The Art of Santai
In this article, I explore my journey navigating 2023 and the insights I'm getting as I figure out what it means to recover from a burn out and make art for myself again. Fragments of 2023: Is Slowing Down the Answer to Finding Bliss?
This journey is no joke. I’m driving 490 kilometers. I divided the drive into four legs; starting from northern Selangor to Bidor, Ipoh, then Butterworth and finally, the Kuala Perlis jetty.
For years, I've always had a partner on this road trip that now feels more like a pilgrimage. This time, though, it's just me and the moon.
Chugging water down. Frequently stopping in R&R. Gotta pee, gotta stretch. I might forget, but the night shadows never miss a chance to paint my silhouette against the road. On nights like this, even the baggiest clothes are no match for these curves.
Watching the sunset is a daily ritual when I’m in my favorite island.
Be in Love with Your Own Audacity
After 6 hours of driving eventually, I park my little 14-year-old Saga for rest. Tucked between heavy trucks. Windows down for fresh air. I’m too tired to worry about safety. I trust I’ll get the help if needed.
The alarm screams at 5 am. An hour’s sleep felt like five minutes.
I wash my face again. Gear my slow black Saga upward onto the North-South highway. Why'd I even worry I'd be bored? Even the silence has befriended me now.
Northern Peninsular of Malaysia.
The last leg near Kota Kayangan blindsided me. Straight roads, seductive enough to put my eyelids to sleep. I take deep breaths, mesmerized by the green paddy fields sun-kissed and golden. No wonder they call this Swarnabumi – land of gold. Racing cars zoom past, oblivious to the speed limit. Just a little more…
Finally, the ferry. Familiar routine, my favourite part. Tears swell up as I answer this call home, savouring the archipelagic grandeur of Langkawi's 99 islands.
Returning this Body of Water Home
Pantai Tengah's waves crash around me, and I dive right in, mesmerized by the glorious sunset show. It's like I was drawn here, to this land where I first decided to go all-in on artistry, where I found my gateway to teaching creativity to children. Now I'm back, asking for guidance on what's next.
I sketched one the hidden gems in Langkawi as the rain clouds threatened to pour several miles away.
I pull out my pastels, and the landscape seems to flex its features knowing I’m watching. Gold washes over the beige sand, and the deep green leaves of the coconut trees dance and wave in the fading light. Longer shadows creep up on people strolling their evening walk.
Have you ever noticed how colors in rural areas seem more vibrant, like life on HD?
Stopped by the side of the road to sketch this tree while drive through a remote kampong in Kuala Teriang. Understated yet picturesque areas of the island.
I sit on the prickly Jamrock, rumored to be a large meteorite. This is a place of gathering, no appointments, no invitations needed. Just mainlanders-turned-islanders united in paying homage to the setting sun.
“If the mind is flooded with unshed tears, why would you go to the sea? ”
I’ve only read about artists who document the sea daily. Now that the pastels are in my hands, my eyes scramble as twilight threatened to steal the scenery away with each ticking second. Yes, you can draw the same scene over and over again and it would never be the same.
The Ability to Bless the Spaces Between Us
I sat in Pia’s Paddy by the foothill of Gunung Raya with a book in my hand. I think I have forgotten how Shiela Allum looks like. The Malaysian blue flycatcher dances (not for my attention) by the fence separating the paddy field and the entrance to this restaurant.
Shiela walks in and embraces me wholeheartedly. The hug lasted a while, cushioning me with love and admiration. I notice her dilating pupils as I sit across her. “You look exactly the same” she says to me. Without much thought, I say I’ve got more strands of salt and pepper now. She strokes her glorious white hair with a smirk.
A photo with Shiela Allum, secretary of Langkawi Charity Club.
My time volunteering for Langkawi Charity Club, Shiela taught me that all children regardless of their academic results, deserved a chance for education. It challenged my own inherited ideas from a Tamil upbringing, that only straight A students deserved educational scholarships. One day I’ll tell you more about it.
But this time we’re talking about empowering young women on the island – her direct beneficiaries. We concluded that sex education, namely condoms and abortion clinics could actually save many of these women from a path of diminished economic mobility.
With the current Langkawi MP who insulted Teresa Kok about walking naked by the beach when she inquired about tourists being harassed for wearing shorts, we both knew we cannot mobilise solutions.
Returning to Langkawi to Inspire Island Kids to Make Art
Students from all over the island attending a creative workshop with Suatukala.
Later in the year, I return to Langkawi for 24 hours for a creative workshop with children thanks to Suatukala, a community initiative to encourage creativity on the island.
I’m always star-struck when I’m in the same room with Lina Tan, the creator of 3R (Respect, Relax, Respond) in the year 2000 to address gender issues on TV3. So to be on stage with her, I mush a little inside. I’m humbled to share stage time with fellow creatives, talking about various forms of art as well as the need to center diversity in the heart of creation.
I’m presenting an art collage that was made in 2017 while I was in my art residency with Suatukala.
From left: Khairi, Karina and David.
Karina Bahrin, shared about her book The Accidental Malay and what it means to win the Epigram Books Fiction Prize 2022. She spearheads the Suatukala initiative and connected me with Shiela in 2017, which gave me a grand insight into the lives of Langkawian B40 communities.
Khairi Anwar who directed Amma Chellam, giving much room for Tamil communities to reclaim space for our narrative in Malaysian theater in 2023. He is unfortunately now being intimidated by the government and facing charges for “intentionally wounding the religious feelings of others” for his movie Mentega Terbang.
David Lok, shares his wealth of experiences from commercial photography to doing workshops teaching the blind community to take photographs. With his roots in Buddhism to be in service of others, he connected with the students (and me) in the most earnest of ways as he reminds us, to be naughty and play – that leads us to creativity!
The winning group from the workshop come to Kuala Lumpur to their stage production, bringing the house down with roaring laughter.
Below are the questions posed to me by the Suatukala teenagers. It sparked an introspection of forgotten lessons for me. To answer, I had to access not just the artist in me, but the explorer, risk-taker, and adventurous traveler. It was a humbling realization - my experiences, once my own, now held the potential to shape theirs.
“How did you find confidence to travel alone?
Have you been body-shamed?
Did you encounter racism during your backpacking trips?
Did you feel lonely while you’re travelling solo?
What did you learn about art in Europe?
Why is Langkawi special?
How can I use art & fashion for my characters?
How do you make a painting come alive?
What are your tips for practicing art?
Why did you began making art? ”
Art sketch of the Suatukala presenters discussing in La Pari-Pari , the night before the workshop. Megat later shares with me that he has never been drawn before.
While I had a grand time recuperating in Langkawi, the only time I missed being back in the city was during Thaipusam.
Over the years, Wolf’s devotion to carrying the kaavadi in tribute of his father has allowed me to participate in the festival more wholesomely. Being away made me realize this annual ritual is inherently mine - not by obligation, but a choice to choose each other.
For many Hindus, Deepavali is the most exciting event of the year, while in India it is usually Pongal. For me, it’s Thaipusam. Being in Langkawi, where I didn’t hear the urumi and chants of “Vel, Vel” was indeed a challenging feeling of homesickness that I haven’t experienced before.
Blisters of the Malaysian Fine Arts Industry Standards
When I do return to the city, I move with caution. First I treat myself to an art date at Balai Seni Negara. On Level 2, I'm captivated by the shadow play in a sculptural wooden piece from the Mythical Arts curation. Was this lighting effect intended by the curator? I can't tell.
"I see a losing tradition," a Negeri Sembilan artist laments in his art statement, about Sarawakian culture. I ponder on cultural appropriation in this Malaysian context and how "appropriation" feels like an awkward fit for our practices.
The 60s art in Malaysia feels light and modern, almost effortless. I wonder about the political climate then, but don't bother researching when I get back home. Nor do I research as I write this for you.
The most unsettling work is Inauk S. Gullah's "Bapak Kencing Berdiri, Anak Kencing Berlari" (2000). War bleeds from it. Given the artist's 1938 birth, I suspect it speaks to pre-independence episodes. Disappointingly, his obituary omits his artistic contribution.
Comparing George Giles's sketches to Swettenham's late 1800s work is fascinating. Giles seems to mock the white man, ill-suited for the tropics and carried by a Sikh. While Swettenham drew scenic spots, merely taking in the nature of land rather than of people.
Kide Baharuddin's technique and style resemble Zulkifli Mohd. Dahalan's. Ah, but Allahyarham Zulkifli's philosophical exploration of local culture was brilliant! He called out our society's pretentiousness. Can an artist be both philosophically and commercially successful?
Abdul Latiff Maulan's work is stunning, and dynamic. Ahmad Fuad Osman's is grand, and commanding, slightly excessive for my taste. Still, both shine and rightfully hold their place among Malaysia's most renowned artists. I walk out feeling more confident in my direction of work. I had my work exhibited in Balai Seni in 2018, but seeing only two Indian names in this exhibit (both men) left me feeling a lack of connection.
I didn’t feel that way during Jaafasr Ismail’s curation in because it seemed irrelevant to bring up diversity for that show. I reviewed that show with Sharmilla Ganesan on BFM 89.9 about themes of power, ownership, and autonomy within the context of the political shift that happened in Malaysia that year.
I surrender that knowing what the National Art Gallery exhibits is part of my homework to do as an artist navigating the local art scene, though the favor might not be returned.
Hitam Manis Navigation Outside the Mainstream Box
The 9th World Summit on Arts & Culture in Sweden had me buzzing with excitement. I was invited to lead a workshop at the Summit, titled " Operating Outside the Mainstream Box." But fate intervened – a flat tire and a downpour conspired to have me missing my flight.
Preparing for the workshop, I was grappling with Charis Loke's dissertation question in 2021 about the ecosystem of my creative infrastructure. Her work maps resource sharing and access for illustrators, and it's an exercise I'm finding particularly relevant.
Charis Loke doodles our conversation to map out my ecosystem and the types of resources I mention. Notice how mental well-being comes second last.
"Most artists prioritize mental health," Charis shared with me, "but when they list it as a resource, it's often an afterthought."
Her words resonated with me, and they continue to.
Being a minority woman who confronts race, religion, and nudity head-on in an art world that prefers to shy away from these issues and resist providing a platform for discussion makes the experience a shitshow unless we create our own space.
Over the years, I've burdened myself with the roles of creative director, event, organizer, digital strategist, curator, publicist, project manager, and more, juggling the demands of running shows. While this approach delivered successes, it also led to burnout. I have been feeling it since 2019, the year I lost my father, but I stalled grieving and hit rock bottom in 2023.
Illustration by Charis Loke, part of the results of her discussion with various Malaysian illustrators and art workers in Malaysia in 2020.
Left: In the map I eventually created, three years after our discussion you will notice that I concentrate the mainstream ideas of art such as state funding etc in the middle and leave a lot more room and depth for esoteric and past life experiences. Right: Poster by Pangrok Sulap in Rumah Attap Library.
Photo credit: Pavithrah Dewi
Now, I'm actively making room for my esoteric practices and ancestral energy to ground my creative ecosystem. I'm taking on fewer responsibilities and filtering the advice and suggestions of industry peers who don't always seem to hear what I'm trying to say.
Your Willingness to Start Over is Brave
I’m holding the incense as Kasthury, the open mic poet in my show with Enbah Nilah, Words’ Worth: Rituals Edition in Rumah Attap Library. Photo credit: Pavithrah Dewi
Awkwardness be damned, I'm shedding shame and stepping into a supportive role for others, one small step at a time. No shame in taking a break, I tell myself. My worth isn't tied to producing another news-breaking project.
A chance encounter with Uthaya Sankar SB at Anak Baba led me to sign up for his BACA event. Despite his self-proclaimed title as "arguably the most hated writer in Malaysia," I’m fond of his dedication to nurturing young grassroots communities.
Nerves gnawed at me as I sat beside Dr. Lalita and A.R. Shah. If you looked close, you'd see my sweaty hands clutching a tissue under the table. My supportive friend Sree Shalini couldn't fathom my anxiety. "Your soul remembers how to do this. It's now a matter of your body catching up," she said.
I reaffirm that I'm more than a singular identity confined to one space.
In my mind, I'm back in Langkawi. Recalling the moments my body floated effortlessly on the saltwater, cradled by the watchful eyes of the Helang Merah in the sky. I am more than an artist reciting translations from my journal. My body expands, creating space within myself to ground my being and express my truth.
Uthaya Sir steered the conversation towards intellectual engagement for the audience. Here are some of the questions they posed as I, for the first time, read my work in Malay:
“1. Who is responsible for taking away women’s rights?
2. What are your thoughts on literary translation?
3. How do you view culture in digital spaces?
4. What role do artists play in Selangor state politics?
5. How can we challenge Tamil women who perpetuate patriarchy?
”
Intimacy of Seeing Art-in-Making is Sacred
Azlind of Balai Buku Raya and I santai’ing in Didik Alam, Lorien at Janda Baik.
Photo credit: Yew Hun
In the hills of Janda Baik, I stumbled upon a hidden sanctuary - the home of Zainal, a pioneering Malaysian artist. My friend’s MYVI gave way to a four-wheel drive, and we followed the winding path by faith, greeted by piles of bricks and wood - remnants of Zainal's four-year renovation.
"Ini rumah artis," the driver smiled, "Mesti ada tuah untuk singgah!"
Visiting an artist's studio felt akin to a pilgrimage. It's a rare privilege to witness works in their raw, unfiltered state. Zainal Abidin Musa, a humble man in his 60s, beamed as he shared his "Tengkujuh" oil paintings, his eyes sparkling with the same artistic energy that pulsed through the woodworks in his home.
I felt a pang of familiarity, a connection beyond the usual barriers of race, religion, and age.
This wasn't just about art; it was about shared passion, an unspoken language that transcended boundaries. My mind drifted back to Abang Zul of Langkawi and Jaafar Ismail's curation, moments where I had similarly resonated with artistic spirit.
A mixed media collage art using pastels and bits of magazine cut-out to recreate the memory of sharing tea in Abang Zainal’s home.
Letting People into My Home Studio
A group of students from UCSI architectural students show up to my home studio. I was quite relaxed while showing them pieces that I hadn't exhibited. This time my art felt like portals I had built over time.
Showing them the portrait of my mother, smiling weakly in her hospital bed, opened a floodgate of emotions. Read my memories about it, written in 2015.
But their reactions were pure joy, kept me going. Every time I turned a page, especially my older works in 2014 I heard a chorus of affirmation. If my artworks could speak, they would be beaming in pride.
One student, her short hair and pierced nose radiating confidence, beamed, "I hope many more people get to see your work!" She then pointed out the seemingly mundane details in my art - kuil pooja receipts, incense covers - explaining them with pride to her Egyptian classmates. That's when it re-affirmed me: my perspective, my voice, mattered deeply for cultural representation in the Malaysian art scene.
As they prepared to leave, their parting words stayed with me. "You're so much more than what the media portrays," they declared, "you and your art are complex and multifaceted."
My heart is full and I’m smitten.
Why has it taken me so long to show off my work?
Taking work slower has allowed me time to spend with my family. Left photo below with my cousins and nieces in KKB and the one on the right, me playing with those electronic scooters for the first time thanks to nephews in PJ.
One of the sessions I felt strongly relatable was Governance for Collective Thriving, a session where Srilatha Batliwala, Jessica Horn, and Aparna Shah explore ways feminist are igniting a revolution. Instead of only focusing on what’s being discussed locally, I make an effort to also join international discourse (although my body doesn’t enjoy waking up at 3am sessions).
There's so much that goes on behind the scenes to run a show, even one as small and cosy as Words' Worth. Enbah and I worked together to put Words’ Worth, a bi-monthly poetry show in Rumah Attap. What began as a poetry workshop has kinda gotten full-fledged here. We’re both humbled by the amount of people who are offering support in many more ways than one. It’s a sweet reminder for me why the community has been and will always be the heart of my work.
Photo credit Pavitrah Dewi.
I spent most of 2022 creating “Draw Your Way Home”, a creative collage journal to understand the language of our body, that was supported by the Innovation of Change - East Asia. This project was covered in Says Lifestyle, launched in Civic Innovation Fair in Bangkok last year, as part of a regional program to center the voices of marginalized communities, and human rights defenders from East Asia and Southeast Asia.
In 2023 I did more intimate sessions talking about my work, and my favourite was Seek to Speak - Bicara Gadis. They are an NGO to create safe and conducive spaces for women to speak and develop leadership skills. Based on their topic of the month, you can sign up as an open mic-er and speak for five minutes however you relate to it. I loved the supportive community here, and no pressure to be too formal or intellectual, but rather a space to truly share.
Photo credit to organisers.
I’m discovering that I love throwing people off that I could have purple, blue, blonde hair one minute and then rock an army cut the next day. I guess to others I look like completely different people in these photos but they are all taken in a span of one year.
To budget, I stopped going to any ticketed shows. It’s primarily music events that I had less access too. Bihzhu gave me her tickets for Brenden D’cruz’s show and I forgot how much it’s become part of my experience to enjoy music. My current favourite place to dance is Fono KL.
My utmost favorite photo of the year: Slowing down so I can spot this little frog in the dense jungle.
