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SINGAPORE: Hand over the Pulitzer — I have discovered the new universal symbol for “artist”.
It’s not a paintbrush. It’s not a spray can. It’s not even a magic marker. No, an artist is represented by his scarf. And not just any scarf — it’s the Middle-Eastern keffiyeh scarf with the dangly ends you’ve seen rifle-totting men who live in the desert wearing on CNN.
On Sept 20, a decked-out converted car park in the recesses of East London was populated with keffiyeh-accessorised artist-types for Tiger Translate, the brew’s international smack-down of art, design and music.
At least I’m pretty sure they were artists on the guest list. Either that or I may have inadvertently attended a clandestine but surprisingly cool terrorist cell meeting.
Also known as a shemagh, the keffiyeh was, with the exception of black-rim spectacles — a statement of artistic inclination that never goes stale — the must-have item of the young British creative class that night.
Girls had them, boys had them, even the bartender behind the makeshift bar had one. Although I’m not quite sure he was actually a bartender.
Despite my best attempts at being friendly, making comfortable eye contact and saying please and thank you several times, I simply could not squeeze a smile from the guy.
Of course, it might have been due to the fact that I was not wearing a keffiyeh. I grabbed my Tiger, gave the sourpuss my best Singaporean sneer, and then felt bad about it in case he was actually part of some fancy performance art installation and was not smiling in the name of art.
Perhaps the keffiyeh was not just the random fashion accessory of the moment. Perhaps the ethnic scarf being worn by Londoners was itself a frilly personification of Tiger Translate’s motto of having the East meet West.
Perhaps if I gloss over my theory really quickly no one will notice how shaky my geography is. The Middle East is still “east”, right?
FAR EAST PLAZA
Tiger Translate is Tiger Beer’s global initiative to highlight the best emerging creative talent from Asia. Since 2006, Tiger Translate has been a platform for over 100 artists across the Far East to showcase their artworks internationally.
In other news, the keffiyeh is also worn in Afghanistan, which is totally considered part of the Far East, so my theory still stands. Take that, bartender!
This year, four of those artists — known as Tiger AKAs (Asian Kinetic Artists) — hooked up and collaborated with leading British artists in London as a celebration of art, music and the love people feel for one another when plied with beer.
The four Asian artists — Badral Bold from Mongolia, Udisha Kumar from India, Mee Wong from China and our very own Ben Qwek from Singapore — had won competitions in their respective countries for the chance to work with renowned British street artists with monikers that wouldn’t be out of place in an episode of The Powerpuff Girls: Pure Evil, EINE, Hicalorie and Monorex.
More than 900 people showed up at Hearn Street Car Park in Shoreditch to experience what happens when “East meets West”.
It was undeniably a wonderful platform for emerging Asian art... but I couldn’t help but wonder: What on earth is “Asian art” in today’s global village?
THE POWER OF ASIAN PERSUASIAN
Jimi Crayon, from London creative design agency Monorex, told TODAY: “I guess the first thing I should say is that, in a sense, there is no ‘Asian art’. You could find an Asian artist whose style is actually more French...
“But I guess I did have some pre-conceptions about Asian artists, but I wouldn’t be able to tell you what they were, you know?
“But if you mean did I think that the only things that Asian people could draw were houses with curly roofs and boats on waves, then no, I didn’t have that pre-conception of Asian art.”
Artist Alex Devol, better known as Hicalorie, thinks we’ve evolved from such tags in this day and age.
“I think it’s a little bit redundant to start saying things like (East meets West) now. I mean, a lot of people — especially most British people — presume that I’m an Eastern artist from looking at my work because obviously there’s a lot of Eastern influence in it,” said the 25-year-old Mancurian artist, who is a big fan of Takeshi Murakami and the Superflat movement.
“Superflat” is a term used by the Japanese artist to refer to both the flattened forms in Japanese graphic art and animation, as well as the shallowness of Japanese consumer culture.
But even if you wanted to pigeonhole something as “Asian art”, it would be terribly difficult, said Devol.
“The one thing about Asian art is that out of all the geographic references, it is the one that is the most diverse. I think New York and I think subway cars. I think Los Angeles and I think the modern low-brow art gallery scene. With Asian art... you guys have done a lot of different stuff!”
MADE IN ASIA
While it’s true that art is art, no matter where it’s being made, perhaps being identified as an “Asian artist” still has its merits in the international art scene.
Qwek, Singapore’s representative at Tiger Translate, told TODAY he was truly appreciative of the exposure the event afforded to his work. The 26-year-old full-time illustrator certainly was busy.
In fact, while the other artists from Asia worked on one or two projects for the event, Qwek took on four: A collaborative mural with the other Translate winners, a graffitied London cab installation with Pure Evil, an impromptu pairing with Hicalorie, and a live competition involving two teams of artists battling it out to create the better graffiti panel in 90 minutes while swigging copious amounts of Tiger Beer. Literally watching paint dry has never been more entertaining.
For the record, Qwek’s team won.
The experience has inspired the Nanyang Polytechnic graduate to explore options overseas. “I would like to spend one to two years either in London or LA. I would like to think of myself as an international designer and not just a local one,” said Qwek, adding that www.benqwek.com, his website, has been a useful means for getting his work out.
Like it or not, maybe “Asian art” still holds a degree of novelty — perhaps something an emerging artist could capitalise on.
“I don’t know if (having the tag of Asian art) helps sell the work. In London, maybe. Depends on who your market is. Perhaps if I had more friends who were Asian artists I could see how much money they’ve got in their banks,” said Monorex’s Crayon, with a laugh. “If you tap into the right market, then, yeah, f***ing tap into it, make some money and go on holiday.”
Hicalorie aka Devol agreed that there’s a certain marketable appeal to the label. “It is a phrase that you can kinda throw around, isn’t it? ‘Asian art’ — I don’t even really know what it means,” he said. “But it’s something that everyone’s been more familiar with hearing recently. I don’t like it! We don’t say ‘English art’!”
Maybe “Asian art” sounds more expensive to the Western art world. Like how “keffiyeh” sounds more special than “cotton scarf”.
“It does. It’s Asian — it must be good. Let’s buy it!” said Devol with a laugh. “Do you call it ‘Asian art’ over in Asia, or do you just call it ‘art’?”
Good question. I’m guessing the answer is: Whatever sells at a higher price. - TODAY/ar
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