The four Vermeer paintings that I based my pieces on

Among the genre paintings and portraits that form almost the entire oeuvre of Jan Vermeer’s works, the two iconic characteristics that constantly resurface are the solitary woman engaged in a private, often domestic activity, and the open window that illuminates the space with a wash of natural light. Either or both of the two are almost always present, and even when the window is not physically painted on the canvas, Vermeer continues to suggest the strong yet delicate sunlight that it lets in.

A Girl Reading a Letter by an Open Window

To pay homage to these features that are so commonly identified with the artist’s works, I have created a series of paper embroidery pieces based on four of his paintings in which both woman and window are present in the composition: A Girl Reading a Letter by an Open Window (1657-1659), The Milkmaid (1658-1661), Woman Holding a Balance (1662-1665), and Woman with a Pearl Necklace (1662-1665). I picked these four paintings specifically because of the very striking diagonal shafts of light that shone from the windows on the left and illuminated their faces and bodies toward the right. Subtle differences aside, these four paintings share very similar compositional elements that I wished to explore and illustrate with my work.

The Milkmaid

Although I respect Vermeer’s dignified representation of women (even when alluding to their shortcomings), I have always admired his masterful handling of the glow of natural sunlight above all his skills, such that the women in his paintings seem to be less of his subject matter than the human canvas on which light is reflected. Female grace only seems to elevate the beauty of the light. Though grouped with the Baroque period, the strength in Vermeer’s painted light is not the same strength of the stark spotlight in Caravaggio’s theatrical images. This strength lies in its ability to permeate the space; not to flood it but to flow over and caress all that lies within.

Woman Holding a Balance

Instead of attempting to emulate Vermeer’s treatment of light, my series serves instead as an exploration of light’s compositional functions in many of Vermeer’s paintings. The use of embroidery on paper references the gentleness and gentility of his female subjects, as well as the domestic spaces that they inhabit. However, this is contrasted with the cold, schematic use of a harsh black paper as the base for white thread, which allows for the focus on the directionality of the light above all other elements in his compositions. The designs themselves are simple and geometric – a far cry from the intricate patterns that can be achieved with embroidery – serving as abstract re-imaginings of Vermeer’s compositions. These were devised by identifying the starting points (windows) and end points (usually the surfaces of the woman’s head, body and arms) of light in each painting, and drawing lines between them. Yet, the female figures are no longer identifiable; there is only a suggestion of their presence in the relatively organic shape formed by the end points of the thread on the right.

Woman With a Pearl Necklace

The mathematical quality of the process and the materials reflect the deliberate calculation that we know lies behind each composition by Vermeer, something that is only revealed in the original paintings upon closer study, but which has been brought into the foreground in my work. This is echoed by the mechanical nature of arranging each series in terms of their estimated chronology, rather than in terms of each individual piece’s relationship to its neighbors. This led to an effort to counteract what could be perceived as an over-emphasis on the more scientific traits of Vermeer’s style of painting. I decided to further explore the possibility of using color in my work in a revisal of The Milkmaid, replacing the white string with an array of colors that, while still muted, hinted at the yellow, blue, rose and brown in the female figure’s clothing, skin, and pitcher. This method would give the viewer more clues in order to decipher the original paintings to which I referred.

The Milkmaid (Colour): The colours of the threads follow the colour palette of the original painting, according to the areas that they "touch".

Prep sketch that I used to find the points where my needle should go

“So what are your plans after you finish your studies?”
“Probably going to finish up a year of OPT (Optional Practical Training) and then go back to Singapore to work for a few years.”

This leads into a little roundabout discussion that culminates in my statement of planning to be in Singapore long-term, before I inevitably get one of the following responses:

1. “Are you sure?/Really?” (i.e. disbelief and disdain)
2. “Oh, but a lot can change in a few years.” (i.e. an assumption of my naivety, as well as an assumption that I will change my mind and choose to stay in New York)
3. A strange expression that is part condescending smile and part knowing grimace

This is not an exhaustive list of responses along these lines, and neither is it a full representation of all responses. Nevertheless, I would say that one or a combination of the three occurs 70-80% of the time. These are the responses of a person who is thinking to themselves, this girl is so young and idealistic and ignorant, and also – why the hell would anyone choose Singapore over New York?

At this point, I try my best to change the topic.

I find no need for me to explain my decision to them, or even to explain it here. I’m starting to find the idea of constantly mathematically assessing and recounting the pros and cons of each place to be physically nauseating. Perhaps I know that my plans for the future have that idealism that always seem to be vulnerable to the burden of cynicism (why should I be carrying a burden belonging to someone else?). Nevertheless, I can’t stop thinking about how disrespectful and patronising any of these responses are, even if the person never meant it to be. To me, it is the implication that my life choices, perspectives, priorities are wrong, or lack a certain awareness, when they simply do not align with those of the other party. It slips out ever so slightly, but I catch it. I am always waiting for it – for the judgment.

I can’t decide what annoys me more. The fact that people are underestimating me – my intellect, my awareness, my conviction – or that they are unknowingly thrusting upon me something that is so contrary to the reality in my head. Perhaps I feel like they are attempting to shut down a certain sincere need to do something with my life within the context of Singapore. A vague statement, I know, but it seems like vagueness is my only line of defence right now.

Anyway, why the hell would anyone choose Singapore over New York? Well, Singapore is home. Isn’t that reason enough?

(It is for me.)

This was my final project for Sculpture last semester. The theme was ‘Self-Portrait’, and we could use wood, plexiglass, found objects, etc. I decided to make full use of the digital lasercutting privileges that I had, so I sent in an Illustrator file of my Chinese name to the… people who manage the lasercutting machine.

My initial idea was based on the concept of my “Chinese-ness” being an artificial identity. I find that when I’m in New York, I try to use elements from my own “Chinese” culture, even though I wasn’t brought up in a very traditional Chinese family. Yet, as with the long-standing debate about what a Singaporean identity truly is, it seemed like being Chinese was the only thing that I could latch onto culturally. A friend also brought up the fact that it was easier for an American to understand the Chinese culture than a Singaporean one. This was a very introspective concept that was bound up in post-colonial Singapore history, my own struggles in defining the self, an almost-self-hatred for presenting something that isn’t truly representative of me…

I wanted to put this all into the imagery of a Chinese signboard, an empty declaration of the self. I wanted the object to seem at first very simple – my name within a frame – but upon closer inspection, the viewer would realise the amount of effort taken to ensure that all the parts of the characters would even be in the right order. I drilled small holes in the wood pieces, and tied many lengths of fishing line from each wood piece to the frame so that all the pieces would be suspended in the middle.

As I went on making this, and with some input from my instructor, it was clear that the concept was too much weight for the object to take on. In the end, this became more of an aesthetic experiment than anything else, perhaps best summed up in the shadows that appear on the wall when the object is well lit – pretty, interesting, but ultimately meaning nothing. It’s much too decorative to represent the angst of the original idea. Here are some other shots:

Lastly, I want to end off this post with my other experiment with plexiglass. Everyone actually thought this was much more interesting. I spent 3 hours tying and balancing the different pieces between two acrylic rods (all while sitting in the closet to avoid my sister’s cat, whom I was catsitting). Unfortunately, due to a lack of foresight, most of the pieces got tangled up and I could only get my surname up in time for critique. This version speaks more about a failure of communication, or indeed the ethereal nature of my name/culture, than it does about the artificiality of identity. You can barely see it against the wall in the image, and the shadows make it even more difficult to discern. Its minimalist and elusive aesthetic is tied to my work for PLACE. I’m not sure where I can take this, but I have a feeling it will resurface one day.

As an expansion on the theme of the human head, I decided to explore the theme of a complex, compound personal identity through overlapping the different voices that I use when I’m in America or speaking to Americans, and when I’m in Singapore or speaking to Singaporeans. This was the first video I devised:

The dialogue for this video comes from the Wikipedia article on creole languages, deliberately chosen to convey neutrality. It suggests not only that my Singaporean voice is part of a creole influenced by Singapore’s history, but also that the American voice that I have to “fake” develops into a personal creole. Although it is the same script, the natural pauses and pacing which are out of my control allow the different voices to move in and out of the viewer’s consciousness, thus avoiding the portrayal of one voice being superior to the other. It also refers to my own struggle with maintaining “separate” identities and how they can interweave.

I was dissatisfied with how similar my voices were in this. The weirdness of my formal voices was just too strange, so I clearly had to go down the “informal” route. Plus, I am clearly being super awkward.

The dialogue for this video comes from a Skype chat I had with a [Singaporean] friend (Zixin) about the project, and touches upon my insecurities and thoughts about this work and about identity as a whole. Working from a typed conversation allowed me to adjust the nuances of the different voices. Although it is the same script, the natural pauses and pacing which are out of my control allow the different voices to move in and out of the viewer’s consciousness, thus avoiding the portrayal of one voice being superior to the other. It also refers to my own struggle with maintaining “separate” identities and how they can interweave.

I need to emphasise that this kind of art isn’t something I’m going to pursue in the near future. It was yet another project that I just had to get out of my system, though this time the result was something I was pleased with. It’s also difficult to put this into context for either an American or a Singaporean audience. Somehow, the things I create always seem to elude definition.

Click here to download the PDF version!

Although T.S. Eliot’s 1922 poem The Waste Land remains one of the best known and most representative poems of the Modernist period, its intentional fragmentation and esotericism have confused readers since it was first published. Eliot coalesces references and quotes from diverse sources representing the landscape of human history and creation. These include but are not limited to the plays of William Shakespeare, Dante Alighieri’s Inferno and Purgatorio, the operas of Richard Wagner, ancient Greek mythology, the Bible, the Upanishad, and even colloquial dialogue from his first wife and their maid at the time.

When the poem was first published in a book, Eliot included pages of notes in order to increase its bulk. He identified many but not all of these references, which have since led many scholars to track down and read too much into a poem that was written to elude meaning. He would say in a lecture 35 years after the poem was written: “I regret having sent so many enquirers off on a wild goose chase after Tarot cards and the Holy Grail.”

As a tongue-in-cheek nod to this, I created an information graphic that identifies and classifies every single known direct reference in The Waste Land. This was inspired by intricate data visualizations that I have seen in person and online in the past few years, and based on the aesthetic of 1930s Isotypes (International System of TYpographic Picture Education) by Otto Neurath. Each rectangle represents one line in the poem, and each section of rectangles corresponds to one section of the poem. I created a classification system, and assigned each reference in the poem between 1-3 categories out of 11. These correspond to a certain color, which are reflected in the color of the rectangles in the graph itself. Finally, I labeled all the references as specifically as possible.

In general, an information graphic conveys a linear, systematic, and rational way of perceiving something. It aims to enforce a visually powerful and easily understandable model in order to aid learning. Yet, in this case, the intricate interweaving of references in the poem runs counter to it. The graph purports to be a kind of study tool, but this in fact contradicts the complex and bewildering experience of reading the original poem. The categories are arbitrarily assigned and very debatable. The representation also fails to represent cross-stanza and cross-section reference links.

Nevertheless, there is something to be enjoyed about conducting this relatively scientific and non-literary analysis of one of the great Modernist works. This was actually inspired by one of my favorite books, Roland Barthes’ A Lover’s Discourse, in which the author acknowledges every reference within the text itself rather than as accompanying notes. I hope to create more infographics in future, including one on A Lover’s Discourse, and perhaps also devise other methodologies for analyzingThe Waste Land.

I enjoyed working on this very much. It was tedious but strangely invigorating – it took me 4 hours to identify all the references based on footnotes in my Norton Critical Edition of the poem and other research, and to plan out the classification on an Excel sheet. Then it was another 12 hours slaving away on Illustrator and tweaking the layout, colour scheme, etc. I am extremely excited to work on an entire series of such infographics, and I think it fits my thought processes very well. I might even want to get them printed and sell them as limited edition posters. Eventually, if I manage to persevere with many more data visualizations, I’m hoping they would become increasingly complex, thus charting my own progress.

One issue that has been on my mind regarding this project is whether it should be considered “Art” or “Design”. Honestly, there isn’t a point in defining them, but for the sake of pedantry: if I decided to choose the “Art” route, I needed to infuse it with a certain conceptual complexity, and the irony of trying to chart something that didn’t need to be charted; if I decided to choose the “Design” route, I would have to be very specific about the technicalities of my layout, as well as the ease with which my chart conveys information. Yet, not only are all of these characteristics are important, but I really am approaching this with the naivete of just-wanting-to-chart-a-certain-text-because-I-feel-like-it-can-be-done. Not all texts will have this certain quality; I definitely don’t want to chart something for the sake of charting it. I will chart it because its content, its style, its structure, speaks to being charted.

Anyway, let me end off this unnecessarily long post by listing the improvements that I would need to make to this infographic to make it “print-ready”:

1. Reformat the entire thing from 36″ x 48″ to 24″ x 36″, which is a much more manageable size in terms of printing and selling (but would perhaps diminish the grandeur of it and force me to crowd the whole thing with text.)
2.  Fix all the kerning (e.g. the line numbers)
3. Add a copyright/credit line for myself
4. Improve on the colour scheme to make it more differentiable
5. Make more space for the margins
6. Fix any alignment issues.

P.S. I want to make this go big on the internet. This needs to happen.

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I suddenly had a crisis of an identity that I knew not how to define, other than describing it as the realization of a fear that the object I had created had nothing to do with how I grew up (i.e. it was detached from my past, that I had somehow changed), even though it did.

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His hair was perfectly coiffed – coiffed, koo-ah-f-d, even the sound of it was the sound of hair being slicked up and back as your mouth opened itself to the vowels. He was wearing a light blue collared shirt that vehemently denied his blue-collar-ness. At the end of his arm were these golden cufflinks that had an effect of punctuation; they were large and had a black disk like a full stop. I was not sure what to make of this. Looking down, black pant leg to black sock (he was sitting sideways on the seat such that only one leg faced me), then a black suede shoe. I don’t know what term to use to describe it – what entry in the fashion vocabulary should be applied for such an item – except that it was something that appeared at a part of this person where I thought a well-shined black leather laced-up Wall Street shoe would appear.

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The inability to talk about the real – the acknowledgement of something being lesser than what you want to put in words. Talking about something apart from yourself is a protection from confrontation of reality. To toe the line between fiction and non fiction is to allow yourself the possibility of escape, of adornment, while at the same time having a complete, detached, rational perspective of what is going on before you. How could I elevate writing-about-life above the level of a rant, or of a yearning?

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I have this view of myself as being the one who is the most responsible, devoted, committed. It is something that I allow others to perceive. But truly, truly I do not feel as though that is the case at all. Instead, I shrink away from throwing myself into anything that requires my intellectual commitment, an obsession… I cannot read constantly; though I love to read and write, it has been ages since I last finished a book. I want the names of authors I know nothing about to casually fall from my lips – I want to feel knowledgeable. I don’t know what it is I am afraid of. I refuse to believe it is only procrastination. Sometimes I wonder if something – that something – has scarred me from the idea of becoming obsessed. Or maybe, I am just so overwhelmed by everything there is in the world to possibly become obsessed with, that I find the only way to cope is to dabble. It is also, I think, a prevention of failure. To avoid setting up goals, e.g. to read all the books by a certain author, is to avoid becoming disappointed in myself for not achieving that.

I only have to be better, just that much better than all the people around me, and yet I am personally traumatized by people – writers, for example – who are far greater than I am and ever will be. I don’t know what I am aiming for. I don’t think I know what it means to “do your best”. To throw myself into the act of constant reading would be a promise to throw myself into everything I do, and I don’t think I truly can. What if I choose the wrong thing to be the best at, at the expense of something else?

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To be alone, is to not be reminded that you are alone.

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I still find it difficult to look at photographs of you. I don’t think it’s for the same reasons as before, but yet I still avert my eyes. I used to not want any reminders of what we used to be, as little as it was… I used to not want to be reminded of something I thought I destroyed. Now it’s part self-hatred (how could I have loved you, such a strange and imperfect you), part having-moved-on (but should I still recoil at an image of you, if this is really so?). Perhaps it is the knowledge of the image being nothing like the you that I knew, that I had built you up to be. I’m not afraid of falling back into it – I mean, I can say your name now, I can talk about you anecdotally without my voice getting all weird as if it’s trying to run away from what it is saying. I think I just want you to be the past, the beautiful, painful past, a memory that no image could possibly live up to, even the image of you standing before me. What you meant to me can never be visually expressed. I can only hope that one day, I can look directly in your eyes, and feel absolutely nothing.

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I am a few pages away from the end of this book, and I am not sure if I will remember anything from it. It is not forgettable by any means; it has in fact been a breathtaking experience of resonance and reflection. The same can be said of one of A Lover’s Discourse. I cannot quote from it, I cannot even identify a specific idea offhand. It comes in vague flashes, simply an understanding of having experienced something truly great, beyond any other author that I have read. I can honestly say that, even as I honestly say that I will not remember it in specifics. I just know that it meant something to me at the point when I was reading it, and to go back to it in an effort to simply ‘remember’ would feel false. I shall carry that feeling with me. I will not put it in words.

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