Thoughts on “The Great Lubricator”:
What Goes Around Goes Around
An Essay by Geraldine Kang
Taking a titular cue from Dali’s The Great Masturbator (that also has a sensuous explosion of yellow moistness), plans for The Great Lubricator began with informal conversations surrounding two photographs: one of North Korean dictator Kim Jong Un and another of Sophia Loren at the table with Jayne Mansfield. Both images demonstrate different positions and slippery relationships between power, image, image maker and viewer, ideas which the collaborators in this exhibition engage with distinctly and broadly in their artworks.
What Goes Around Goes Around
An Essay by Geraldine Kang
Taking a titular cue from Dali’s The Great Masturbator (that also has a sensuous explosion of yellow moistness), plans for The Great Lubricator began with informal conversations surrounding two photographs: one of North Korean dictator Kim Jong Un and another of Sophia Loren at the table with Jayne Mansfield. Both images demonstrate different positions and slippery relationships between power, image, image maker and viewer, ideas which the collaborators in this exhibition engage with distinctly and broadly in their artworks.
Kim Jong Un, like his father and grandfather before him, is well-known for making regular PR “field guidance” inspection trips to civilian and military facilities across North Korea. There, he dishes “expert” advice on the state of production, and is usually photographed looking enthusiastic and proud of the product/s before him, except when things aren’t up to standard, and relevant culprits are slated for execution. The photograph above is taken at one such visit to Chonji Lubricant Factory. An emaciated factory worker stands at attention, holding his breath while his Dear Leader heartily inspects a coiling mound of industrial lubricator, laughing at the viscous yellow oozing into a thick mound of entrails. The image, along with others on the “Kim Jung Un Looking At Things” tumblr and .com sites (appropriations/continuations of the original “Kim Jong Il Looking At Things”) —photographs culled anonymously and regularly from news reports— send a clear message to the cyber world: laugh at the dictator laughing at things; hold Him up for amusement, chide His power and appearance. He has no hold over you, the rest of the Internet.
The humour, however, is awful and short-lived as soon as I recall that behind every photograph is evidence of pure terror, an evil that makes me feel guilty for clicking that virtual heart or thumbs up. Once again, I am overcome with a nauseating helplessness of the fact that I am here and they are in North Korea. I can only swing back and forth between temporary satirical distractions and the reports of starvation, forced sycophantic admiration, indiscriminate capital punishment, military might (try image-searching ‘North Korea’) and recent nuclear activities. It is also distressing to realise that the foreign press’s rein extends mainly within what Ed Jones from the AFP calls the “showcase capital”, the Potempkin village that is Pyongyang. While we know (through statistics, interviews and books facilitated by the likes of human rights organisations and the UN) of the atrocities afflicting the rest of the nation, this information comes severely lacking in much-needed photographic ammunition. What does circulate to us is a highly controlled and even fabricated side of North Korea, making the comedic appropriations of his images empty gestures at best.
The humour, however, is awful and short-lived as soon as I recall that behind every photograph is evidence of pure terror, an evil that makes me feel guilty for clicking that virtual heart or thumbs up. Once again, I am overcome with a nauseating helplessness of the fact that I am here and they are in North Korea. I can only swing back and forth between temporary satirical distractions and the reports of starvation, forced sycophantic admiration, indiscriminate capital punishment, military might (try image-searching ‘North Korea’) and recent nuclear activities. It is also distressing to realise that the foreign press’s rein extends mainly within what Ed Jones from the AFP calls the “showcase capital”, the Potempkin village that is Pyongyang. While we know (through statistics, interviews and books facilitated by the likes of human rights organisations and the UN) of the atrocities afflicting the rest of the nation, this information comes severely lacking in much-needed photographic ammunition. What does circulate to us is a highly controlled and even fabricated side of North Korea, making the comedic appropriations of his images empty gestures at best.
Superfluous in comparison, but indecent in its own right, is the renown 1958 black-and-white photograph of actress Sophia Loren casting a wary side-eye at the aggressive nipples of local sex symbol Jayne Mansfield. Taken at a Paramount event marking Loren’s welcome into Hollywood, the actress is seen visibly affronted by Mansfield’s upstaging manoeuvre. With Joe Shere’s sleight of hand, Loren is caught in a most revealing and rare display of ‘human’ insecurity, something rarely found in celebrity photographs. Shere’s timely capture, while on the one hand can be construed as the ‘revelatory’ ability of the photographer and camera, ironically and unfortunately is fated to feed back into the advertising machine of glamour and celebrity-hood. Apart from making its ‘breast envy’ mark in its own hey-day, this photograph would go on to encapsulate Loren’s confessional struggles as an Italian-born eager to strike a future in American cinema. Unsurprisingly, Refinery29 (a leading fashion and entertainment website) wastes no time in milking the Loren vs. Mansfield hype by publishing a post-confessional slideshow of contemporary red-carpet “side-eye”s. (Cue side-eye)
It is easy to forget that the person-figure in the photograph is inherently dehumanised, subject to mere moments in time and perhaps also falsely essentialized. And if a photograph exists in ubiquity, it is testament to a type of socio-physical reality or a force that perpetuates or necessitates this reality. Say or see something often enough, and it becomes increasingly difficult to opt out of, deny or counter its momentum. Yet strangely enough, the more representations you amass of power, the more painfully hollow, heavy and disorienting its mirror becomes.
Reflecting on systems of power and seeing inadvertently has become a core concern of the exhibition. Sourcing 'rejected' artworks from various undisclosed artists, Lina Adam's and Victoria Tan's conceptual 'fictional' oeuvre of Macita Ranavit d/o Anil, rests on a gamble. The Alam Smithee Project, while looking to tease the authority and legitimacy of the singular authorial image, in turn embodies its own aura and myth via the intentions of the same artists (Adam and Tan), who in turn have appropriated this gesture from John Baldessari and his collaborators. It is tempting to regard the artwork as a parable of how power is so easily appropriated and assumed; it fractions, multiplies and disseminates before flowing back, albeit quite nebulously, to one amoebic source.
Images grip us because of our inability to fully explicate or rationalize ocular seduction. Hazel Lim, Maria Khoo, Wulan Dirgantoro and Raymond Wu’s Better Than exploits the hypnotic draw of images and sound. Lenticular renditions of popular landscapes and nature images are videoed and screened on old CRT monitors. The playback roves purposefully from left to right, keeping viewers rooted in a continuing loop of moving painted horses and mountains. In another video, layers of fish course forward and backward in a large aquarium. The kitsch is topped off with a satirical motivational voiceover, egging listeners with the likes of ‘running like the gazelle and lion when the sun rises’, creating a sense of displacement that is both unsettling and highly amusing.
Ian Woo’s and George Liu’s all-seeing Lady 7 is live bait. With her naked figure and the ‘blueprints’ to her ‘inner schematics’ on display, this femme fatale avec faux cils offers herself for use and manipulation… if you can handle all that grotesque plastic, wire, eyeball and strings attached. Situated in a make-shift laboratory setting, Woo’s and Liu’s character alludes to the innate desire to not only witness perfection, but to build perfection, and ultimately be vulnerably seen as such in all its anatomy. To some degree, Lady 7 is an indecent exposure; there is no room for seduction when everything is laid bare.
Another collaboration that deals with precariousness is Nadiah Alsagoff’s and Wang Ruobing’s Within Vein. Alsagoff’s video of cactus pruning demonstrates a rare comfort with the abrasive plant, especially when her finger repeatedly comes into a pointed kiss with the sharp edge of a long bristle, unafraid of hurt. This pointed emphasis on the surface and skin is complemented by Wang’s piece. With reference to China’s rapid urbanization and landscaping works, Wang presents the image of an old tree, its bark and trunk infiltrated by a drip bag of plant nutrients and plastic feeding tubes. These ensure that the old tree adapts to its new surroundings in the city after being transplanted from the countryside. Alsagoff and Wang venture into the uncanny, picking out unusual relationships with one of our most immediate natural beings.
Often, images are caught in a war of reflections. In Gilles Massot’s and Moses Tan’s The Most Beautiful Day Of Our Life, the mythic milestone graduation ceremony is presented as a particular cultural construct. A set-up comprising a print, a projector, monitors and a mirror, the graduate’s ceremonial portrait, by himself and with family, is cast as a mise en scène. Massot’s and Tan’s use of surfaces and backdrops exposes and foils any emotional climax that the event is supposed to evoke. Probing at the gown's symbolic value and education's role in social mobility, Massot and Tan perform a reflexive scrutiny at the confidence which is collectively conferred onto the romantic image of the learned graduate, and onto images at large.
Balancing the push-pull between various agencies is comically reflected in The Four-Headed Hydra by Adeline Kueh, Paul Hurley, Kray Chen and Patrick Ong. Bound by two-arms' length of string and equipped with disposable film cameras, the four-person monstrosity establishes equal input from individual heads, collectively moving, negotiating, and creating photographs of a kopitiam's vicinity as a group. Displayed as prints on a wall with strings that suggest a mapping of these images, the work also presents a pile of cut up contact prints left unorganized in the corner of the wall; their status as excess or originals remains ambiguous. But the choice of photographing a kopitiam, a place associated with cheap eats in Singapore, is just as intriguing. The work suggests that even such a commonplace, if not banal, subject can elicit a multiplicity of perspectives and images.
Last but not least, distance from the pieces of a system's mechanism is most directly addressed in Jeremy Sharma’s and Ng Wu Gang’s collaboration. Drawing from Sharma’s Endgame, a collection of staged photographs of winning formations in famous chess matches, the work presents victory as an event that can be felt but not understood by all. Thoroughly visible only to those who understand the game and its instruments, power and strategy can thus be appreciated as both a privy of logical finesse and abstract information to non-players. Through this collaboration, one becomes acutely aware of the asymmetry: who sees what and how. Seeing is no longer simply a matter of looking, it describes the location of power.
It is easy to forget that the person-figure in the photograph is inherently dehumanised, subject to mere moments in time and perhaps also falsely essentialized. And if a photograph exists in ubiquity, it is testament to a type of socio-physical reality or a force that perpetuates or necessitates this reality. Say or see something often enough, and it becomes increasingly difficult to opt out of, deny or counter its momentum. Yet strangely enough, the more representations you amass of power, the more painfully hollow, heavy and disorienting its mirror becomes.
Reflecting on systems of power and seeing inadvertently has become a core concern of the exhibition. Sourcing 'rejected' artworks from various undisclosed artists, Lina Adam's and Victoria Tan's conceptual 'fictional' oeuvre of Macita Ranavit d/o Anil, rests on a gamble. The Alam Smithee Project, while looking to tease the authority and legitimacy of the singular authorial image, in turn embodies its own aura and myth via the intentions of the same artists (Adam and Tan), who in turn have appropriated this gesture from John Baldessari and his collaborators. It is tempting to regard the artwork as a parable of how power is so easily appropriated and assumed; it fractions, multiplies and disseminates before flowing back, albeit quite nebulously, to one amoebic source.
Images grip us because of our inability to fully explicate or rationalize ocular seduction. Hazel Lim, Maria Khoo, Wulan Dirgantoro and Raymond Wu’s Better Than exploits the hypnotic draw of images and sound. Lenticular renditions of popular landscapes and nature images are videoed and screened on old CRT monitors. The playback roves purposefully from left to right, keeping viewers rooted in a continuing loop of moving painted horses and mountains. In another video, layers of fish course forward and backward in a large aquarium. The kitsch is topped off with a satirical motivational voiceover, egging listeners with the likes of ‘running like the gazelle and lion when the sun rises’, creating a sense of displacement that is both unsettling and highly amusing.
Ian Woo’s and George Liu’s all-seeing Lady 7 is live bait. With her naked figure and the ‘blueprints’ to her ‘inner schematics’ on display, this femme fatale avec faux cils offers herself for use and manipulation… if you can handle all that grotesque plastic, wire, eyeball and strings attached. Situated in a make-shift laboratory setting, Woo’s and Liu’s character alludes to the innate desire to not only witness perfection, but to build perfection, and ultimately be vulnerably seen as such in all its anatomy. To some degree, Lady 7 is an indecent exposure; there is no room for seduction when everything is laid bare.
Another collaboration that deals with precariousness is Nadiah Alsagoff’s and Wang Ruobing’s Within Vein. Alsagoff’s video of cactus pruning demonstrates a rare comfort with the abrasive plant, especially when her finger repeatedly comes into a pointed kiss with the sharp edge of a long bristle, unafraid of hurt. This pointed emphasis on the surface and skin is complemented by Wang’s piece. With reference to China’s rapid urbanization and landscaping works, Wang presents the image of an old tree, its bark and trunk infiltrated by a drip bag of plant nutrients and plastic feeding tubes. These ensure that the old tree adapts to its new surroundings in the city after being transplanted from the countryside. Alsagoff and Wang venture into the uncanny, picking out unusual relationships with one of our most immediate natural beings.
Often, images are caught in a war of reflections. In Gilles Massot’s and Moses Tan’s The Most Beautiful Day Of Our Life, the mythic milestone graduation ceremony is presented as a particular cultural construct. A set-up comprising a print, a projector, monitors and a mirror, the graduate’s ceremonial portrait, by himself and with family, is cast as a mise en scène. Massot’s and Tan’s use of surfaces and backdrops exposes and foils any emotional climax that the event is supposed to evoke. Probing at the gown's symbolic value and education's role in social mobility, Massot and Tan perform a reflexive scrutiny at the confidence which is collectively conferred onto the romantic image of the learned graduate, and onto images at large.
Balancing the push-pull between various agencies is comically reflected in The Four-Headed Hydra by Adeline Kueh, Paul Hurley, Kray Chen and Patrick Ong. Bound by two-arms' length of string and equipped with disposable film cameras, the four-person monstrosity establishes equal input from individual heads, collectively moving, negotiating, and creating photographs of a kopitiam's vicinity as a group. Displayed as prints on a wall with strings that suggest a mapping of these images, the work also presents a pile of cut up contact prints left unorganized in the corner of the wall; their status as excess or originals remains ambiguous. But the choice of photographing a kopitiam, a place associated with cheap eats in Singapore, is just as intriguing. The work suggests that even such a commonplace, if not banal, subject can elicit a multiplicity of perspectives and images.
Last but not least, distance from the pieces of a system's mechanism is most directly addressed in Jeremy Sharma’s and Ng Wu Gang’s collaboration. Drawing from Sharma’s Endgame, a collection of staged photographs of winning formations in famous chess matches, the work presents victory as an event that can be felt but not understood by all. Thoroughly visible only to those who understand the game and its instruments, power and strategy can thus be appreciated as both a privy of logical finesse and abstract information to non-players. Through this collaboration, one becomes acutely aware of the asymmetry: who sees what and how. Seeing is no longer simply a matter of looking, it describes the location of power.