2010: TRAPPOLE, Art Trove, Singapore
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TRAPPOLE – snared by a wiley curator.
This last Monday, I attended an art opening with a difference: one night only, nothing for sale, no obvious art on the walls and an unsettling atmosphere. What had happened? I had been ‘trapped’ by curator Daniela Beltrani, a woman bent on producing an exhibition that perturbs, excites, provokes and disrupts the bodily experience we’ve come to expect during our polite, run of the mill art openings.
With walls leaning against the walls, mega-ants menacing the artworks and malodorous installations, I think the show succeeded.
A lot of uber-contemporary, deeply-thought-out art exhibitions can appear to be the last bastions of elitism, catering only to the miniscule population in any one town who has studied Critical Theory, holds a MA or PhD in Art Theory and generally swims in those waters…you know who I mean. Not that I am anti-intellectualism, at all, I am one of those people, but I also hold close the idea that contemporary art cannot be purely about preaching to the converted. So to have a thoroughly high-brow premise that was well presented, accessible, and witty was refreshing (and depressingly rare).
The exhibition was a collection of pieces from five Singapore-based artists – not a collaboration as such, but an open-minded exploration of the ideas surrounding disrupting our bodily experience and expectations.
Rajinder Singh, a noted Singaporean painter who broke his own mold by scattering pre-fab walls across the space which had been weathered and exposed to life on the streets of Singapore. (Whilst these streets aren’t exactly ‘mean streets’ one wall did get knocked over and damaged, and one was slightly graffitti’d.) Strewn across the space, propped against the actual gallery walls, they were monumental, and made the first impression that this wasn’t going to be the usual polite affair. The central space was divided into three by these walls on their side around which people milled and it was the first time I’ve actually seen someone put their drink down on an artwork and not be swooped down on by a black-clad assistant.
Kenneth Feinstein produced a witty projection of super-sized ants marching endlessly upwards on one of Rajinder’s wall slabs, the forgettable permanent nuisance of the tropics rendered massive and portentous by the difference in scale.
Matthew Bax’s piece was one of the subtlest works of the evening – a series of paper signs taped onto bare, crisply white walls bearing the words “Caution – Wet Paint”. Another ping in the growing sense that it was all a bit wrong maybe, until you got the joke – having sprung away from the walls for fear of ruining hair and clothes it became clear that there was not fresh paint, for what paint truly doesn’t smell, even a little bit?
Ezzam Rahman complemented a lightly abstract video meditation on tea with an installation of a little tea-station, complete with foam cups and refreshments – I saw several guests help themselves, either unknowingly completing the artwork or deliberately accepting its premise. Either way, knowing or not, it was accepted as part of the strange evening.
Finally, the piece that confused me most was that by Zaki Razak, who had filled a plug-in- the-wall aromatiser with something, I have no idea what, but all at once I was struck by the smell of burnt popcorn. Other guests hazarded guesses at laksa, or over-cooked red-bean soup, and one ventured it smelt delicious whereas I was wrinkling my nose at it. Perhaps this is why Matthew didn’t complete his illusion with an open tin of Dulux behind a wall somewhere, as that may have overpowered Zaki’s piece. For me, this was the most potent moment of the show – the sense of smell is not often used in exhibitions, and standing where I was, eg unknowingly almost right on top of the diffuser, I was thrown off balance, torn between being hungry and wanting to prevent a fire from burning foodstuffs.
The venue was a new gallery in the center of town, a beautifully restored, mid-century block of office and retail space, providing an elegantly Singaporean take on the white cube. All very proper and smart, however the area of space allotted to this exhibition was that just by the door – masking tape prevented inquisitive guests from wandering into the existing
exhibition, again creating a sense of something that broke with our understanding of what this opening was going to be.
For once nothing was for sale – you couldn’t have bought anything even if you’d wanted to, and that was also a break with the norm. Each artist generously gave their time and materials to create this event, and Daniela used that to bring each guest a little closer to something focusing on art only, not commerce or networking or branding. Not everyone enjoyed the show – several guests were just happy for a party on a Monday night, but at least they had been given the opportunity to understand why they weren’t keen, and had thought about the overall concept. It wasn’t an impenetrable wall of education and self-reference that held them from enjoying the experience, more a personal inclination towards other forms of art.
For myself, I had gone not really knowing what to expect, beyond perhaps a typical self-funded opening, and I was pleasantly surprised by the quiet thought and cohesion of the show. No one piece fought with the others, there was space enough for each to exist and make its point. Apparently there had been nine artists lined up, four of whom fell by the wayside during planning, but I think the space was a good fit for five.
I’d like to see more of this kind of experimental, brave, non-commercial art happening here in Singapore. Oh, did I mention accessible? Not hiding behind walls of pretension and terms found only in late C20th art theory primers, but in your face, open, honest, provocative and generous offerings for everyone.
