Malaysian Artist, Rupa Shares Her Personal Art Journal in This Web Exhibition
Buckle Up Your Seatbelt
You’re about to go on a journey. The GPS has been set. I hope you enjoy the journey rather than worry about the destination. It helps if you create a quiet, distraction-free environment to take in the scenic view. Tips for New Guests:
As you leisurely scroll across the pages of my journal, slow down to discover hidden gems that you might miss at first glance.
To fully immerse yourself in this experience, close other distractions and let the world fade away. Perhaps a gentle song, free from words, can accompany your exploration.
Along the way, you'll encounter artist's notes as well as prompts to help with perspective. Come back with a friend to travel together.
I can feel the pain travelling through my body. Like someone had dug into my stomach and took my guts out.
A Foggy Road Ahead
I might have walked a kilometre in towards the horizon. The pull to walk further in was strong. For the horizon to take me in. Water just up my ankles. It holds me back, reminds me I’m already amidst the mist. The water could rise, and I’d be out of my depth. The stars above me keep me accompanied. Besides a torchlight or two in a distance, I’m alone.
My mom told me that’s where I’d find her – among the stars – when I discovered death at the age of six and asked her, where’d she go after passing on. Whenever we went out, she would always give me a landmark to go too in case I got lost. So I had asked her, how to find her in the after-life. Without hesitation, she said she will wait for me at the gates of heaven.
Unlike other kids who grew up reading Enid Blyton, my bedtime stories were pages from the Childcraft Encyclopaedia. So it is easy to recognize the perceived pattern of Orion’s hunter in tonight’s celestial sphere.
I must have been on this beach before. High chances of my parents driving me to the Sepang Goldcoast beach, though I remember Morib and Teluk Batik more fondly.
I saw a young family of three looking at seashells by the shore. They were laughing. Having fun. I must have shared this laughter too. I assume we had a good time.
Beautiful Views on Dusty Windows
In 2016, I was in a little town in an obscure part of Bahia, in Brazil. Took me 52 hours, like asking in Johor Bahru how to get to Kangar and they would tell you take a bus to Melaka, KL, then to Ipoh, and from there to Butterworth, Alor Setar and finally to Perlis. Imagine taking highways that are mere dirt roads, far worse than the jalan kampung where (almost) no one spoke English.
“Is Trancoso safe?” Safe enough for me to wander around the town by foot. Comel lah, no matter which turn I took, I return to the 17th century Igreja de São João Batista, the two-storey tall church, the largest building in the vicinity.
I arrive during the town’s annual festival, very much like the tragic character of Thomas Wilson in Lotus Eater, one of the short stories I studied during English Literature for SPM.
Boys and men both, hold their hands out to ask me for a dance, expertly leading me on the dance floor under the white canopy. I’m smitten by chivalry, dancing all night long with strangers, and eating too much brigadeiro (like melted Milo ladoo with condense milk). As sunrise falls, I’m by the beach with an Argentinian boy accompanied by less than little conversations between us.
That morning, I remember looking at my legs, how they’ve turned into a deep brownish red, with all the sun I have been taking in. No matter how much I brushed off the sand from my legs, stubborn pearly white grains stuck onto my skin. The contrast was fascinating. I saw my skin for what feels like the first time. They were dark, like the universe that held the atmosphere for stars to shine.
The euphoria of being half way across the world, yet being home in my body.
Back home, days become weeks. Moving quickly. Morning turns to noon. Noon into night. My cat Salem, accompanies me through it all.
Salem’s been to more islands here than some Malaysians. Langkawi twice, Penang, Perhentian, Pangkor – he’s my adventure boy. We’ve always gone camping together. He thrives in the local jungle, chasing butterflies, playing alongside baby monkeys and running at top speed amidst tall grass between high trees. Little black panther.
Dead Slow Ahead
Will the Light Ever Turn Green?
The both of us are like lost lovers casually getting up at the same time. Regaining our physical reality. Drowsy in sleepiness, stumbling around the house.
I watch Salem through the curtain, a moment I wish to capture. His eyes are closed, yet he's awake, inhaling the stillness around him. Outside, the world hums with activity: the buzzing of the grass cutter, the distant honk of cars, and the whistling wind.
There’s no need to go anywhere. To do anything. My vision is cloudy. I feel chocked up. I wonder if I’m always going to be in this dampened state.
When my friend, Allie Hill sent me a note Jo Kukathas published about her missing cat – I refused to read it. Maybe I always knew this day was coming, but nothing prepared me for it. Coming home to a house without Salem was beyond horrible. That five kilograms of fur ball took up the space of a six-foot-tall man.
I saw him (hopefully not for the last time) in Ranting Resort, Cherating. We didn’t get to say goodbye.
The compounding effect of loss, is now pacified with rituals and prayers. While participating in traditional forms of prayer in temples offers a form of solace, for a more cathartic surrender, I find myself singing to the sea in Santubong, “If I’m not taken, let me live”.
Where Do We Arrive?
Not merely staying alive anymore from here forth, but I want to flutter through the gray places that was taken away from my kind. In this fast, concrete, dusty highway, I’d rather be a fragile out of place butterfly many lifetimes over. Like a bird sitting on a tree that is never afraid of the branch breaking, because her trust is not on the branch but on its own wings, a butterfly’s ability lies in transforming itself not its environment.
Notes from The Artist - Bringing a Friend Along
When you find resonance with this web exhibition, I hope you can share an invitation to a loved one. Use this as a talking point, find a ground to have difficult conversations. You can each view it independently, or schedule a time to discuss your thoughts over yum cha. Here are a few questions to spark the conversation:
1. Which part do you find most impactful? Elaborate.
2. What are some of the pressures of urban life that you can relate to?
3. What do you observe in the art, to be local to Malaysia?
4. How would you describe this exhibition to a blind person?
5. Can you notice other Malaysian artists’ works here?
6. Who’s in your community that have shown you support through difficult days?
7. How does this web format impact your experience compared to a physical show?
8. In what ways did you deal with loss?
9. How does my vulnerability in my art journal make you feel?
10. What is your main takeaway?
Original art will not look familiar
But it would make you feel something. And maybe even make you slightly uncomfortable. When coming across something new, it takes a while to digest, so come back another day to see this collection. If this layout doesn’t look like anything you’ve seen, that’s a compliment!
The collage artworks in "Butterflying The Highway" challenge conventional notions of fine art. They are products of artistic play and observation, not originally intended for public display. Journals are often overlooked in the art world due to their perceived lack of economic value and alignment with traditional art agendas. Yet Sophie Wright says, to take “a peek into someone else’s notebook is a rare pleasure”.