 2016 QUEER
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