A collection of conversations with a diverse range of local and regional creatives

CURRENCY

Photo Credit: Currency

SGABF: Can you bring us through the principles of Currency and the studio dynamic? How has the studio dynamic and design practice of Currency evolved?

MELVIN (M): When the idea of starting something independent first started, the idealism that comes with collaborative models that favour flexibility and avoided any sense hierarchy. This led towards something sustainable hence a more "traditional model of a studio". The team and dynamics have grown. With that also the design practice and a different model of attending to each other's strengths and interests. Today, our work fundamentally lies in dedicated process in developing strategy and good ideas, the developmental process is team-driven where depending on strengths, we add value to different aspects of projects.

SGABF: When tackling a brief like SGABF, what were your considerations when you first took on the visual identity in 2018 and how is it different this year?

CHARLIE (C): The design phase started a lot later in 2018. This year, it feels like there has been a lot more time to ideate and develop the direction so our considerations are shaped less by pragmatics and time constraints than they were before.

M: The brief that we got for SGABF2018 was to, first and foremost, create an entirely different impression from the previous editions. We worked alongside Renée to rethink what a book fair can look like on an international level. As much as we wanted to challenge how an identity for a fair can look, we always discussed how the eventual design had to draw a crowd that was and still is interested in alternative forms of books and printed matter.

An art book fair is often quite eclectic so we came up with a concept that hinged on two things – using different typefaces or versions of a font to capture that  sense of diversity and adopting an expressive ribbon that encircles around a book spine or bookmark for the key visual. It captured the fun nature of an event like SGABF while remaining dynamic and easily adapted across different sizes.



Photo Credit: Currency

Structurally, the identity for this year shares a closeness to the previous one. This year, we expanded on the central part of SGABF that is the word ‘book’. We like how the double ‘O’s can resemble two pages of a spread out book and move away from the fixation on book covers.

SGABF: The identity and design focus for SGABF2019 seems more graphic-based, whereas last year’s seemed to touch more on typography. What were the factors that motivated or contributed to the current approach?

SHENG YONG (SY): To bring out the collaborative spirit of SGABF, we thought it would be wise to get different people to express their interpretations of the word and its possibilities through motifs. Surely it’s more visually driven at one glance from the content created by collaborators. However, it’s a framework that makes the identity more content-driven and our graphical contribution actually takes a backseat. What we’re doing is putting the makers and creatives at the forefront.

M: The actual event itself doesn’t actually take place for a very long time – only three days. The identity focuses on campaign content. We established channels of communication that are key to how people understand the fair before it happens and it needs a consistent presence online because of the open call period and campaigns prior to the festival. That’s when we realised that the approach should be centred around that. It’s important for the audience. I think every edition will get better as we identify what works and what doesn’t. It’s important for us to explore and experiment with different strategies, and find out what makes the biggest impact.

SGABF: The idea for the motifs came from the desire to expand conversations and possibilities – a key principle of the Art Book Fair. What were other reasons for implementing them? Has the progression of this element so far met your expectations as to how it would inform audiences about the event?

M: I enjoy how the features as part of A Closer Look are sometimes a very intimate read and in other times, revealing. It aligns with what we are trying to do for the design – ensuring that the contributor or the feature is kept central. I think that’s the beauty of having a structure that’s purposeful, as a gateway to align everyone together. It’s representative of the art book fair, where multiple practices share a stage but what brings people together in that single space is the format of books.

SGABF: Currency emphasises on process and strategy first in design. How has this principle informed your work?

SY: We have a principle of not taking aesthetic at face value. We start by thinking around the needs of the project and expand on that before going into the visual aspect of what we do. We spend a lot of time communicating what we think is best for the brief. When everything approved comes together, we hope that the outcomes we create are sharp, appropriate and relevant. Visuals and graphic style wise, we are known to be quite experimental for some but overall, our works are quite diverse.


Photo Credit: SGABF

SGABF: Does the consumer part of you inform the design practice?

C: Being a consumer makes us think, as designers, about what people are looking out for. We end up having quite a strong idea about what stands out, and what would pique people’s interest. It’s not just the visual aspect or an effort to increase clout, which is quite telling about our principles and ideals that we try to bring into publications.

M: As much as our outcomes may hint at certain approaches, we usually start by asking a lot of questions, sussing out the audience and purpose of project. In some ways, we are servicing our clients when responding to a brief. However, we consider strategy and are also open to very experimental or non-conforming ideas. We enjoy the process of experimentation, especially when it feeds into the purpose of the project. The important thing as designers is that we don’t end up proposing something that is way off.

C: That’s right. I don’t think we do experimentation for experimentation’s sake.

M: We don’t usually begin designing very early on in the process. We refrain from jumping into the aesthetics from the get-go. I don’t reckon it’s always about problem solving either. I think we need to figure out the tone, ideals, objectives and consider if design can help.

SGABF: How do you deal with the concern of authorship as designers? Would you say that’s a major setback in your process?

M: The questions that come about with the discussion of independence and authorship as designers include: how much influence do we have in the outcome? How are we engaged as service providers? For example, the procurement process for many jobs centers on the extent of application. With a starting point like that, talking about your own personal interest or ‘authorship’ is close to irrelevant. 


Photo Credit: Currency

SGABF: So ultimately, where does autonomy lie in design practice?

M: At Currency, the autonomy lies in the fact that we are a small studio, and the quality of our output depends on how we put our heads together. An idea can come from anyone in the studio, myself, or from the client. Ultimately, our sense of autonomy and independence lies in  our approach and derives from our learning process. With the pervasiveness of digital technology and given the accessibility of various digital resources, there is also a problem of iteration.

C: This is one of our principles – use anything that we find online responsibly. We don’t want to rip anything off. Obviously it’s something you can’t skip out because resources can be inspiring. But I think there are standards that we set for ourselves – how inspired are we by a certain thing that we see online, for example? How many degrees away we should be from our inspiration is something that we’re very conscious about, whenever we look at something and find it interesting. And that’s something you can empathise with as well – if you notice your work inspiring something else. As a designer you do value that, if you can see that the person has strived to not completely rip off your idea, or done something a bit further removed.

M: I think looking at references is one small area of our process, if we’re stuck creatively. A lot of the time, we don’t. Perhaps, once in awhile, when we do encounter a creative block, or maybe when we’re just not sure. Our turn to references is usually prompted when we’re not sure how should we style a certain aspect or element of a project. We look at how people do it to know. It helps to accelerate that process and raise more necessary questions that we have about something we’ve not done before.

C: It’s the same as looking at a physical book. We’re constantly playing around with layouts, hierarchy, images, seeing how it’s done, referring to the books that we have lying around. Actually we do that more than Pinterest. Usually our search is very specific, like how is this done in a certain way? And then we see a possible approach, and we do a version of it in our own way or in a way that’s responding to the brief. 

Photo Credit: Currency

SGABF: Based on Currency’s practice, experience and observations, how would you describe the characteristics of a critical graphic design practice – especially in the context of a landscape like Singapore?

M: I’ve talked to a few friends about critical design, or ‘critical’ as a term. I feel that there are many ways to define or characterise it. Everyone has different interpretations to critical design. Sometimes it’s a style or the nature of design practice. It’s difficult to talk about a term that is subjective or continuously evolving, especially if we see it as an approach.

Critical design does align itself to the idea of ‘ugly’ or ‘visually abrasive’ works. I think that if it’s appropriate, or if it answers a certain brief, then anyone may consider doing it. Especially in the arts, aesthetics can be a way of questioning established forms of looking and iterating and can be channelled to express beliefs, sentiments and political positions. Certain design elements can be treated in such a way, be it choosing design as a kind of conceptual gesture or artistically.  

SY: In the context of our landscape for design, I guess Singapore’s scene is still pretty young. There is still quite a lot of exploration to be done. People are still pushing boundaries. To a certain extent, not subscribing or conforming to the usual design practices might be seen as ‘critical design’ because it’s going against the grain.

C: I think we see more and more people having different takes on design. So they don’t necessarily want something that’s beautiful and conforms to the most widely understood definition of good design. They may want something that’s interesting and puts a different spin on design. That could be what ends up getting called ‘visually abrasive’. People’s tastes and the discussions that they are having about design seem to be evolving more and more.

M: I've visited quite a few grad shows recently and its exciting to see graduates go about rethinking design approaches here. It’s evident from the work showcased. It shows people are ready to talk about it. I still don’t have all the answers yet, even having read articles and had conversations about it. But then again, perhaps when it’s clear, it’s no longer worth talking about it as it won’t be a particular thing in itself anymore. That said, the fashion side of visual culture is always evolving and reprising. What can be considered critical design three years ago, a time when I hear the term said more often than now, may not be the case today.

SGABF: As collaborators of SGABF, what are some actions you feel that organisations, platforms and spaces like ours can take to extend more room to interdisciplinary makers and practices in developing their craft?

M: The platform that the SGABF provides help to motivate all levels of the book-making process. We have the artists, producers, designers and printers who are all integral to the form. An initiative like SGABF that happens cyclically imbues a culture of appreciation when makers know that there is a platform to showcase their work. It might motivate someone to develop their craft within that community.

SGABF: Finally, what’s the most interesting zine or art book you’ve come across?

C: Us Blah + Me Blah
M: Mould Map 3
SY: Notes on Ghosts, Disputes and Killer Bodies by Gabrielle Kennedy and Jan Boelen

Currency is a Singapore-based design studio that offers creative direction and content.Extending from a project’s theoretical underpinnings, Currency seeks to work through contextually informed approaches to produce novel outcomes with an experimental flair.

Photo: Courtesy of Artist

SGABF: Hi Syaheedah, for a start could you tell us more about your practice and what have you been up to in London?

SYAHEEDAH ISKANDAR (SI): I’m currently doing my MA in History of Art and Archaeology at the School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS), University of London. Before that, I was holding a full-time position as a Curatorial Assistant at NTU Centre for Contemporary Art (NTU CCA) Singapore from 2014 to mid-2018 before leaving for my studies. I was also juggling independent projects on the side from developing exhibitions to embodying another persona as a DJ.

I co-founded a female DJ collective, ATTAGIRL! in 2013 alongside Amanda Ang and Serene Ong as a platform for us to support women in underground electronic music as well as VJs, visual artists, music producers and performers. Though with so many things going on, I have taken a back seat in the collective for some time now, so I let the girls run the show without me. I would say everything is currently on a standstill. This was a decision I made when coming to London. I was at the point of exhaustion and needed to recalibrate. I wanted to feel like an audience again but more importantly, to have the time to just read and learn.

School has been challenging but absolutely enriching. As of now, my current research is thinking about modes of visuality within the Southeast Asian paradigm. I am absolutely grateful to be in this current state of mind now, so I am embracing these moments as they come.

SGABF: You were previously the Curatorial Assistant at NTU CCA Singapore. You’ve also curated If Home was a word for Illusion (2016) and Nyanyi Sunyi (2018). As a curator, what’s the most important thing to note in terms of joining forces with artists to put up their works based on your direction for the exhibition?

Photo: Courtesy of Artist, Publication Design by Fellow

SI: Not many people knew this but for the exhibition in 2016, it was the artists who approached me, and I was more than happy to take up that opportunity. To have that kind of support and faith, especially since three of the artists did not know me prior to the exhibition, is what I think builds meaningful communities.

To me, intention plays a huge role in that equation. In the Malay language, we call it “niat” which is always placed somewhere close with “ikhlas”. Ikhlas basically means sincerity. Sometimes we get caught in the process of trying to make the project successful, so much that we end up ignoring the hard questions on why we do what we do and to whom the project is for. It is in moments of disagreements or setbacks that I find these reflections (of niat and ikhlas) important for me.

Working at NTU CCA Singapore provided a different experience as opposed to working independently, and there were limitations on both ends, but I was aware of my privilege of being part of an institution. I had more access to resources but having worked in both the Exhibitions and the Outreach & Education departments, one thing that struck me was the challenge of sustaining organic engagement with marginalised communities – whether they are underprivileged, under-represented, physically or mentally challenged. A part of my job was leading tours for students of varying ages and backgrounds, and it shows by the questions they asked––their own accessibility to art depending on what school they were from. Coming from a neighbourhood school myself, I saw a clear distinction as compared to the elite schools. We still have a lot of work to do in that area. 

SGABF: Exhibition catalogues often provide context to curatorial perspectives and the works of artists. Having been involved in print publication work yourself, how do you weigh the prospects of printed matter coming together with exhibitions?

SI: Exhibitions do not necessarily provide solutions, but they can invite discussions on the issues that are presented by the artists or curators. Printed matter allows that discussion to take place as an extension of the exhibition that is no longer confined to the restriction of space and time. It is also a source of documentation which I believe is important especially for future research. You would be surprised by the number of exhibitions that have been put up in Singapore featuring the same themes over and over again. It’s unfortunate that these exhibitions rarely have the opportunity to speak to each other. This was something my peers over at Sikap (run by Zulkhairi Zulkiflee and Nhawfal Juma'at) realised too, which pushed us to do a joint publication launch for our exhibitions; RUANG(2017) and Nyanyi Sunyi (2018). It made sense for us. While these ideas may not be new, printed matter can help integrate new modes of thinking which is reflective of contemporary discussions. As archives, they can bridge old and new discourse for the future.

SGABF: How would a long form publication (in a zine, art book or monograph format), for example, take shape in the context of curatorial projects and exhibitions? 

There is definitely more room for experimentation which I think a lot of exhibition catalogues today have started to embrace. The content is no longer confined to essays and research papers. Materials such as poetry, annotated essays, visual essays, handwritten letters are some of the unconventional content that I have integrated into publications from the artists and collaborators.

For Nyanyi Sunyi (co-curated with Kamiliah Bahdar), we had an amazing designer, Zachary Chan, who sincerely believed in our project. Some of the content was difficult to work with, but we trusted him anyway. His design bridged both textuality and visuality without losing its purpose as a post-exhibition publication. I have worked with designers on an institutional and independent level, and I find letting them roll with their own ideas often times turn out to be best collaborations.

SGABF: In relation to the previous question, how necessary is wide circulation of ideas and opinions from communities represented by these exhibitions? What inadequacies have you observed from creative showcases?

Photo: Courtesy of Artist

SI: It is necessary for sure, but the challenge is sustaining the conversation after the project ends. Being able to work in the creative industry for some peers who share similar sentiments as me is a luxury. We do not have the luxury of churning exhibitions after exhibitions. Creative showcases whether in forms of exhibitions or publications are expensive and requires funding to begin with. Conversations eventually die out, and there are many reasons for it – people move to other interests, projects, lack of funding, priorities shift, and so on. Publications get shelved.

I had a full-time job and supportive colleagues who allowed me to do my own projects outside of the institution. It also helped that my parents were emotionally supportive. Support systems such as mine were critical but what about those who do not have such accessibility? Igniting conversations is one thing, but does it necessarily provide solutions? Apart from publishing articles, we need more spaces where we are allowed to come together as communities to speak about these issues. We need diversity in voices as well. More producers, cultural workers, curators, arts professionals from diverse socio-economic backgrounds. Otherwise, we are stuck in an echo-chamber, speaking to the same group of people and leaving out opportunities to sharpen our own ideas further.

Personally, I consider myself part of the problem too – as someone who offer no solutions. This is an issue that needs to be discussed openly. Apart from providing spaces for marginalised communities, we need to re-strategise our modes of working given that climate change is the most urgent issue of our time now. Unsustainability is entrenched in our system. Art exhibitions are no exemption as they can be wasteful. With panel discussions and symposiums, if conversations are confined between the educated and socially mobile, is it really going to change anything?

The discussion on printed matter within the foreground of these issues has to start as well. I personally love print, and nothing beats the feeling of running your hands physically through a book. But we have to start asking the hard questions now. How do we move forward and celebrate print in the face of the biggest ecocatastrophe our generation will ever face? Our children’s future is being robbed in front of our eyes. It is more than just using recyclable materials for the sake of feeling better about ourselves.

SGABF: Have you had to go through a process of reflecting upon your past experiences in curation, art, music and writing in order to move forward with your current creative practice? What other processes did you have to go through that have informed your work and artistic beliefs today? 

SI: To be in reflection after being in production mode for so long was a tough adjustment for me. I do sometimes miss performing on the decks as it was a form of outlet for me. I have been working since completing my O’ Levels to support myself through my diploma and degree years. There were struggling points, but I am grateful for them. These experiences are not unique to me, and I know of many peers, especially artists who resonate with these struggles. Having had similar conversations with my peers, a lot of these anxieties also stemmed from not wanting to lose momentum or the fear of missing out. By 2017, I was burnt out. It felt empowering to tell myself that I needed to take a step back.

Being in London, (while observing Singapore from afar) in an environment like SOAS with a strong student union, allowed me to be an active participant in social issues and discussions––from climate change, rethinking new modes of decolonisation, tackling racism, class inequality, and so on. Although the future is uncertain for me at this point, attending these discussions have informed and made me rethink my own ideas and practice.

There were definitely moments where I wished I had spoken, wrote and done things differently in past projects but I have learnt not to dwell in it. If anything, those lessons, mistakes, failures were necessary. People can hold you accountable for your naivete, and that is okay. We are not infallible. If we can sustain conversations that speak to us passionately, our language will in itself will mature and develop into better tools of expression.

SGABF: Finally, can you recommend up to three zines/art books that have had significant impact on your practice so far?

SI: It’s difficult to pin down absolutes, and this is a fairly personal question to me. I remember someone asking me a similar question on my “current reading list” to which I responded by asking if she was trying to read my intelligence.

So instead, I would like to make a tribute to three of them that remain unread on my shelves. These were some of the few that were recommended to me by close friends within the past year or so. They will be read soon, I hope:

Lapdogs of the Bourgeoisie: Class Hegemony in Contemporary Art edited by Tirdad Zolghad, FIELDS: An Itinerant Inquiry Across the Kingdom of Cambodia edited by Charlotte Huddleston and Roger Nelson, Bubble Gum & Death Metal (BGDM) Issue 1: Sharing by Denise Yap

Syaheedah Iskandar is undertaking her MA in History of Art and Archaeology at the School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS), University of London and was previously Curatorial Assistant at NTU Centre for Contemporary Art Singapore (2014 – 2018). She is currently researching and writing on visual theory within the paradigm of Southeast Asia. She is the inaugural Emerging Writers’ Fellow for the academic journal Southeast of Now: Directions in Contemporary and Modern Art in Asia, working on an article about ghaib (unseen) within the vernacular Malay world. She also embodies another persona as a DJ, under the moniker of Jaydah.

SUPERNORMAL

Photo Credit: SGABF

SGABF: Hi Kian Peng and Ivan, can you tell us more about your work at Supernormal and your design practice, Modular Unit?

IVAN (I): I take on a number of things, such as post-production, print and ceramics.

KIAN PENG (KP): Ivan does more than that. He is a ceramist and is part of the ceramics collective Weekend Worker. Modular Unit is a design studio we both founded. We do a range of things, such as publications like the one we recently created for Singapore Design Week. We also work on branding and websites. Modular Unit also specialises in exhibition designs, interactive installations and motion graphics.

I’m a designer and an artist. Ivan usually handles more of the print aspects of design while I take on the digital side of things. We both teach on the side. Artistically, I focus on media art and new media, seeping into the work we do at Modular Unit and our gallery space, Supernormal.

SGABF: What is the value of zines and self-published materials to you?

KP: To me, there is something quite precious about self-published zines in a way that’s similar to B-grade movies. Self-published zines have no commercial pressure to perform. They are more about communicating and expressing certain concerns we have. They have a unique voice that is very pure and focused, as compared to other zines that might serve vested interests.

I: I think different sentimental values exist for self-published materials, depending on the underlying message. There isn’t a brief to answer, and it’s more of a freeflow approach. Self-published works can, however, be quite stressful if you are looking at producing something really comprehensive that takes a longer time to produce. In short, it’s about the value and how much you want to put into it. I personally find self-published zines more realistic in terms of content.

KP: Design wise, there’s also a lot more freeplay. Looking at Rubbish Famzine by family collective Holycrap, the things they do might never be approved in a commercial context because it is so crazy and totally nonsensical to produce. Yet, for them it is about the process and a family undertaking that creates value. These things are typically not commercially viable unless it is part of a really special advertising campaign.

SGABF: We are interested in the delineation of Modular Unit and the Supernormal space. What was the initial impetus behind the creation of the latter and how might that have changed over the years? Ideally, what do you want Supernormal to become?

KP: Ivan’s friend was blasting a message that there was a free space and wanted to find out if anyone was interested in doing anything with it. That led us to viewing the space at 333 Kreta Ayer Road, which eventually became the first location for Supernormal.


Photo: Café CUP by Atelier HOKO, Courtesy of Supernormal

I: We went down without the intention of renting the space. We just wanted to see it.

KP: We felt that there was potential and approached the architect renting out the space. We suggested that people didn’t really have a reason to visit the block, which might explain why it’s difficult to let the space out. We thought of doing a series of pop-up shows to drive traffic for the place. After about a month of doing it, we decided to continue because the experience was quite valuable for us. The ethos is similar to the creation of self-published zines – existing as a platform for alternative and emerging makers who might lack access to more established spaces. The short answer is: There was no initial impetus for Supernormal. This is something I find common among independent and artist-run spaces in Singapore. Things just happen.

We don’t have a clear five or ten year plan. Our hope is that it will one day grow to become a mid-sized museum or gallery, like spaces in Korea and Japan. That is already an upgrade from artist-run spaces. We would love to build a design studio at the top floor. However, this is still a faraway dream. Currently, our focus is on the ground activities and events. We aren’t so interested in being a commercially-viable space at the moment.

SGABF: A significant ethos of the Supernormal space seems to be a desire to present experimental and offbeat projects. How do you determine works like these?

KP: We don’t have a specific guideline. A lot of it is based on gut feeling. We want to show experimental and newer ways of approaching things because design and art in Singapore feels very safe, most of the time. Those who are often experimental are marginalised, especially in design. A common thread across different institutions, at least in the schools Ivan and I have been in and taught in, is that experimental works are somewhat discouraged. There is a lack of focus on process, whereas results are prioritised. The space tries to promote and encourage process-driven works locally.

I once received a question from a student from my time at Nanyang Polytechnic’s School of Interactive and Digital Media. It was casual, but left a strong impression on me. I was teaching an experimental module and a student asked me, “We learn all these things, but where are we going to show them?”

That got me thinking about how we lack spaces to display such works in Singapore. For artists, even though the landscape isn’t fantastic, there are still spaces to work with. However, there are no specialised spaces that encourage experimental, off-beaten or new genres for design. This is the same with magazines and publishing.

SGABF: A number of shows organised by Supernormal have explored the intersection of technology and art, namely your collaboration with SAND Magazine in 2018 (Technology in Art) and Adaptations at Gillman Barracks as part of the 2019 Singapore Art Week. Why the interest in this area and how do you think it has affected the nature of zines, self-publications and other mediums?

KP: The nature of our self-initiated showcases usually comes about from our perspective of technology. Before Modular Unit was around, we were part of an audio-visual group, PMP. That was an audio-visual performative collective that used technology, audio-visuals and live music, which then eventually led to Modular Unit. My own practice also explores the intersection between art, design and technology.

With Supernormal, we wanted to highlight the idea that technology is very much a medium like paint, and can be adopted as a form of material for art-making. A lot of Singaporeans still see technology as a concept belonging to the fields of science and engineering. It’s confusing for them to see technology being used in an artistic context.


Photo Credit: Courtesy of Supernormal

That’s because the world we live in is becoming more and more technologically-driven. Everything we see, hear or converse with is becoming very mediated. As artists and designers, we need to start getting our act together. There tends to be an over-romanticisation of the print medium that we fail to see the potentialities of technological mediums. With the Technology in Art and Adaptations, we were basically trying to showcase works that used technology in meaningful, poetic and contextualised ways. I think there are a lot of works using technology just for the sake of it, even in the arts, so our aim is to present a different perspective to this whole phenomenon.

Today, we have the luxury of perusing aggregated content from social media channels. The greater volume of content changes the way we look at things. Because of that, we need to start looking at what we want technology to do for us, and understanding how it works in order to have control over what we are trying to produce. Otherwise, we would be caught in a perilous situation where users are being  manipulated with all these information. For example, the only source of news for many people is Facebook. That is very dangerous because a lot of this news can be biased, and fake, or entertainment news which is very rooted in a journalistic kind of approach. When you do that, your perspective starts becoming very narrow. This also applies to zines.

Online zines are becoming more common. These days, many people are looking at whether zines are even a thing anymore. That’s because of the way content is being served. Blogs and websites are essentially zines, format wise. To truly determine the future of physical zines, a lot of testing and understanding of various concepts around content circulation and consumption have to be done.

I: I think about how online and offline retail might function in the future. Both platforms have to work hand in hand. How will zines negotiate with this relationship? How can makers coordinate the content in both ways? I recently shared a conversation with a friend – we were discussing book designs and formats. Can a book be displayed in newsprint? Perhaps a toilet roll with one column to read? Whatever it is, they still possess the same function of delivering content.

SGABF: The advent of technology can bring about a destabilising feeling, with things being in constant flux and change. Some practitioners choose to veer away from it, revelling in more ‘primitive’ forms and methods while others have actively embraced it.

KP: I think there has always been this phenomenon since the Industrial Revolution. The Luddites refused to acknowledge and adopt technology as part of their lives. Of course that didn’t work out too well. I think what some practitioners really enjoy is the process of printmaking and the tangibility of the format. That is also not to say that technology is entirely rejected. In a way, there is still a lot of room to negotiate around that. The other school of thought is integrating the idea of zines into a more technocentric society. These are two completely different ideas that might eventually form into something else.


Photo Credit: Courtesy of Supernormal

Zines might adopt a new term in the future, where content is served in a completely different way and exists in a virtual world we don’t know of yet. For many years, magazines have struggled to tackle such the dialectic between online and offline. Many magazines have closed down because of the lack of sales.

I: Personally, the physicality and materiality of objects really enhances the sensations of touching, flipping or smelling these items. I think practitioners continue with their approach just because they can’t let go of such feelings and emotions associated with these sensations. Perhaps they find that worth preserving. I think about QR codes and hashtags that are now printed in physical books. These would not make sense in the past. This might be a way to keep these two forms intact – online yet retaining the tangibility of the physical format.

KP: Digital formats, too, are struggling to achieve the same kind of emotional quality. It’s like writing with a pen and typing on a keyboard: these are two completely different modalities that affect our reading behaviours. The focus and perception of the content changes as a result. The people in tech are still trying to figure out how they can reconcile the digital experience with print media.there have been many attempts to research and execute tangible media. As of now, there is still no viable replacement for the print format.

SGABF: The Internet serves as a free or inexpensive space to upload any form of content whereas the cost of printing might prove to be a barrier for printed matter. However, some makers have found that there is a form of layer that filters through, resulting in greater thought put into the production process.

I: That is true. Since the production of a book is expensive, one might practice reducing unnecessary information in the printed form. That leads to a collection of useful, functional content that is being circulated. In comparison, online content might be less digestible for readers due to the large pool of information.

KP: Keeping in mind that the way we write online is different. Curated websites depend on linking. In print media, the ethics and approach of writing switches up. Writers and curators have to exercise a lot more thought with their content. That said, newer generations are looking at how they can gather and generate online writing in a similar fashion to print.

SGABF: What crucial observations have you gathered from the self publishing scene in Singapore, from your various interactions across the art and design communities?

KP: Arguably, zines started from movements such as Dadaism. Then, practitioners would create posters and magazines to address topics of interest. Today in Singapore, there is too much focus on ‘lifestyle’ – at least commercially. Many self-published zines I’ve observed tend to touch more on what young adults really care about. Publications such as SAND Magazine, too, tend to bring out these themes. Having these voices is important.

I think there is a confusion as to what zines should be about. We see many people who just want to make a nice looking zine, but the content is lacking. That also reflects the state of the design scene in Singapore. A lot of it is about making nice posters and aesthetically driven objects, yet not enough thought is put into context or process.

I: I feel that some designers lack in-depth research, which ends up with them producing for the sake of production just to demonstrate something. That changes the perception of what exactly a self-published zine is about as opposed to the initial intention of the Fluxus movement.

KP: I think generally they lack an opinion or a strong belief. Of course they are very much influenced by successful magazines like Monocle. The idea of the zine, as a result, loses its way over time. I think designers like Atelier HOKO should be celebrated more. They are one of the rare few practitioners that look at things in-depth from a design perspective. Designers in Singapore tend to gloss over a lot of things.

I: Today, it seems that it’s not about disseminating information or content but challenging who makes the nicest zine or book. Consumerism doesn’t help when the people who buy are generally attracted to aesthetics. It’s a two-way street. At times, the audience controls what is being produced by artists and designers by way of their reception to certain publications.

SGABF: In terms of taste and appreciation for visual languages, do you think the audience and practitioners should be on the same page? Should the practitioner, then, be devising new approaches to navigate the audience’s perception of design and art?

KP: I think it is possible for practitioners and audience to be on the same level. Practitioners need to be more firm and rooted to their beliefs, carry out and address certain things in the way they know best.. A lot of times they are swayed by audience commentaries.

I: Or driven by numbers – in terms of sales or social media clout. That changes the direction of how independent publications are produced, even.

KP: The whole idea of numbers driving design is a pretty big thing. While I think there are certain advantages to it, there still needs to be a human driven decision-making process. That is not something that can be statistically proven. In Singapore, we tend to have an obsession with numbers that is consistent in different fields. We feel the constant need  to be validated by numbers.

SGABF: Based on what we have discussed so far, how would you weigh the value of events such as Singapore Art Book Fair (SGABF)?

KP: I think such events are important to have. That said, I do think Singapore celebrates the festival culture quite excessively. These activities should still take place outside of large-scale formats and without the need for validation by numbers. I thought the addition of the pre-fair event ‘Deszinenation: Ground Zero’ before the fair dates in June by SGABF was really interesting. The exhibition wasn’t merely concerned about numbers but attempted to critically engage audiences.


Photo Credit: SGABF

I would love to see more individualistic actions happening within Singapore. At least in the art scene, there is an emergence of independently-run spaces. Students and artists are putting up their own shows. There are definitely more small-scale events popping up, and I would love to see that happening for design as well.

I: I think it is the nature of the business of design that does not allow for such practices. If you are a design studio like us that also explores art, that might change the language of communication. Design studios mainly operate on the business model of specialisation. If this change in focus can happen, it will switch up the entire scene.

SGABF: 
Numbers are used to determine how successful events, festivals and showcases are. Yet, it’s tricky to gauge how such initiatives are shifting perceptions. Some people think that outreach is important.

KP: It depends on the context. Reaching out is definitely a starting point. A lot of it depends on who is the initiator or parent is. When government agencies become the parents of initiatives, there is no real drive nor passion. I doubt there is any actual engagement with the audience. Small pockets of spaces and independent institutions, such as SGABF, engage with the people more intimately. This allows for real audiences to mature and carry out more constructive discussions. Exhibitions for entertainment’s sake rather than actual cultivation can be overwhelming.

Many designers in Singapore still think that design is a commercial activity, and fail to see the other aspects of design which could potentially take on other forms. That’s why the scene in Singapore is so different from neighbouring countries like Hong Kong, Taiwan and Japan. These areas have room for activities that don’t necessarily ask for a tangible outcome.

I: Adopting matured approaches to information consumption is important. Having independent initiatives such as SGABF would bridge a more in-depth level of functioning, rather than bringing about a surface-knowledge understanding of things. We need more events and showcases that allow for development and growth, regardless of scale.

A project of design studio Modular Unit, Supernormal is an independent art space that strives to present experimental and offbeat works and projects, ranging from design to artistic practices, and the in-betweens. The gallery is known for providing a creative and experimental platform emerging to established artists and designers in Singapore.

ZULKHAIRI ZULKIFLEE

Photo Credit: SGABF

SGABF: Hi Zul, firstly can you tell us more about your practice and how it has developed over the years?

ZULKHAIRI ZULKIFLEE (ZZ): My practice revolves around Malayness. In the recent years, I’ve been toying with the idea of revolving. We seem to place identity as a central aspect, and we’re all going in that direction. I find myself coming to a point of self-perpetuation where I don’t want to be talking about myself. When faced in this situation, I find that people have a difficult time entering the scenario.

Being Asians who are educated based on Western values, we don’t seem to have an issue understanding concepts or ideologies from these places. The contradiction lies in how people struggle to grasp the idea of Malayness. I’m not sure if I’m keen to define what makes anyone Malay which is also a long drawn conversation, rather than what ‘Malay’ can become. How can the Malay identity create space for other self-differentiating identities to enter?

The act of making space can be seen as a move taken when you may not understand where someone is coming from or what they are talking about. You make space to understand instead of passing judgement. I want to look at Malayness as creating a space for Malay people who may not identify with essential traits and at the same time exploring how other races may seek affinities with certain Malay attributes. That’s where the idea of knowledge production, social agency, distinction and taste come in.


Photo Credit: Courtesy of Artist

As an artist, I’m thinking of ways to communicate certain ideas from a visual standpoint. I’m not a cultural theorist nor a sociologist but I do borrow information from these fields to create a language that may bridge certain forms of understanding – especially when I’m working with dense text. How can we open up Malayness? It’s important to consider the works of other practitioners as well. I see the entire landscape as a form of collaboration where we should be listening instead of working in a silo. I have to be very attuned to other artists who are also working around the subject of Malayness. Sure, the works and ways of communication might be different but that’s what contributes to a dialogue. It should never be a monologue.

Photo Credit: Courtesy of Artist

Since we all have different worldviews, making sure that everyone can find affinities to an extent reduces the level of didacticism. That’s something I’ve been wanting to manifest with my own practice.

SGABF: Are you specifically working within the context of Singapore or are you also looking outwards to examine what Malayness means in other regions?

ZZ: When we speak about Malayness, we’re also thinking of the Nusantara (‘archipelago’) – the different Malay identities. People today are seeking their ethnic roots. We’re not just Malay – you could be Boyanese or Javanese, for example.

It’s strange because I’m Javanese but I don’t know anyone in Java. Perhaps if I looked deeper I might find someone with a connection. How can we speak of the Malay identity in the current times? How can I navigate through the everyday life, or as a Malay artist? I’m concerned with bringing the depths of my identity to the forefront, especially in a landscape where there are various majority groups. There’s also the process of understanding where your identity stands on a geographical scale. What happens if I ever step out of Singapore to pursue the arts? Will my work be less relevant?

SGABF: How did you come to create your art zine, Pisau dan Timun (Knife and Cucumber)? Are you ever concerned by the shifts in context as the zine travels to places such as New York and Chicago, in a country that’s so polarised?

Photo Credit: Courtesy of Artist

ZZ: The zine was created from an open call by local risograph press, Knuckles & Notch. They eventually brought the zine to New York Art Book Fair, and it was there that the School of the Art Institute of Chicago purchased a copy and catalogued it in their library.

My approach of making the zine stemmed from a desire to look at mat reps (a group regularly seen as delinquents). At that point in time, I wondered why wasn’t anyone seeing them as a subcultural movement or group. Why were their idiosyncrasies not celebrated? We are familiar with more obvious groups like the punks and skinheads but I was particularly interested in the possibilities of a subculture that exists on a day to day. Readers in the States had no issues referring to the subject matter as a subcultural group.


Photo Credit: Courtesy of Artist

More importantly, the zine was a creative outlet for me. The images were all taken from the Internet, and rearranged from a visual standpoint of communicating the idea of a marginalised or subcultural group. At the same time, I had to be aware that I couldn’t just use these terms loosely. That’s why it’s important to seek affinities from worldviews. I may be creating something with an impetus of talking about a Malay working class, but a person of a different background may find other meanings or interests within it.

There might be some subcultural interests that perhaps vary from my intention but it makes the work more resistant to closure. I’ve become very open to accepting that side of art making and consumption. 

SGABF: Are people necessarily sensitive to local subcultures, in terms of identifying them?

ZZ: If we’re talking about mat reps, it seems that some people don’t really know it exists. It depends on your class or background, perhaps even the school that you went to. I can pick out another Singaporean who’s not Malay and ask them about mat reps. There’s a chance someone might find the term familiar but can’t be entirely sure or even not know it at all.

SGABF: Can these expressions and examinations be made more accessible, and how necessary is it to do so?

ZZ: Well, first of all, I don’t identify as a mat rep. So I don’t see my work as an attempt to represent this group of people. They clearly don’t need it either. I just thought it was a good topic to analyse creatively. There’s no harm making these things more accessible but it’s important to remain authentic about my intentions, and acknowledge the fact that I’m creating a type of semiotic analysis as someone who doesn’t have access to this community even though I’m Malay. Can you just imagine the people who are even further away from me?

I cannot pretend to represent every single Malay household or individual in Singapore. The upper class, for example, may not reveal themselves for us to comprehend. In that sense, even if I were to create some sense of accessibility, it would just be one segment of a rather plural understanding of one group.

SGABF: How would you weigh the maturity of cultural and identity studies and examinations among our society?

Photo Credit: Courtesy of Artist

ZZ: We are definitely doing way better today. What’s interesting is that we see a wave of people who are comfortable with talking about their identities, and to be able to speak from their worldviews and understanding of what a Malay group could be. For me, most of the time it boils down to a sense of comfort where I don’t have to visibly declare the ‘Malayness’ in my work.

At the same time, I suppose some people don’t want to talk about it so as not to limit themselves. There’s this constant fear of pigeonholing when we take positions. Most of the time, we refuse to stay put for fear of missing out. Personally, I like the notion of straddling. I don’t find myself pigeonholed even though my practice is focused on Malayness. Perhaps it’s a mental projection. If you think that you’re being limited then you’ll inadvertently see it that way.

It’s interesting when we view it from a binary perspective. When we set up an exhibition or a showcase that involves alternative spaces or works, that doesn’t mean that we don’t want to be represented by galleries. It’s not always anti-establishment or oppositional. I see it more as being generative. I’ll function differently if you give me a space that’s not a white cube. Similarly, I’ll understand and respond to the structure of a white cube space when presented with the opportunity.

SGABF: As a curator, how purposeful is your selection process in response to the space?

ZZ: I’m usually into the idea of working in unfamiliar spaces because I find certain limitations to be very productive. When looking out for artists or works, the ones that possess a strong visual presence stand out to me. Also, the artist needs to know what they are doing. I’ll always observe if they have great work ethics as a person. Time is also a key factor. It’s usually reasonable to give artists three to four months to create a work. With the shows that I set up, the lead time may be as little as four weeks. It’s stressful but I think there’s also a sense of excitement in trying to make the limitation work.

Whatever that I ride or put forward as a curator is either a response to a current or specific moment with urgent concerns. I don’t see it as a curated show but rather a curatorial proposition. It’s not just about staging a work but how we can talk about certain ideas with a major significance.

SGABF: What are the possibilities of translating these spatial and visual experiences into a publication format such as a zine, art book or monograph?

Photo Credit: Courtesy of Artist

ZZ: For one of the shows that I organised with Nhawfal Jumaat, RUANG, which happened at Joo Chiat, we did produce a catalogue or publication of sorts. I worked with a graphic designer based in Indonesia. During the process, I didn’t see him as just someone to respond to our brief. We saw him as an artist and creative as well. The way the book was made traced the idea of how we could capture the moment and rawness of the space on paper.

SGABF: Do you see publications as tools likely to help develop your practice in a completely autonomous way?

ZZ: Zines and art books are autonomous. However, I don’t wish to mystify or romanticise the idea of books. I believe that reach is important if you’re thinking of disseminating information. Because of that, autonomy is never fully accomplished. If your purpose is to reach out to people, what is really achieved if it doesn’t travel along a circuit?

The discussion of autonomy is similar to the idea of ‘alternative’. Sometimes, radicality isn’t as simple or even necessary. What we do understand from these words? You can never represent something fully. Sure, we can limit certain practices that aren’t ideal and place our own agency but things are liable to shift with the dialogues that are created – at least in a setting where reach is desired.

SGABF: Can you recommend up to three art books and/or zines you’ve read or collected that might have informed your artistic beliefs today?

ZZ: Conference of the Cockroaches - The most despised and the least understood by Zaki Razak, Blnd: The age of darkness & darkness of being 2003 - 2013 by Zaki Razak, In Love by Norah Lea

Zulkhairi Zulkiflee is a visual artist, educator and exhibition-maker based in Singapore. His practice explores the notion of Malayness in relation to knowledge production, the social agency and distinction/ taste.

He has exhibited in several group exhibitions and organised alternative group exhibitions like Malais-A-Trois(2018), LUCKY show (2018), RAID (2018), RUANG (2017) and Dancing on the Spot (2016), tapping on off-kilter locations like an air raid shelter, a vacant shophouse, and a metalworking building.

The beginnings of the zine is commonly associated with the 1920s. Then, artistic and philosophical movements like Surrealism published small runs of print material – most typically characterised by collage and bricolage as forms of expression. It is believed that zines became a distinct form in the 1930s when science fiction fans began to publish and exchange stories (‘fanzines’).  In the 1970s, punk zines came to the forefront as a way to publicise underground shows that were being sidelined by established music press outlets.

Common associations with the zine include the 90s Riot Grrrl movement, which encouraged a new wave of personal and activist content. Likewise in Singapore today, intersectional feminist collective, The Local Rebel, creates zines that address gender equality for youths. Through open calls, the collective gathers contributors who handle visual and written content for each issue.


Image Credit: Courtesy of The Local Rebel


In the past, young artists used zines as a way to break out of the gallery exhibition white cube format. Similarly today, local collective no ceiling paper wall, adopted the format of a zine in their process of reimagining alternative spaces and ways of presenting artworks in 2018.  “A huge challenge was piecing together the video projections and translating the experience from a physical space to the pages of a zine. The format was ultimately chosen because we wanted to reach out to a wider demographic instead of keeping the works contained within a section space. For us, it was also about breaking out of terminologies too.”


Image Credit: SGABF

How a society shapes socio-political consciousness can be examined alongside the resurgence of zines in each particular generation. Each time, makers are encouraged to look towards more options to explore zines created based on the perspectives of various cultural backgrounds, lifestyles and myriad of influences. A street library along Little India filled with controversial zines, the Zine Library by local collective Squelch Zines and Singapore’s first Queer Zinefest (QZF) started in 2018 are part of a new wave of zines local audiences have experienced.

Image Credit: Queer Zinefest

In the early stages of QZF, Gabbi Wenyi Ayane pooled resources from experienced makers and organisers in Singapore. She first brought the idea to poet and comedian Stephanie Dogfoot who introduced Malaysian zine distributors that expanded the initiative in the region. She also roped in fellow artist and illustrator Joy Ho, who designed the event visuals and assisted with the running of the festival. To ensure that QZF responds to audiences effectively, Gabbi brought in arts manager Akansha Aether into the team. This mix of backgrounds within the organising committee has  made the first edition of the festival and its year-round workshops more diverse and free.

The culture of zines looks beyond the product. Instead, we are taught to explore ways to create safe spaces for makers to express and share their ideas. As Akansha described, “We wanted everyone to have a good time, not just look at the zines. We wanted them to stay, have good food, learn about the community through other workshops, and bring people together with music.”


Image Credit: Queer Zinefest

In the age of capitalism, economic numbers are often the only measure of value and success, especially when long term sustainability is the goal. This leaves little room to exploration for small groups, usually with little to no organisational support, such as QZF. What Gabbi and her team had to consider was the number of community members. “In comparison to other events, we had a much smaller volume of zine makers which forced us to think of other things that people can do. Ultimately, it’s still a community that we are growing here,” she explained.

As we develop the local zine culture, it is important to understand the past challenges faced by predecessors. The first idea of local zines sparked from a lack of uncensored publications in Singapore. You couldn’t turn to state-owned magazines and expect full disclosure on concerns such as the realities of middle class families, people who were coming to terms with their identity and inter-racial experiences. Even consumption of music, books and films could be too sterile if one depended too much on the ratings and listings on mainstream and family-friendly channels. One solution was pop culture magazine BigO, arguably one of the most prized possessions of the Singapore landscape.

As Jasmine Ng, Associate Producer of Shirkers and filmmaker puts it, “you could say that [BigO] was Singapore’s first ever alternative indie-culture zine. It started in that photostated glory days where everything was kind of cut and paste. These were the pre-internet days so things were a lot harder to search out. But the thing about the culture of zines was that you could trade or order. They came to you easily enough.”

Imagine this scenario – meeting Phillip Cheah, one of the most important figures in the Singapore film scene as a young filmmaker. Having created Before I Get Old (BigO) with his brothers and friends, after a line from a Patti Smith cover of ‘My Generation’ which said, hope I die before I get old.

“We were there as 14-year-olds and wanted to be part of it. All these people had in-depth access to comic books and music that I have never heard of. It was a treasure cove. I was also introduced to all kinds of music and movies articulated from a local perspective. Yet, it was very much this boy’s gang and we didn’t know how to fit in,” Jasmine recounted.


Image Credit: Courtesy of TODAY

In the backdrop of political unrest in the 60s and 70s, the 80s and 90s saw the introduction of several stringent regulations to curb noise. This made the zine an even more powerful and democratic medium. “Anybody could do anything and make anything their subject, from a guy making a comic zine about working in the old folks home to a particular obsession with a music genre. That was very eye-opening, especially coming from a place like Singapore,” Jasmine explained.

The counterculture spirit of zines has certainly evolved with shifts in media governance, public perceptions and approaches to socio-political issues. As Joy (QZF) pointed out, “I think a large part of the reason why we can say zines look ‘less political’ now is because we can openly express our beliefs today. How much access zines give and its transformations are a reflection of how we react to culture.”

Photo Credit: SGABF /Deszinenation: Ground Zero (Exhibition)

For an object as politically weighted as the zine, how telling is its resurgence across generations? Members of collective, Squelch Zines, seem to resonate with the zine experience with our current climate. “Zines are a reflection of the mindset of society, particularly in the perspective of the artists who create them. The objective of a zine has never changed – it has always been and will continue to be a medium for communication. That is its core purpose,” they explained.

That said, it can be argued that the idea of liberation today is no longer associated with the politicalness of subjects. Moving beyond the political themes of zine making, then, could be seen as a more open approach to sharing ideas. This argument in itself is highly debatable, like how zine culture has progressed. What could be considered as ‘under the radar’ in the 80s and 90s might be vastly different in the present context. What does it say about our zine culture when we reference productions like BigO while encouraging more makers to ‘return’ to the advent of cost-effective publishing with photocopy machines?



Image Credit: SGABF /Collection of Squelch Zines

The openness of the zine brings about greater cultural participation. A medium for youths to claim their place in society, especially those who find themselves on the margins of power. It reaffirms the strength of communication. As no ceiling paper wall mentioned, “anyone can make a zine, which is really flexible. The zine culture pushes a form of unified and harmonious activity. Things like stepping into a bookshop and discovering where to get the best pizza in town from a zine or getting an anarchist to write an essay. You can read a zine anywhere, too. Formalities and structure can be intimidating, and the fluidity of zines help people get over that.”

To fully understand the underbelly of Singaporean culture through zines, we should look towards unobserved communities that would undoubtedly piece a more comprehensive and inclusive explication of the belief systems present in our society.

Photo Credit: H55

SGABF: You’ve run H55 independently since 1999. Why did you choose to stay independent after all these years?

HANSON HO (HH): Prior to that I hadn't really worked for anyone for very long. At that point, I was quite desperate to come out and be independent, not creatively but financially independent. I saw a dead end coming my way in the long run so I felt that the only way to propel myself and to accelerate my growth was really to set up my own studio. At the time I found that my predecessors in the industry were quite boring in the way they were being run. They were mostly brand consultants or publications designers who designed things like annual reports or newsletters whereas our counterparts in the West or even in Japan were doing a lot of things that were carrying independent voices — where their individualities were allowed to be expressed in their clients' works. I thought that this should be the way to go and since I couldn't win my predecessors, I had to change the game. So if I wanted to come out on my own, I had to do something that is more individualistic, rather than just follow the ways of operation which were already established in the past.

I operate in a less hierarchical manner. The studio is fairly small and for many years, I rented it on my own and my clients from a very niche market found it refreshing because they are meeting the creative, the owner, and also the accounts manager — all in one. In a way that’s what architects have been doing. To me, that's beneficial to the work rather than having too many people which might lead to miscommunication and also, having to bear the higher costs with a bigger team. So, the process is less formal because it’s less hierarchical. The relationship that I have with my clients is more friendship-based. With this, my work becomes more individualistic and more expressive.

Some say the studio has a house-style, which is something that was not allowed previously. The mindset was that designers should have different ideas and styles to cater to different clients. But for H55, we have a fundamental belief and approach, and clients come to us for that.

Graphic designers don't generally have a style, they listen to what the clients want. For us, it's different. Our work, by and large, has a spectrum of look and feel, and a way of thinking. The clients then come to us for that, and not the other way around.

In terms of ownership, it is still independently-owned and of course, that makes a lot of things easier in terms of the culture and decision-making. I basically have full control of the creative direction and finances. For me, that control is very important. It allows me to steer in different directions, whenever needed. There is more freedom, and when there is more freedom, the work becomes more creative.


Photo Credit: H55

SGABF: You spearheaded and curated many projects, including LTA’s Art-in-Transit Programme for the Downtown Line. Do you find that your approach differs when it comes to showcasing art on different platforms – from Biennales, gallery shows, to public spaces?

HH: We definitely need to cater to the collaborators' needs when we are working with someone but, by and large, the way of managing a project is the same for me. It's to identify and be extremely clear about the perimeters and limitations of the project and then brief the artists, designers, or myself to try and satisfy a number of checkboxes. It may sound very uncreative, but that's where the real creativity lies. Many designers or creatives say that a project cannot turn out well because of these limitations — money, space, etc. — but there are always escape routes and if you can find the escape route to every project, then all your projects will be portfolio material, works that you are proud to show rather than feel ashamed of.

I think it's about ignoring how people think it should be done. It helps to look at examples of good work or works that are good but not entirely relevant. For example, if you're designing a novel, it doesn't mean you can only refer to novels. You can look at magazines, posters, or even contemporary art, maybe that can inform the design. It is important that you don't have all these preconceived ideas, and you're not afraid or think that just because the client thinks a certain way, you have to do things differently. You can incorporate some of the client's thinking while showing them what other things are possible.

SGABF: What do you think is the current climate of Singapore’s design, and where do you see it going in the next 10 years?

HH: There are definitely more younger designers and smaller studios that have sprouted in the last five to ten years, but still not very many. When I first started out in 1999, I was probably the only one. Thankfully I also had peers like Asylum and Kinetic who did the same thing, which I think is a significant movement. It was encouraging for each one of us; to see each of us doing something different but interesting. Right now I would say we're at the low point of the wave, where the scene is pretty slow and stagnant in some ways and will continue to be like that for awhile.

I try to create a map for myself and my work; where it's going in 20 to 30 years' time. As I continue to map my way into the future, thinking of what I do, I explore deeper into the craft. The works need to become better and more significant. My interest from the beginning was always to intervene with the culture in Singapore. Which means that I need to engage with the correct types of clients and audience so that my work, books, logos or brands stay and survive as part of the visual culture around us. They should become monumental as time passes, and not get thrown into dustbins like brochures. I hope to create these epitomes of things so that when I reach a certain old age, they will all be floating around Singapore and other parts of the world where people can find and enjoy.

Photo Credit: H55

SGABF: How do you perceive the cultural impact design has on a place and society like Singapore?

HH: I don’t really like to proclaim that design can have a big cultural impact. It will definitely have some sort of impact but I don’t think it will "save the world". However, I think what’s more important is the acknowledgement that design is important, that design thinking is important and that having good taste is important — good taste in a broader context, not just dressing well and looking fashionable but having a healthy mindset that imagination, creativity and diversity as a way of life is important.

Design has undoubtedly influenced Singapore. I mean, everybody has become more image-savvy because of mobile devices, globalisation, access to all kinds of media and magazines, and different brands that have landed in Singapore. Singaporeans appreciate design a lot more now than when I first started. They do see the relevance of design, and that it’s not something that is frivolous.


Photo Credit: H55

SGABF: Finally, SGABF2018 aims to provide a space for artists, designers, creatives, and consumers to think critically about art — in its various forms and formats. When it comes to critical thinking, what sort of questions or ideas do you hope people will hold in minds when engaging in a festival like that?

HH: Hopefully it will be, in a way, disruptive to how they would normally think about things and also to realise the importance of publishing. I hope the younger generation don't see art books as a kind of sentimental object because in a digital age, people see print, polaroids, photography, film photography, vinyls, as a nostalgic, sentimental thing. Hopefully, they see it as processes or a means that can help them to not just generate new ideas but question things that they always thought were a certain way; to disrupt the way they think and to see publishing as a kind of validation to self-existence. Because ultimately that's why people publish. It's not a sentimental thing like keeping a diary or a scrapbook, it's more than that. It is to validate that they are different. Whether you're publishing something into a book or on a website doesn't matter. We have to embrace diverse viewpoints and this can be expressed through publishing so that you can share these ideas with people.

H55 is an award-winning Singapore-based design and communication consultancy with a reputation for conceiving relevant, engaging and effective ideas. Since its establishment in 1999, H55 has been independently owned by award-winning creative director Hanson Ho, who continues his hands-on attitude towards design and project management. Till this day, H55 remains as a light and compact office so as to be creatively sustainable, focused and dedicated to a select range of clients. H55 has worked with a variety of clients ranging from government ministries, museums, public-listed companies, small-to-medium-sized enterprises, new startups and individuals. 

SAMANTHA LO

Photo Credit: SGABF

SGABF: Having been an artist and creative for the past 10 years, how do you think Singapore has progressed in terms of our appreciation for the arts? How would you describe the culture where we are now?

SAMANTHA LO (SL): I think that a lot more money is going into art festivals and the like. There are going to be more festivals in the future to look out for and more opportunities for the public to be exposed to various art forms, that’s the optimistic side of things. It also promises more artists to show their works, which is great. Overall, the exposure to arts has increased quite a lot over the years but the understanding of it will come later on. I’m hoping they will start to form a proper understanding and appreciation for the arts rather than just appreciating from afar — to take one more step to understand and be better educated about it.

There will be people in or closely related to the community who will have discourses that will bring a deeper understanding of the arts. More of such discourses have to take place. In order for that to happen, we need to have more people talking about art — having debates and discussions about certain art forms, artworks, or artists. A good start will be to generally keep the conversations going. We need a lot of things to change and to make it more encouraging and nurturing for arts to flourish in the first place. The thing is, I can’t say for sure what it is we need but I would say education plays a big part in it, not just in schools but everywhere else.

It’s how we are going to get them engaged and interested in the first place, right?

The point is to actually start some place but once we hit a plateau, we shouldn’t just keep doing the same things, we have to start finding other ways to keep relevant — to try and reach a new demographic.


Photo Credit: Courtesy of Artist

SGABF: In what direction do you hope to see the arts in Singapore move towards in the next 10 years?

SL: The government is putting more money into the arts and I would like to see how this pans out in the future. Right now they are focusing on engaging and exposure through social media. In time we can only wait for more institutions who will help build on this. Maybe it means making art a compulsory thing, I don't know. Our focus has always been the economy so we have to see if this whole state is making art a viable source of income that can sustain people's careers and actually make sense; to show that there is a new economy out there that helps creative work flourish. Just like how design has been monetised, it can be the same for the arts. If the government recognises that, then perhaps they will create an environment that would be able to even all of us out on the playing field, and hopefully it will become a social norm that artists can actually sustain themselves and not scrimp on everything.

The ideal environment for an artist in Singapore is to not have to worry about things like rental, or finding a space they can practise in. Sure you can make money and sustain yourself in this industry but you have to compromise on a lot, the government can only help so much. Right now they are doing what they think is right, but I don't think they really know for sure what the issues are. I won't say it's bleak at this point because at least we have some government funding, which is great.

SGABF: Your work Progress: The Game of Leaders engaged with people from various walks of lives since its creation – and not just in Singapore. If you were given a choice to weed out or build on a particular category that forms our idea of society progression, what would it be and why?

SL: That work was reflective of the different traits of first world countries, which were all very practical things. If I could add on, it would be an understanding of the arts and culture, and to have more humanity-driven work. Although that wouldn't fit into the concept so much because chances are, it will only stabilise the structure and not cause it to fall.

For example, studying literature in school is so important in expanding our understanding of the world. If we really look into more humanities-related subjects and continue building the curriculum from there, it will be able to instil in the younger generation and their parents that there is a possibility in the arts. I think parents just need to be convinced that there is longevity in these plans and there has always been some truth to the fact that it is easier to pursue the arts if you come from a comfortable or privileged background. There is a lot of truth in that because people actually leave the arts to go into other careers because they can't feed themselves anymore.


Photo Credit: Courtesy of Artist

SGABF: There seems to be a very unspoken, maybe even unknown gap between the "creative industry" and the "general public".  What do you think artists like yourself can do to narrow that gap?

SL: A lot of people have been going into community art. For example, statutory boards want to get the public engaged and they always think of workshops and community art — which is great, to a certain extent. It teaches people new skills and gets them involved in the creation process. Not everyone understands art, but the point is to make an effort to learn.

The barrier entry is going to be a lot higher if we don't make it accessible; people won't even want to be a part of it. They think art is pretentious and that whole attitude has got to stop.

It's going to take awhile for them to understand art but the whole point is we don't have that discourse yet as to whether or not we understand an artist's works. The discernment comes after the discourse. If we can discern if this is good or bad art, at least we'll know what we like and dislike — and that's the whole point. You have to know what you like and don't like, rather than looking at a piece of work and registering in your mind that if you pretend to know and understand it, you will "score well". For all you know, you don't like it or understand it, but you cannot validate your thoughts because you think that language is only reserved for pretentious people who are in the arts.


Photo Credit: Courtesy of Artist

SGABF: How do you think initiatives like SGABF can help to further advance the arts in Singapore, not just as a career option but as a way of life?

SL: It’s a very niche category, but since it’s a passion project that the festival director thinks is worth it, then I’m sure she knows and has already considered the risks and benefits it will bring to the people. Which means art books will have more exposure — not just towards the public but also a lot of people in the community. Essentially, these things will only catch on with time.

Sam Lo (aka SKL0) is a self-taught Singapore-based artist whose work revolves around social commentaries fuelled by daily observations of her surroundings and research into the socio-political climate. Her intrigue with the concept of culture and bold execution in some of her earliest forays into street art got her dubbed the ‘Sticker Lady’.

SGABF: Your works deal with the quirks of the human experience. In examining sex as a visual language, why did you choose to specifically draw from what society deems as discomforting?

Liana Yang (LY): I won’t say it’s always about sex but rather sex is used as a reference or starting point. The sexual references often seen in some of my works functions more as a subversion in which I question the human condition. Moreover, intimacy and passion are linked to love and desire too.  

My main interest is really about relationships. I am extremely fascinated with human interactions and emotions.  More specifically, human interactions and the ambiguity and duality of it. For the past 4 years, I have been exploring what modern romance and love are about by trying out online dating. I am also very fascinated with the triviality in life - the mundane things we take for granted. The references to sex might seem trivial, but at the same time sex is also a compelling way to draw the audience in.

Essentially, what I am exploring is much deeper and there are many more layers to it. Sex is just one of the many facets, because it is a mix of passion, desire, and love. If you examine these individually, they are all unique.

But when you lump them all together, the end product is usually sexual, so to speak. There is something very animalistic about it but it’s that complication and tension that I find interesting and worth exploring. These days, modern romance and relationships have become a minefield, like how it could mean one thing but also another. There is something very transactional about sex and how we handle relationships these days too. Coupled with what we see on social media which is constantly shaping and trying to project an ideal lifestyle in a certain fantastical way. But what is an ideal relationship or ideal happiness? It leads us to crave for certain things that might not be that important or useful.

From the experiences and the people that I meet through online dating, I gather information and try to see how I can create new work. Sometimes, friends would jokingly ask if the guy that I am dating is going to be my next “new project”. However, it is important that the ‘man’ or the 'subject matter' in my work is always anonymous. This is crucial as I want the audience to inject their own narrative and experiences into my artwork.

SGABF: What’s most important in image making to you?

LY: It has to convey a certain feeling and ambiguity. That is why I like working with photography. A photograph doesn’t disclose the full truth even though it’s an equipment of documentation. Image-making to me has to work around what I am exploring. There is a certain fleeting and lo-fi quality to my work because it is also voyeuristic in nature. As each narrative or work is my invitation to the viewer to indulge in their own personal experiences.

SGABF: Have you ever had to deal with your works being deemed as too ‘provocative’ in your career? From your experience, is that more of a setback or distinctive trait that does more good for artists like yourself?

LY: Perhaps yes and no. As mentioned, I weave a mix of truth and fiction into my artworks. Take for example, one can never tell where the exact location is - if it's my bedroom, someone else's, or a hotel room, and who the person is exactly. Nobody really knows for sure if it is staged, or did happen or not.

SGABF: When faced with an installation, the viewer connects with the artist through his or her work. When putting your works up at such shows, how do you mediate this form of connection or conversation with the viewer for yourself?

LY: I try to create an experience instead of showing static images. How I incorporate my work and use the site for my work are very important. When viewers go into my show, it is the experience that I want them to take away. Apart from just images, it can be a combination of sound, videos and even scent. The human senses are not just limited to vision, it’s a combination of everything. Hence, I try to show works so that allows the viewers to experience something a bit more.

I’ve always believed in that, which is why I create books and zines myself too. It’s something you can hold and cherish. In a book form, the viewer also get to experience the work in a different angle which is curated and edited by the artist. So yes, the art book is very important, it acts as a portable vessel or vehicle to show a body of work in a different way.

SGABF: Where do you hope Singapore will be in terms of our arts and culture in the next 10 years?

LY: I hope for it to be more critically engaging, in terms of approach and understanding, as well as having more interesting spaces available to work in and to showcase work. There is definitely increased support for the arts, but there is still a lot to be done with education. I am not trying to say that there should be more provocative works but rather, increased education on how the public could approach other types of artworks because education seems to be focused on more family and community oriented works. The provision of more unique spaces is essential to challenge how artists can produce and showcase works that are out of the usual whitewashed walls, as well as catering for a different meaningful audience engagement.

Liana Yang is rarely motivated by direct beauty, but rather by the aesthetics of social and sociological interactions. She is drawn to the trivialities and oddities that we encounter in our daily experiences. This includes the enigmatic and unseen aspects of relationships, as well as explorations of memory and associations in our contemporary culture.

CHARMAINE POH

Photo Credit: SGABF 

SGABF: Earlier this year, you created a photo series revealing the rituals of Singapore’s working women, called All in Her Day’s Work. How powerful a medium do you think photography or art is when it comes to empowering people and bringing about changes pertaining to societal concerns/conditioning?

CHARMAINE POH (CP): To be honest, I don’t know if photography itself can change anything. I know stories help people empathise but I don’t think it’s guaranteed or only limited to one medium. The job of a storyteller is to connect different groups of people, make empathy sort of visible. It’s not really about just the medium itself.

Personally, the camera offers me a way into people’s worlds and a way of both connecting with someone and disconnecting to protect yourself. Because in the end, as an image maker, I have to step outside of the situation, to literally frame situations and understand it. Photography allows that.

Writing is different — you experience something and often you pull the experience in your mind, but then you go back and write about it. But you can't do that with photography. You act within the moment itself at that period of time and it’s something you have to be a part of. Like for documentary photography, the image cannot happen if you don’t live that life. You have to put yourself in that situation and talk to those people and make yourself part of the story; change your own life to make that image.

Photo Credit: Charmaine Poh, Close Enough

SGABF: When photographing people, what’s your approach when it comes to making sure that the process is comfortable for your subjects?

CP: The approach differs from people to people. For some, especially if you know it's going to be published and a message for the public to view, then it’s very important to let them know from the start. Sometimes, you have to spend time with them for a while. You know when people are comfortable with you. Often that means you’re feeling comfortable yourself and try to give them that confidence that you can be trusted. Eventually, they do let their guard down.

There is always a need to have a certain kind of conversation. A lot of my work is quite intimate so I cannot do it without the conversations. For Room, I spent a lot of hours just sitting with them, chatting. The images you see are results of all those hours. From the moment I say “hi” to when I start shooting, the entire process matters.

Photo Credit: Charmaine Poh, Room

SGABF: Where do you think Singapore stands in photography – in terms of quality, culture, and viability as a long-term career?

CP: It’s really great that we have a couple of institutions that integrate photography. Those have really created some kind of ecosystem and I’m really grateful for that. At the same time, being the small industry that we are, there will always be a disadvantage in terms of expecting a wider audience and financial viability. I think there should be more galleries that focus on photography. The state of affairs for documentary photographers now is kind of lacking. You don’t have an equivalent of The New York Times here where they hire freelancers to write or photograph; it doesn’t really exist here.

SGABF: How do you think initiatives like the Singapore Art Book Fair can further advance the culture of photography in Singapore not just as a career option but also as an art form?

CP: I just had a discussion with a friend about censorship and I think if we keep accepting that censorship is okay and keep telling ourselves that it’s needed because the general public does not understand and we keep divorcing ourselves from this elusive "general public", nothing else will change.

We will always be stuck in this position until we recognise that we are part of that community and we have to own up to it. We are part of the general public. As much as we seem to be avant-garde, we belong to the citizen base. So it doesn’t really make sense to separate yourself from that entity. We need to acknowledge that there are certain principles that we have to stand for and weare the ones who need to cut everything open and pave that way for the "general public".

Photo Credit: Charmaine Poh, Close Enough

We are more complex than we think so why limit ourselves to absorbing information in just one way? Everything stems from this position of informing and educating, everything starts from there and it’s self-perpetuating. People did not come out from the womb to be a philosopher, an author or an art historian. It doesn’t work that way. I mean, sure there are people who have more academic inclinations but in the end, it’s still the environment.  So, pushing that boundary, whatever that boundary looks like, is always a good thing.

Charmaine Poh (b.1990) is a Chinese-Singaporean artist and documentarian. Her work concerns memory, gender, youth, and solitude. Specifically, she is interested in the performance of self, and the multiple layers of identity we build. She often works with the form of narrative portraiture. Focused on issues in Asia, her work has been recognised internationally.

SGABF: In your opinion, do you think that the trend of following trends has watered down the art of music?

April Lee (AL): Every individual has their own personal perspective as to what is trendy. I personally enjoy music labels such as RVNG Intl., Mexican Summer and Music From Memory, who I think have given new meaning to the art of music, so I would define them as trendsetters.

SGABF: ASPIDISTRAFLY has performed in countries other than Singapore. In your opinion, do the cultures of different countries affect the receptiveness of your audience to your music?

AL: The Japanese audience, in general, have been the most receptive to our music since we first stepped into Japan 11 years ago, and that receptiveness has come from not just listeners but also artists, musicians, and even fashion designers who were first drawn to our music, then eventually becoming close friends and collaborators.

Several of them have contributed significantly to our past two albums as guest musicians, and are now currently working with us on our next album. Recently I've been working on our next music video with Japanese fashion label LAD MUSICIAN and director Daisuke Shimada. Last year, we were extremely surprised to find out that Goro Inagaki of popular Japanese group SMAP came to our show to watch us live, and later played our music at his radio show. This really brings the saying 'music transcends all boundaries’ to life.

Photo Credit: Christopher Sim

SGABF: As a musician with a niche audience, do you think there are enough venues and opportunities for you to play in Singapore? Is there an equivalent of SGABF for the music scene that ASPIDISTRAFLY would like to see being organised?

AL: Years ago in Japan, we were looking for a resonant space for our concert, which led us to discover a church in Tokyo that would be perfect for our of music. Any church organisation would've been apprehensive about hosting a secular event, but once they heard our music they immediately saw how it would fit into the space, and understood our need for a conducive setting where music could be appreciated quietly and attentively.

On the other side of the world today, a movement known as Ambient Church has been bringing together legends like Laraaji and Windy & Carl with current generation artists such as Weyes Blood and Visible Cloaks at a church in Brooklyn, for the same reason of allowing an audience to enjoy music in its most suited setting. This has always been our ethos, regardless of wherever we perform in the world. If there are not enough venues, we can create them at the most unlikely places.

Speaking of equivalents to SGABF, we performed at the Seoul Art Book Fair in 2013 where it was interesting to acquaint with other Korean musicians including Oh Hyuk, the lead singer of Hyukoh. Vice versa, I'd like to see the same cross-cultural synergy at SGABF someday.

SGABF: You have worked at fashion labels as a Senior Art Director. Has your personal taste for the arts influenced your work? Has working with companies that are not your own contributed or restricted your creative direction in any way?

AL: I co-founded KITCHEN. LABEL with Ricks Ang, a design practice and record label, working as an Art Director for 10 years for both the label and clients. In 2013 I left to pursue my interest in art direction for fashion, while still contributing on a project basis to KITCHEN. LABEL. This interest has eventually connected back to my personal work in the capacity of ASPIDISTRAFLY, for example, in art directing a brand collaboration shoot with NARS for their Sarah Moon collection.

At the moment, I'm working with local fashion label Love, Bonito (as the head of the creative department) which will unfold an exciting rebrand this year.

Photo Credit: Christopher Sim

SGABF: What do you think is the current climate of the arts and culture in Singapore? And how can events like the Singapore Art Book Fair help propel things forward?

AL: In an age of digital clutter I'm glad to see tactility and printed matter still being revered. At SGBAF 2014, I was booth neighbours with Nguan, a Singaporean photographer whose work I really enjoy, having been online friends for a long time. Seeing how far he's come shows that the international community has no problem recognising artists no matter where they're from, as long their work has substance.

ASPIDISTRAFLY was founded in Singapore in 2001. Taking their name from George Orwell’s novel “Keep the Aspidistra Flying”, the duo was formed by singer-songwriter April Lee and producer-guitarist Ricks Ang. The duo play a flickeringly filmic mixture of ambient folk with gossamer-like vocal harmonies and guitar-based drone wrapped in a delicate lo-fi haziness. Best known for her distinctively smoky low alto voice, April’s lyrical storytelling and artwork form the backbone of ASPIDISTRAFLY’s vision.

Photo Credit: Queering Friendships by Mixed Rice Zines

OBJECT LESSONS SPACE (C): Hi Queer Reads Library and Queer Zinefest! Our first question for both teams relates to the zines that were selected for our conversation. It was clear that the zines that were chosen are near and dear to the hearts of both teams. Could you both tell us a little bit as to how you picked these zines out, and how your own personal connection with zines began?

Queer Reads Library (QRL): When Beatrix and Kaitlin were co-founding QRL, Beatrix connected the library to Unity Press from Oakland, California. Through Unity, we were introduced to the Taiwanese-American artist J. Wu who creates compilation zines under the title Mixed Rice Zines. Kaitlin connected with J over email in 2018 during QRL’s first pop-up, and one year later they met IRL in Taipei. Kaitlin and J felt instant friend chemistry, and J started brainstorming their next collaborative zine with the theme Queering Friendships, on finding love and intimacy outside heteronormative/romantic norms. The zine features over thirty contributors, mainly queer/trans and Asian identified. It feels fitting that this zine about friendship is laced through with personal connections: the mutual support between Beatrix and Jeffrey, Jeffrey and J, J and Kaitlin, and all the contributors who sent in their photos of friends, friend-love letters, poems, drawings and texts.

As for the back issues of Horizons, the publication is named after a support hotline that is currently led by Reggie Ho (also founder of LGBTQI+ nonprofit Pink Alliance). Founded in February 1992, Horizons hotline is one of Hong Kong’s oldest queer support organisations, and has three call lines in Cantonese and English. Ho joined as a volunteer in 1998. Their publication Horizons is described as “Hong Kong’s comprehensive resource on lesbian & gay counselling since 1992". It contains bi-lingual coverage of queer meet-up spots, letters to the editor, event/party/parade listings, and resource lists. The design is eye-catching and playful, with collage elements and bright spot colors (lime green, egg yolk yellow) that celebrate a queer sensibility alongside important information.

Dysphoria Diarrhoea, Image courtesy of Aki Hassan (they/them)


Queer Zine Fest (QZF): We picked zines that are by Queer zinesters in Singapore! There are so many good local LGBTQIA+ creators making punk zines, chapbooks, art zines, political zines… (and you can find lots of them through us!) but we finally managed to narrow it down to two that we're personally enjoying a lot right now. Aki's zine is so comfortingly confessional and warm. Especially now that lots of us Queers are disconnected from our LGBTQIA+ families or stuck with less-accepting housemates, Dysphoria Diarrhoea is a knowing smile and an empathetic corner to sprawl out in. As for Esther’s currently untitled zine, her expressive linework and text read as a heartfelt memento to those who are still figuring out who they are. A stream of consciousness approach to crushes and “queer existential crises”– like a letter to a younger self that someone else had penned.


Image courtesy of Esther (she/her)

QZF: The team all came to zines at different points in our lives and for different reasons, but we're all united in our belief that zines can be a super powerful resource and healing force for Queer people! Zines are so radical as a totally uncensored, personalised medium in a country where everything is heavily censored and commercialised.

OLS: Zines have always been an alternative and important source of information, and often function as community noticeboards, disseminating information and educating readers. Horizons was one such resource, and was incredibly important for queer community in the 90s. Could you tell us about the significance of having these back issues in your collection, especially considering their historical significance.

Photo Credit: Horizons issue 32, 1998

QRL: QRL has been incredibly privileged to befriend longstanding members of the LGBTQ+ community in Hong Kong, including activist Connie Chan and designer Po Hung. It is through these connections that we are able to access printed matter produced by the HK queer community in the 1990s. In fact, Po Hung— the Horizons newsletter designer— donated these back issues to our library. Having queer vintage titles in our collection reminds us that the work we’re doing as a library and community space is a continuation of the work that’s been done by queer folks before us. Since the founding of QRL in 2018, we’ve had the opportunity to foster intergenerational connections with queer folks of all ages, and we cherish these connections deeply. For example, back in May 2019, we had the chance to meet with an intergenerational group of queer folks for our Queer Lexicon workshop to discuss the various terms used by our community throughout the years in HK.

OLS: Something that struck me whilst looking through the zines that your team picked out was that they both use the zine, illustrations and emotive text to work through complex feelings. As organisers and creatives yourselves, has it been important for your team to work alongside and collaboratively with zine-makers who lean into and embrace the zine’s material and affective quality?

Photo Credits: Sayoni x QZF at The Moon, 2019

QZF: Absolutely! Although we suppose that pretty much all zinesters embrace the zine’s intuitiveness and emotion – you must really feel for something to get down and create it all on your own. There’s a certain immediacy to the medium, a certain urgency in the way we curl together and produce small quantities of things very close to our hearts, and I think that kind of blurry-eyed euphoria is at the heart of what QZF does. The zinesters we’ve met through its two year lifespan have really shaped the way we see zines as a whole, and I think each and every person we’ve worked with has also left a deep, wonderful footprint on our own paths as artists, organisers and human beings.

OLS: The importance of safe and affirming queer spaces cannot be over-emphasised, and this is something that both Queer Reads Library and Queer Zine Fest have worked towards through the establishment of physical presence in terms of a library and a festival respectively. Having said that, both initiatives take a slightly more transient approach with regard to a permanent venue.

Could both teams speak a little bit more as to whether the format of the zine (in terms of DIY/punk culture or ease of distribution) influenced this peripatetic approach, and how this fluidity has shaped your understanding of what or where a safe space can be.

QRL at Booked Art Book Fair Hong Kong 2019, Image courtesy of QRL 
QRL: The DIY nature of zinemaking and self-publishing frees us to imagine a library beyond a set location. In particular, the challenges of nurturing and building queer-positive and intersectional spaces in Hong Kong is amplified by high rental/operation costs and the acceleration of capitalism. We combat the notion that the library must have a fixed location by celebrating our malleability to pop-up wherever we may be, if that happens to be Vancouver, Taipei, or Singapore. By curating selections for specific audiences, the library is responsive to its various audiences across different geographies. A safer space looks like where we can add to and be part of existing conversations and communities, rather than just parachute in. We aim to listen and learn, and are grateful for the privilege to be welcomed into people’s homes, DIY spaces, and book fairs.


QRL at HK Queer Literary & Cultural Festival 2019, Image courtesy of QRL

QZF: Yeah – a zine itself is so definitely a safe space. A portable brave space! A space just for you, which you can share or not share as you like. Nobody can come into your zine! Nobody can intrude on your space. That’s one of the reasons it’s so powerful as a space/tool for Queer people, especially in Singapore where there really aren’t a lot of physical spaces you can be loud and Queer and brutally feel things.


QUEERSTMAS at soft/WALL/studs, 2018

We didn’t want a permanent venue because we like the idea of highlighting a new LGBTQIA+ friendly space every time we bring people together. Queer spaces in Singapore are few and far between – we’re mostly relegated to the nightlife. It’s been really exciting to encounter all these places that exist right under our noses that are actually really welcoming and loving. We worked with Camp Kilo in 2018, and The Moon, BUNKERBUNKER!! and soft/WALL/studs in 2019. All of these are spaces that are accessible to under-eighteens and people who may not want to be in a space where there’s dancing and loud music and drinking.


Queer ZineFest SG at Camp Kilo Charcoal Club, 2018

That approach has been kind of altered by COVID-19, because physical spaces are no longer an option for a lot of people. These few months have shifted our focus to the ways online planes can become brave spaces too. It’s not a new phenomenon – the Internet has always been an alcove for young Queer people! But I guess we’re learning how as organisations, we can be involved in building that safety net without intruding on the webs people have already built for themselves. For us, that looked like creating a Discord channel for LGBTQIA+ people in Singapore, and running Pajama Parties on Instagram Live during the CircuitBreaker.

OLS: Zine-making culture is incredibly multifaceted, and there’s a real spectrum when we begin thinking about what a zine can be or look like. As a result of this incredible diversity, some institutional archives and libraries have found it difficult to catalogue, collect or showcase zines.

Tell us about your team’s experiences with regard to collecting or showcasing zines: what has been rewarding, but what have you found limiting? How can we begin to expand our curatorial frameworks or archival vocabularies to embrace this range?

On Love by Edward Lam, published by ChenMiJi (from QRL’s zine collection)

QRL: When we think of zines, we think: grassroots, DIY, and free. This attitude towards zine-making is definitely present in our approach to showcasing and curating our collection. When we first started, our collection consisted of zines from our personal collections and publications that were sent to us from artists we reached out to online. Since then, we’ve added to our collection through picking up zines at different fairs, purchasing from artists we admire directly, or accepting gifts from friends who thought of QRL in their travels. The pop-up style of our library has also allowed us to present our titles in forms ranging from a table display to a makeshift bookshelf using milk crates.


daikon Issue 3: Queer/Trans (from QRL’s zine collection)

Not having a physical location for QRL is both limiting and freeing. While we have the freedom to show-up in whatever space will have us, we also recognize that not having a space is due to the limitation of resources for many grassroots collections like ours. At the end of the day though, we always say that it’s not about the books themselves but the connections we make. What gives QRL it’s power is the relationships we build with our readers, fellow artists, and other queer folks worldwide.

QZF: When we were planning for the 2020 fest (which couldn’t happen because of COVID), we definitely were thinking about how to present the full spectrum of Queer zinesters here while also being mindful of younger or more cautious attendees. Like, how do you present BDSM zines but still be respectful of those who don’t want to see this kind of content? Do you need to curate your festival accordingly, or do you leave it up to visitor discretion? This is a point of tension we’re still calibrating, and it's exciting to be working these kinks out together.

We’ve toyed around with unarchiving queer chapbooks in Singapore’s history, but research is a little bit out of our grasp right now as we’re focusing our energies on the present community. We’re curious to see if the eventual mode of documenting ephemera will be centered on digitisation or preservation. At this point, we’re just collectors with our own little zine economy of print matter and ideas.

OLS: This interview, in some ways, speaks to the very heart of both Queer Reads Library and Queer Zine Fest in that it is collaborative in nature and reaches across geographical boundaries. Tell us about what excites your teams most when it comes to the possibilities that these relationships open up, particularly around decentralising, organising and reimagining friendships, alliances and coalitions.

QRL: We are most grateful for how these conversations and alliances help build solidarity around our shared joys and struggles, helping us imagine ourselves beyond borders and nationalities. Whether it’s about production notes on how to bind zines to exchanging new bodies of work about queerness, our conversations with other artists and collectives are the basis from which QRL draws its strength, pleasure and meaning. There’s an infinite power to seeing each other for how we want to be seen, and the publications and conversations around the library can facilitate a special kind of bond. As the pandemic has now created circumstances where being indoors is vital, we are hopeful that digital face-time and direct messaging can continue nourishing the bonds we’ve built face-to-face, and others we haven’t yet but are excited to forge. It helps us rest easier at night knowing that there are others in their bedrooms somewhere, making, building, and dreaming alongside us.

QZF: It's all thrilling so it's really hard to pinpoint a single thing about this that we're most jazzed for. But maybe the most immediately exciting thing is the possibility of a better-connected Queer Asia beyond the larger LGBTQIA+ institutions and organisations that currently have the mobility to cross geographical borders and start conversations. It's really exciting to think about what this might mean for younger or less mobile Queer people - to be able to connect to a much wider Queer community and access resources and support that might not be so readily available locally.


worms' (QZF) zine collection


Joy’s (QZF) zine collection

Queer Zinefest SG (QZF) is Singapore's first LGBTQIA+ zine festival. It was first held on July 14th, 2018, as a celebration of zine-making, queer art, and queer people. QZF also runs satellite events, zine workshops and hosts a Queer SG Discord channel.

Queer Reads Library (QRL) is a mobile collection of books and independently published zines centred around queer narratives and themes. Catalyzed by the removal of ten LGBTQ-themed children’s books from public shelves by the Hong Kong Public Library in June 2018, QRL was created in Fall 2018 to cultivate a space where queer people can gather and celebrate their narratives. In the beginning, we asked ourselves: “Where is the queer community in Hong Kong?”

QRL, much like queer gender and sexuality, is fuelled by the fluid, experimental, and (sometimes) mischievous. We are interested in where our library will take us and who wants to engage with queer histories and narratives, specifically through printed matter.

QRL aims to connect and collaborate with queer Asian people in the continent and in the diaspora. By virtue of our connections, our team spans across two continents. Currently, artist-publisher Beatrix Pang and artist-curator Kaitlin Chan are based in Hong Kong, while artist-writer Rachel Lau is based in Vancouver.

Photo: A corporeal reading performance, by Elaine W. Ho for Display Distribute, 2016

OBJECT LESSONS SPACE (OLS): Hi Display Distribute! Let’s start with the first question stemming from your selection of Kate Rich's Feral Trade project. This project is an exploration of the "carrying power" that people possess as travellers and moving bodies and the bodily involvement in transporting objects. For her, the organic quality of what is transported is part of the appeal, and she had claimed that "it would be much harder to ask people to carry something inert, like rocks or books".

How do you see the relationship between books, specifically art publications, and its movement across space both in its production and distribution process? Do you see an aesthetic quality about this network of distribution that you have set up via LIGHT LOGISTICS, or is this a matter of resistance, organization, and possible ethics?

DISPLAY DISTRIBUTE (DD): The Feral Trade project is a crucial point of reference for LIGHT LOGISTICS—so funny that you've happened upon this particular reference from Kate! Would be nice in light of that if there was an opportunity to see how she would reflect on our project. But in this context of being transported as illicitly carried goods (the question you have probably heard before at check-in: ‘Has anyone asked you to carry any extra items on board with you today?’), I’m not sure if I agree with the fact that the question of organicity contributes to appeal. The paranoia of a glass bottle of olive oil possibly breaking in my suitcase sounds quite unappealing, actually. But whether the carried items are books or cheese, the fact of being packed into checked luggage or shoved into a backpack actually points not to the qualities of the object itself, but to all the movements which flow with and around the cargo, and this is where the question of organic is much more interesting. Are capitalism, outsourcing, baggage handling, industrial food growth, our own bodies travelling thousands of kilometres for work or pleasure organic? The way we relate to objects is inherently mediated, but as the coronavirus pandemic has put into such stark clarity, things and certain ways of doing we previously took to be natural can suddenly come grinding to a halt, and human activity on earth can engineer ‘novel’ forms of organic transmission.


Display Distribute 『CATALOGUE』No. 4, initially intended for production in Guangzhou but by a stroke of luck reverted last minute to Hong Kong, courtesy of Display Distribute

Of course not everyone who is helping to courier a zine or bag of coffee beans will reflect to these scales, but for LIGHT LOGISTICS at least, there is a psychogeography at work which intends to make use of a ‘voluntary surveillance’ as a practice of observation—for a courier, who may for a delivery have to go to a part of the city he/she has never been before—and a question of revaluation: what metadata, or what stories, constitute a logistical record? Why should those working at the small-scale get ousted from participating in transnational, critical dialogues with other (semi-)autonomous practitioners?

Beyond the basic understanding of logistics as ‘moving people and stuff’,  documentation and evaluation are the mechanisms which move together to make logistical operations work. This, to answer your other question, is both an aesthetic and an ethical question, and as a framework, platform and loose infrastructure, you could say perhaps that its aesthetics and ethics are premised upon modes of social, political and artistic organisation.

OLS: The way you look at organicity is really fascinating. Perhaps what you mentioned about putting oneself up to "voluntary surveillance" is a way of resistance by reclaiming agency from surveillance as an inevitability in today's age. Your project Shanzhai Lyric can be read as a reassertion of autonomy as well: understanding it through a post-colonial lens, it is a way of rewriting authenticity and cultural imperialism through challenging language. Display Distribute runs from Hong Kong, in which the operant languages include English, Mandarin Chinese, and Cantonese ‑ your website uses both English and Chinese as well, and as a bilingual reader the differences which emerge from translation are really interesting to me.

What is the importance of language and translation in your work?

DD: Resistance is certainly a considered factor, although I don't think it is possible to heroicise our couriers so much in the vein of how they call food delivery workers ‘frontline personnel’ these days. Travel is after all a privilege, and we have been piggybacking upon it, so to speak. But the attentiveness to movement is something that can be read in so many ways—as reconnaissance, instituent practice, or Situationist game, even mindfulness, and that diversity is something that becomes manifest in the project over time, in seeing the various ways that routes are documented, because every courier will attend to it differently. Even myself, having been a frequent mule—what I see and choose to record depends greatly upon the energy required to take notice via images or sound or words. Everything is framed within the banal structures of logistical time and place positioning, but so many things are left out and so many unimportant other details put in. This instability of the data is perhaps part of that resistance you mentioned.


Interns of Hong Kong art space Para Site busy with post-production deconstructions of  『CATALOGUE』No. 4 at the opening of Bicycle Thieves, June 2019; Photo Credit: Lily Yi Yi Chan for Para Site

I cannot speak so much for Shanzhai Lyric as I am not involved with that project; Display Distribute operates as a sort of multi-headed hydra whereby we are not all working on the same things, but as we tried to linguistically experiment with here in a little redux of another to be crucially acknowledged initiative, the Minor Compositions imprint of Autonomedia, there is a kind of ‘gobbledygook’ which we are weaving and wading through and manifests the somewhat perplexing and/or evasive totality. And that is simply to say that there is no such totality, and no centrality as what you point out with the language plays at work. The Chinese and English are not always one-to-one but hopefully they can take on certain forms of nuance for each of their bodies of readers. These shades of Canto-Manda-English that appear are a crucial part of the Pearl River Delta vernacular that has given rise to phenomena like parallel traders and Display Distribute, and with text and textuality being a crucial part of many of our practices, language does become one of the central playing fields. The border between Hong Kong and the mainland is also the first threshold of translation that inspired the initial projects of Display Distribute, and as we’ve seen ongoing since the handover—most recently with the 4/17 Statement by the Liaison Office of the Central People’s Government in the HKSAR and increasingly threatening interpretations of Hong Kong’s very fragile Basic Law—language, the subtle things that get left out and the various ways of manoeuvring through syntax cannot not be considered.

OLS: The process of playing with or navigating language—disseminating texts, copying, pasting, and then perhaps reposting—can then bring about really interesting divergences, and it brings to mind chain letters – which was something you picked out for this conversation as well. Chain letters were a hallmark of the 2000s and early 10s, they continue to exist today in the form of copypastas, but the possible distinguishing factor is that of the encouragement to share, either through motivation of a reward or a threat.

With the various strands of Display Distribute in terms of ideas, performances, exhibitions and partnerships, would you say that the projects have been working towards a more emotive or collaborative mode of transmission that rallies against mainstream or neoliberal modes of consumption? What do these possibilities look like?

wear journal number one, courtesy of HomeShop

DD: Oh, I’m really happy you brought this up again! I have been thinking about chain letters recently simply because they seem to have made a pandemic era resurgence, sped up for 2020 internet in that it seems—from the perspective of my inbox at least—to have only been a few weeks-long revival. I come from the last mega-transition generation of the world before the Internet (when it was still spelled with capital ‘I’). So those years when chain letters were circulating widely were a time of both naïveté and seriousness in that we took the threats and rewards seriously because it was all so simply new and the repercussions were not calculable. I’ve brought it up again as a point of reflection for Display Distribute because it is an immensely poignant example of the use of affective relations in a networked economy that links money, OL/IRL connections and partial anonymity by way of the simple orchestrated parlance of text. Scenarios are set up for someone to enter into a pyramid scheme, interest group or superstitious belief system, and the end results can never be fully confirmed, but we participate anyway. LIGHT LOGISTICS works in a similar way, juxtaposing voluntarism, contingency and chance with the real tracing of networks and affect. There may be a concrete result in that a book reaches point B from point A, but that is not even the most prized value of the project for us. While we are still running a logistical operation so ‘aim to deliver’, I will still vouch instead for storytelling, cracks in infrastructure, and inefficiency.

OLS: On that note of meandering and subverting, it brings to mind something else you picked out for our chat — the prevalence of book pirating and the presence of pirate archives all over China and Southeast Asia. What do you make of the term “piracy” when it comes to its relationship to ideas such as legitimacy and autonomy? Often, there is a certain image—that of being polished or almost immaculate—when we think of how official archives or museums present our histories. How can making things ourselves (piecing images, texts, and sources together ourselves) serve as an effective counterpoint to the role of said institutions, especially in the context of the internet and the democratisation of access?

DD: Piracy seems to have always been associated with a kind of irreverence for societal norms, notions of propriety  and property, which can in many ways be upsetting to any one of us who may have a claim upon something of potential value, whether we are the ones who ‘created it’ or not. If we look into the lineage behind this impulse, there is a history that traces back to the question of the commons and movements of enclosure from 15th century England. But looking from our perspective here in the East, it does beg the question of whether our own forms of ‘legitimacy’ and so-called ‘autonomy’ can only be ultimately defined from these pre-capitalist roots in ye olde England? A number of scholars have attempted to retrace alter-genealogies to this question, and one very articulate and grounded reference I can recommend is Lawrence Liang, Prashant Iyengar and Jiti Nichani’s  How Does an Asian Commons Mean. Another is Byung Chul Han’s Shanzhai: Deconstruction in Chinese, one of the volumes in our SECOND(hand)MOUNTAIN(fortress) series, a funny edition that has been scanned by mobile phone and Google translated from the original German. The official English translation came out later than our edition, which we do intend to incorporate into further printings, but for the time being, if an English reader needs, we’ll send the new PDF as well.

One crucial thing that Liang, Iyengar and Nichani remind us is how the first pirates emerged in fact because they were dispossessed from the commons, and as these ‘outcasts of the land’, it was the pirates who ‘would mutineer against the conditions of their work, and create an alternative order challenging the division of labour and of capital’. So this links forward to the latter half of your question, where we re-examine what may have been viewed as piracy and looting and reconsider what can actually be self-initiated, alter-practices of survival and knowledge-testing. DIY publishing practices will always, by virtue of being the testing of ideas in the public sphere, represent microscopic visions of what alternative orders can be created to challenge hegemonic structures. There is a great line from an essay I recently read which says, ‘The little magazine had been and remains, at least for a time, the single most efficient path to the deictic claim that says “we're here, too.”’

OLS: Now that we’re speaking directly to the possibilities a do-it-yourself attitude can afford us, particularly in the realm of publishing, could you please expand a little on what book making means to you? How has your understanding of or relationship to book making or the book form evolved over time?

DD: Looking back now, I think it’s possible to say that the trajectory of my relationship to publishing has run what could be considered a counter-productive course relative to the modernist call for expansion and commercialisation (Bigger! Better! Faster!). Part of my educational background is actually in fashion design, an obviously commercial industry dominated by surface aesthetics and big money, and that collided with the beginning of my work as a so-called artist practicing in China, not academically trained yet with access to the optimistic possibilities of material production available at the time (meaning the years immediately before and after the 2008 Beijing Olympics). This was the period in which we began our own DIY publishing practice in the form of an independently produced journal for the artist-run space I was active with at the time, called HomeShop. It was not a zine, neither handmade nor photocopied, but beautifully offset print with multiple carefully chosen papers, somehow aesthetically still in resistance to commercial appeal but by virtue of being a factory-made production, perhaps it could be considered a way in which a small-scale, marginalised project seeks to stake a claim upon its validity within the archive of contemporary art. We were also saying, ‘We’re here, too’.

But while independent publishing and zine culture has grown in mass appeal over time, China’s rising economy combined with narrowing freedoms means that the space for content ‘at the margins’ or ‘between the lines’ is being squeezed out. In recent years, I have been refused as a client both by low-cost digital printing shops as well as offset factories, the former because my order (different colours of covers for different titles) veers from the producer’s cost-efficiency standard (too 麻煩 mafan!), and the latter because printing sensitive content would risk the factory being forcibly shut down by authorities.

So in a way, our status as pirate, smuggler and hacker is exactly as was written above, where we have been ousted from the market and accessibility to resources diminished. To continue doing what we would like to do, it seemed to make sense that we should in that very old school, Marxist sense, ‘take back the means of production’ ourselves. So that means trying to make more books ourselves, to try to reconsider the balances between the material craft of book production and its content without being nostalgic or trying to glorify the handmade. To go back to the initial reflection of counter-productivity, this means that over time, our print-runs are getting smaller and the whole process from start to finish is slower. But as with LIGHT LOGISTICS, obviously we don’t have a problem with that.


Digital print-on-demand copies of the Display Distribute ‘SECOND(hand)MOUNTAIN(fortress)’ imprint

OLS: We’ve touched on quite a few ideas throughout this interview including small batch productions, inefficiency as an alternative framework, and the allure of DIY culture. There are so many strands of inquiry to your work with Display Distribute, and these research questions or interests are constantly evolving. To wrap up our conversation, could you please speak to whether there has been a philosophy, a praxis or even an attitude that binds all of these interests together?

DD: How about answering your question with a praxis of the question itself? The diversity of inquiry can on one hand simply be the distractedness of many interests, many references and/or inspirations, maybe otherwise simply giving space to the multi-headed hydra of collaboration. But a most general formula is simply beginning from the question itself—questioning everything, second-guessing all. It’s a possibly painfully ambivalent route, but it’s also the starting point for trying things a little bit differently, imagining and practicing another possible way.

Display Distribute is a thematic inquiry, distribution service, now and again exhibition space and sometimes shop founded in Kowloon, 2015. Seeping via the capricious circulation patterns of low-end globalisation into other subaltern networks and grammars, recent activities include the experimental infrastructure LIGHT LOGISTICS, poetic research and archival unit Shanzhai Lyric and a peripatetic radio programme of hidden feminist narratives known as Widow Radio Ching.

Photo Credit: THEBOOKSHOW

OBJECT LESSONS SPACE (C): Hi Song Nian and Leanna, thanks for having us with you in your studio today. Let’s begin with talking about your first selection, Picture of My Life. This is a self-published book, which is handmade by artist Junpei Ueda through a workshop titled Photobook as Object. It contains photographs, illustrations, and folded pieces of written correspondence with his parents. Do you see a particular physicality that comes with books and bookmaking?

SONG NIAN (SN): Pictures of My Life was immediately interesting to me because it doesn't really fall into the typical categories. It doesn't fit with how people typically think about photobooks or coffee table books. Pictures feels like an encapsulation of several different materials which the artist has put together as a book. It mainly contains paintings and photographs – some of the photographs are taken by the artist himself, others are earlier photos of Ueda's childhood taken by his father. The artist also incorporates into his book these texts in Japanese, along with their English translation.

Pictures of My Life, Junpei Ueda. Image Credit: Junpei Ueda


SN: Beginning with the cover of the book, you are immediately confronted not with a photograph but a painting – a portrait of the artist's younger self. What is revealed to you through the book is the artist's memories of his childhood, followed by the passing of his mother and then the passing of his father. After his mother had committed suicide, his father, not being able to deal with his grief, followed suit. What you can see is the artist trying to make sense of the situation. Towards the end of the book, there is a photograph of Ueda, his wife, and their two daughters. I had spoken to the artist particularly about this, and he said that this was his way of putting forth a reassurance both into the world and to his parents who had passed.

SN: Pictures of my Life feels less like a book and more like an artefact that is put together with different materials which reveal different parts of his life. While going through the book from front to back, it doesn't feel static or linear; there are pauses in the book that allows the reader to take a step back or retreat with the artist into where his mind is, and to listen to what he wants to tell us via the text. That is why I think that the book has such a strong emotional power, which is why I wanted to share this work.

OLS: What do you see as unique to the book both as a medium for art, and as an art object?

LEANNA TEOH (LT): I think the most important thing about the book, both as an art medium and as an art object, is its portability and longevity. Having a book is like having an exhibition that lives beyond the space; you can view it at any time and any place, with a unique intimacy. Unlike an exhibition, you won't be interrupted by other people viewing the work at the same time. The book is a very intimate object.

I don't really know what, for me, is the difference between the book as a medium and as an object. What we are trying to advocate is that the book is a mode of expression, and that it is different from, for example painting and photography, because you can propose a narrative within the medium.

SN: When we look out for photographic works, we look out for works that somehow—I don't want to say they only make sense as a book, but in particular when it is being produced as a book or publication—demonstrate that the concept or message of the work is able to extend beyond merely working as images; be that in a frame, a slideshow or a projection.

Back to the physicality of the book, the way a book is crafted matters. All these elements—from the design, the cover, the layout, and even the end pages, the binding and inserts—lend layers to the way we experience an artwork in the book medium.

OLS: What do you see as the importance of print to photography? Do you see photography as adjacent to or contained within art?

SN: Gaining acceptance for photography in the art world has always been an uphill task. Fortunately, in the last ten to fifteen years, we have seen an improvement in the way photography is being perceived in the art world. When photography first started to be mass produced, it was used for a very specific purpose in editorial work, journalism and newspapers – in terms of disseminating messages. That is what people saw to be the main role of photography. I think we see photography coming up slowly with this medium being explored within various art disciplines.

The relationship between photography and print is related to that of performance art and video, which also have always been very close and very strongly bound together. Performance work needs to firstly exist by itself, but for it to continue to exist, or for people to know that it has once existed, it then depends on the video work that was done during the live performance.

There is another whole conversation that can be had about the movement from painting to photography. There has always been a painting-versus-photography dialogue going on, of, for example, which one is better. Within the art world, photography gained traction at a slower pace, possibly because it was produced in editions. As the number of editions become smaller, we start to see it becoming more accepted by collectors. People also become more willing to buy photography work as fine art. Print will always be important to photography, even as we start to see photography work in other presentation formats. I'm quite hopeful about the acceptance of photography in the art world. It's changing, just slowly.

OLS: How do you see THEBOOKSHOW’s role then, as a mediator or bridge of sorts?

SN: I think we are coming up with ways to firstly enable people to produce content, in terms of the programmes, exhibitions, open calls and workshops. We are also finding ways to bridge the distance between those making the books, and everyday people, who also otherwise access photography on a daily basis.

This project is still very young - we started in 2014. Prior to THEBOOKSHOW working more actively, we did observe some efforts by other groups or initiatives pertaining to the photobook but there is no prolonged effort in looking at the photobook medium. In terms of providing opportunities for people who create, we have also started several initiatives such as open calls, which lead to exhibitions, which lead to prizes and awards. In terms of showcasing books, we also actively promote at international art book fairs and work on partnerships with collaborators from overseas to disseminate or to exhibit. A healthy exchange would be one where we show books from overseas, then have our books shown there too.

There are a lot of things we're doing at the same time, all with the hope of growing the appreciation of the photobook as a medium of art.

OLS: One such award was the Steidl Book Award, in which THEBOOKSHOW had helped to put together the finalist showcase. One of the winners was Robert Zhao’s A Guide to the Flora and Fauna of the World, which you have also chosen as part of your selection. Tell us more about that.

A Guide to the Flora and Fauna of the World, Robert Zhao. Photo Credit: Institute of Critical Zoologists

SN: A Guide to the Flora and Fauna of the World was initially self-published. Subsequently, Robert Zhao submitted it to the Steidl Book Award: Asia Open Call, which was when it was selected to be one of the eight books to be published by Gerhard Steidl. The edition that Steidl published is slightly different from his original self-published version. If you look towards the back of the book, there are many of these smaller booklets that are included in the box, which were not in the first edition. I selected this book because it has particularly received quite a lot of attention internationally; I think the main reason for that is because many people are already aware of Robert's work and his practice. I feel that this is the pride and joy of Singapore's self-publishing efforts.

What we see with A Guide is not a typical book with bindings; it makes a lot of sense for the book to be presented in a plate format. This is also in line with his practice, as he had also come up with the Institute of Critical Zoologists (ICZ). We see plates used in scientific journals. That's the kind of terminology and format that they use in the scientific process. Robert uses that kind of reference heavily such that his books have the aesthetics of research reports. I think that's why people find this book to be a breath of fresh air, compared to the usual art books and photobooks one usually encounters.

OLS: This is originally a self-published book. In many of your open calls, you specifically ask for self-published or unpublished work. What is the importance of and difficulties in self-publishing?

LT: I think the biggest hurdle is cost, especially in Singapore where printing is a lot more expensive than in other places. For example, the cost of maintaining the printing machines themselves is already high, because we must get technicians to come in from overseas, which drives up the base price. Other than the cost of printing, it really depends on your network to get the book out into the open. Most of the time self-publishing artists market their books either through competitions and open calls like ours, or they show their work in fairs. These are the venues through which readers find out about artbooks, other than at bookstores. To participate in a fair also generates additional cost. The cost of printing and marketing are the hardest things; it's everything to do with cost.

SN: That aside, we felt that the network and infrastructure for helping people with self-publishing was almost non-existent in Singapore. That's what we want to do - we see ourselves as a platform. We started out with that idea of wanting to provide more opportunities for people. As the years went by, we realised that apart from the cost, it's also about getting access to the right kind of designers and printers. Apart from budget, and access to the right kind of people and network, we found that storage and dissemination also play a key part. You can self-publish a hundred copies, three hundred copies, a thousand copies - but how are you going to move the books? I think this also proved to be quite a challenge when it comes to self-publishing.

Of course, there are things like kickstarter campaigns, but those are also slowly getting saturated and losing their novelty. There have been some successful cases, for example Dark Cities by Shyue Woon, which was also part of our project First Draft. He won a $5000 sponsorship by Allegro, a local printing company, through First Draft. In addition to that, he also launched a kickstarter campaign, which I felt was rather effective. Dark Cities is now onto a second edition, which is again aided by a kickstarter campaign.

If we look away from the perspectives of people creating the work, there are also challenges from a publisher’s point of view. That is something that THEBOOKSHOW is experimenting with. What we find to be a challenge is having access to a sufficient amount of works to select from and to publish. In alignment with the kind of publishing work that we are slowly planning to do, we have to also put in motion avenues, channels, or initiatives to encourage people to make more works. The fact is that if there's nobody making, there's no one for us to publish. Since we focus on Singaporean artists, we have a smaller pool to work with. It's then even more important for us to get the momentum going. Only if the selection pool gets bigger, then we are able to really sieve out the works that are of a higher quality.

One such work would be The Mountain Survey by Marvin Tang, which he published in a very small run in 2016 as part of a show of the same name. Marvin's practice relies heavily on research. For this project, he started with looking at the Xiao Guilin quarry landscape. He then realised that granite, as a resource, played a pivotal role in the narrative of nation-building. He found out that Xiao Guilin wasn't the only one, that there were other quarries and that Singapore sits on granite. That explains why it was also one of the more common resources that was being used in building.

What I was captivated by was the mix of research materials that he found, which he used to really inform different parts of the book. We see different types of images. Some were very formal representations of the landscapes in these decommissioned granite quarries. Others show people just staring at the landscape. I found that to very impressive – Marvin’s observation didn’t end with simply looking at whatever was in front of him. He saw what really makes up the landscape. He realised that people were spending such a considerable amount of time at these places, staring off into the distance at these fake mountains, with their backs to the world. There were all these different kinds of traces people left around the vicinity. It's not just a monotonous presentation of all the different granite quarries, but also showed the way people behave, respond and react to these landscapes, that are now being positioned as a place solely for recreational enjoyment, which is held in stark comparison to all the exempt historical purposes that these granite quarries used to serve.

Mountain Survey, Marvin Tang. Photo Credit: Marvin Tang

OLS: The production process that goes into a work seems to be very important to you. Your workshop project Dirty Laundry especially focuses on this process of bookmaking, and the notion of what makes something "suitable" or "good", or "ready" to be published.

LT: Dirty Laundry was made to involve people who were not "in the know" of the art world. The workshop starts with the topic of how to assemble a book and the more technical aspects of bookmaking. During the process, we also try to subtly instil ideas of what a book can be, and talk about how to view and understand a book. All our programmes are geared towards educating the public about the book and how it can be a form of art.

SN: Dirty Laundry was set up as a workshop which involves contribution by and from the participants. In this edition, we capped it at twenty participants. Each are asked to bring between thirty to forty images, printed in whatever kind of format they prefer, as long as it's smaller than an A4 size. Everyone will come in with images that they deem to be "bad", and we start the discussion from there. In this day and age, with the way we use photography in social media, we can't run away from the fact that people always want to present the best side of things; they always try to show how much they're enjoying their lives and how good they have it. I feel that there are a lot of images that have fallen through the cracks. I also think the concept of a "bad" photograph is quite problematic. What we are after in Dirty Laundry is the intention of the image, of what it is really meant to convey or say. That's why we decided to invite people to bring in what they think are "bad" photographs.

At the start of the workshop everyone will lay their images on the table, and they will talk about their images and why they think it is a "bad” photograph. Through that sharing, participants will start to realise that everyone's interpretation of "bad" is varies. Looking at each other's photos, sometimes they will find that the photos is only "bad" from that person's own perspective.

After they take the time to look at and hear about the images, participants are then given time to put together a zine or a book with the images that belong to everybody. It's a free-for-all kind of approach, where you are allowed to use not just your own photos but also other people's photographs.

The name Dirty Laundry comes about because everyone brings in their bad photos to the table and share about it openly. Though we definitely hope for some profits from this project, we started it not specifically to earn money, but instead as a project of content-production or creation. It is a way for us to collect images of the vernacular, which comes from participants of different groups, ages and backgrounds. The images that they provide are all taken by themselves. We found that to be a good way of building up an archive of images of the everyday, not taken by artists or photographers, but coming in from different walks of life. Dirty Laundry has slowly evolved to be something that's very central to what THEBOOKSHOW does and what we believe in.

THEBOOKSHOW is an avenue for artists to showcase self-published art books in exhibitions and art festivals. It connects the arts community through showcases and activities centering the art book and its presentation, moving away from the conventional form and bringing upon renewed perspectives of the medium.

Photo Credit: SGABF

SGABF: Hi Robert, thanks for having us over at your studio. What are you working on today?

ROBERT ZHAO (RZ):  I had a meeting with Gideon and Jamie from Temporary Press. They are working on the second edition of Singapore, Very Old Tree. It’s a project I did in 2015 in which I interviewed 30 people with personal stories of old trees. The content is very specific so I did not expect many people to like it, mainly because I thought trees made colder subjects than animals. I had the impression that birds and insects would seem more charismatic and trees were more difficult to relate to. Most of my books don’t sell, but this was one of those that sold. As it turns out, even after selling out, people were still asking about it. That is why I decided to republish it.


Singapore, Very Old Tree, Robert Zhao. Photo Credit: Tongue Journal

SGABF: How do you go about looking for a designer who resonates with your practice?

RZ: I try to look for books that I like locally and see how the designers work with the content. Of course the designer must also be interested in my practice. I leave the technicalities to them because I’m already working on printing and framing my own photographs. Most of my meetings with the designers at the beginning are about the concept; what the work is really about and what the book should be doing. After that I trust them to do whatever they want. You must have that chemistry; it’s important to find a designer that really understands your work so they can help translate it into a book.

As an artist, you’re always just talking to yourself. You’re thinking and doing everything yourself until you set up the exhibition, or you speak to someone who has no idea what you’ve been thinking for the last three months, then they ask a lot of What’s this? and What’s that? And you realise, Actually, I also don’t know. You’re forced to make connections that you perhaps haven’t thought about previously or that you’re trying to avoid. Once the book comes out, I guess you can be abstract in some parts but you have to be logical also. The narrative has to flow and the designers are usually quite observant about how the information flows. So that dialogue is very good for me.

SGABF: You have been making books for almost 10 years now, starting with The whiteness of a whale. How did you start?

RZ: The whiteness of a whale was created in 2010. Yes, it has been almost 10 years!

In 2010 I was doing a residency at the Fukuoka Asian Art Museum, and I went to all the different sites that used to do whaling. I wanted to find out why the Japanese were still eating and killing whales. I had a lot of research, facts, and narratives so I thought these texts should be presented in a book. I could’ve included it in the exhibition but it places a big burden on the audience when they’re negotiating the exhibition. I didn’t know why but I just thought I needed to make a book, so I started to compile it myself. It just felt like a reasonable and meaningful medium for this body of work.

My second book was for my MA, and that was easy because I was a/the designer. I went to look at existing science journals and kind of replicated the design, the paper. I just tweaked everything into my own project. So actually a lot of my work is trying to mimic different forms — even the title for my book Christmas Island, Naturally is taken from an existing book.

Christmas Island, Naturally, Robert Zhao. Photo Credit: H55

SGABF: How was the progression from making zines to art books?

RZ: I started with zines when I was a student because that was all I could afford. The zine is much more economical because they go longer and further than exhibitions. More people get to see the work — which is also why I went on to make books. I started working with other designers as I became more aware of the need to be sensitive to the paper, the layout and the printing. As an artist, I’m already exploring ways of working within a space, how my artworks should behave, the framing and printing of the photographs, things like that. There are a lot of technical things I’m already trying to master. When it comes to the book, however, it’s a whole different ball game from an exhibition and there are designers who are dedicated to these experiences. It’s something I cannot achieve alone.

As I took on bigger exhibitions, I at least got paid so I started putting most of my earnings from art-making back into my work. I used the money to buy archives, old photographs and printed my books with them. Book-making is not a profitable thing, it’s not going to give me a 200% profit immediately; it’s a slow burn. But I’m very happy to see parts of my practice exist as books. My images are about ironic stories of human and nature that fall out of the mainstream narrative, not typical ones that are celebratory. It’s why I self-publish books; they are an expression of my art. No publisher would take on my books because it just wouldn’t sell.


Photo Credit: SGABF

SGABF: The Book and the Exhibition are both very different methods of presenting a body of work, both of which you are familiar with. How are the considerations similar or different from when you set up a show and when you make a book?

RZ: I think of my work in the form of a book, first and foremost. The exhibition is the last thing I think about because it’s abstract. The narrative is very important to me so the book provides a full sequence of everything I need to express in the project. Hopefully after I publish the book I have two to three months to reflect on the work because when you’re fresh out of a project, you cannot think very clearly.

From the book, I can see which parts I can extract and form footnotes that are crucial for the exhibition. There was a period when I tried to not have any text at all in the exhibition, but I realised it’s extremely tough because people are always looking for meanings. In the book I can be very precise and to the point but you don’t realise it’s actually fictional, so I’m just helping you understand as much as I want you to.

In an exhibition, I’m often more abstract with the text and work. The text doesn’t need to function literally as a caption. I try to give an abstract point of what the work could be about. People can make generalisations about your work with hints of facts from elsewhere. The text doesn’t need to actually be talking about the work you’re looking at.

My works are photographs that come with captions that are very important for the work. It’s not just a singular work, it’s work that comes in a series. I look for narratives and I use images to illustrate or capture these narratives. I use text to add another dimension to the images so when I sequence the images out, there’s a beginning, a middle and an end. All this can be controlled very effectively with a book. What I like about a book is that it’s always a one-on-one experience. You hold it in your hands, you open up, you look at the front, you browse — there’s a sequence in place, so my narrative is tightly in control with my audience. And I like that. I like to have that sequence with my audience. It’s also a lot more tactile. The papers, the printing, and the layout can kind of guide the viewer through the work differently. 

With the exhibition — and with the audience plonked into a space — you are at the mercy of how the audience wants to negotiate with your work. It’s very hard to control a sequence, for example. To a certain extent, you can, but not as well as a book can.

SGABF: Do you feel that one has aided or hindered the other? Do you consider them separately?

RZ: The book has helped me to consolidate all the information that I have into a format that is logical. Most times my ideas come off very abstract until I speak to the designer, who has to understand the work. The design process is very important because through it, I get a better sense of what my work is or can be about.


A Guide to the Flora and Fauna of the World, Robert Zhao. Photo Credit: Courtesy of Artist

These days, my works take longer to produce because they are more research-intensive. I begin working on the book first before thinking about how the actual artwork will look. Book- and exhibition-making very much go hand in hand for me. It helps me as an artist to do the work at this point in time.

SGABF: You mentioned your work deals with a lot of fiction but the formats and mediums in which you work are very documentative and final. Nobody really questions the legitimacy of photography, for example. Does it affect how you work?

RZ: It’s very funny because what kind of art isn’t fictional? If I were a painter or a sculptor, people wouldn't always describe my work as a work of fiction. But because I’m a photographer and I make books, suddenly it tests the barriers of truth. Like a novel is fictional but at the same time so real, so you’re suspended in the state of wondering what’s real and what’s not; you’re negotiating between this boundary of world-making, fiction and truth.

A lot of facts that I uncover which are exciting for me are actually very boring for others. What I’m trying to do is narrate stories and make it exciting for the audience rather than purely present information, which would end up becoming a documentation.

I like photography because it’s so powerful that we don’t realise it at all. We become very naïve when we’re presented with a photograph. For example, pictures in advertisements and newspapers actually have very little to do with the product or story that they’re trying to sell. But we have become so comfortable with it. These images don’t have to have connections, they don’t even have to be genuine! I mean, some of us are more critical now, but in a general sense we are still quite flippant when it comes to reading images.


Artwork: Robert Zhao

SGABF: I was recently talking to Song Nian [from THEBOOKSHOW] and it seems like in Singapore it’s more common for photographers and designers to make books, rather than visual artists. Why do you think that is so?

RZ: I don’t think it’s limited to Singapore. It is generally very hard to find artists making books that are not catalogues. It’s not second nature for visual artists to make books because it is already so demanding to think of an exhibition. Perhaps a book to them has a utilitarian function, like a catalogue or a leaflet for the show.

As for designers, they already have the skill sets to work with the book format well. This language may not apply to artists. I guess you need a good publisher to translate artworks into a book too, like what Roma Publications does. They strive to create artists’ books that do not function merely as a catalogue.

The book as a medium needs to be handled well. It is easy to find a designer who can make a nice book but difficult to find one who can make a book based on a deep understanding of your work. A pretty book is easy to make, but a book that can translate your practice and work — that’s very hard.

The tones, printing and framing add to the character of the work, especially for photographs.  For that reason, the process can be difficult if one doesn’t dedicate a great amount of time to study the form of the book.

We generally don’t publish art books here because there are many hindrances: storage, start up costs, the ability to handle the medium, lack of distribution channels, lack of circulation points. I don’t even know where my books can go besides SGABF because it’s just so difficult to distribute.

SGABF: Aside from A Guide to the Flora and Fauna of the World which was only picked up by Steidl after you published your own edition, all your books are self-published. Wherein lies the value of self-publishing to you?

RZ: My books are published under The Institute of Critical Zoologists (a fictional scientific organisation), which is bodiless and formless. I like it when someone encounters my book, buys it from the website and ends up enjoying it. For someone to stumble on my fictional, real-looking website and then decide they want to partake in this institution by buying a book, or having a slice of this imaginary role in the form of a book, that for me is the best way for the work.

When it’s published by another publisher, it helps financially because I don’t have to pay for the publishing. But I’m not sure what happens to The Institute of Critical Zoologists because there is now another company involved in my work. I don’t know if it becomes more real. I like the strangeness that comes with the confusion and curiosity towards the fictional organisation, and the mysteriousness that’s still controlled by me. It’s important to have that relationship in my books. Also, without any publisher involved, I have no pressure of sales; I can slowly sell it over 100 years.


A Guide to the Flora and Fauna of the World, Robert Zhao. Photo Credit: H55

SGABF: Lastly, how do you sustain an art book-making practice, if at all?

RZ: It’s tricky because some of my books have to be of a certain size for the work to make sense. So in the long run, it is barely sustainable as the production of my books are getting more and more expensive. For titles that are more niche, I try to print lesser editions and price them a little higher. And because I sell my books myself and through SGABF, I can keep my profit margins higher because there’s no distributor. So the one or two titles that sell better, like Singapore, Very Old Tree, sustain the rest that don’t sell as well.

Robert Zhao Renhui (b. 1982, Singapore) is a multi-disciplinary artist and the founder of the Institute of Critical Zoologists. His artistic practice addresses the human relationship with nature challenging accepted parameters of objectivity and scientific modes of classifications. Over the years, Zhao has appropriated codes and convention of documentary photography and museum display to compose compelling narratives. Amongst his more recent solo exhibitions in Singapore are The Nature Museum, commissioned by Singapore International Festival of Art (SIFA) and The Bizarre Honour, realized for OH! Open House, both in 2017. Zhao has undertaken residencies at the Musée du Quai Branly, Paris, France, the Kadist Art Foundation, San Francisco, United States, and the Fukuoka Art Museum, Japan. He was awarded Young Artist Award by National Arts Council in 2010 and is a finalist of the 2017 Hugo Boss Asia Art Award.