The Emergence of New-ism: Ritual in Flux

 

From the performance  'Play Time' at FreshWind Biennale Iceland, 2017

The Emergence of New-ism: Ritual in Flux

New-ism

Introduction

New-ism is not an art movement but a lived practice. For me, it began in small rituals — cutting scraps of newspapers into collages, calling the prayer with my grandfather in Muar, watching bicycles move in unison through Copenhagen streets. It explores ritual, discipline, and transformation as the essence of contemporary art. Rather than producing fixed objects, New-ism embraces impermanence, participation, and process — inviting audiences to witness change, contribute gestures, and reflect on the fragile rhythms of identity and belonging.

Through performances, installations, and participatory acts, New-ism dissolves the boundaries between artist and viewer, art and life, the individual and the collective. But at its core lies a question: what is truly new?

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The Emergence of New-ism: Ritual in Flux

A Practice Beyond the “Ism”

Art history is filled with movements defined by style, manifesto, or ideology. New-ism, however, is not an “ism” in that sense. It has no fixed rules, no stylistic formulas, no single school of thought. Instead, it is a way of working — an engagement with ritual, discipline, and transformation. Art here is not a finished object but a lived practice, unfolding through presence and process.

When I was living with my grandparents in Muar, I remember the call to prayer echoing five times a day. My grandfather, though not a particularly pious man, always performed his prayers. He would gather us together, and before we began, he asked one of us to call for prayers. That moment — like singing to wake us all up — was one of the most moving rituals of my childhood. It was not only about religion; it was about discipline, about sound gathering us into one breath, one gesture.

Years later, in Copenhagen, I began to notice similar rhythms in unexpected places: the morning tide of bicycles, pedals turning almost in unison, carrying bodies forward in a collective cadence. These echoes — sacred and mundane — became the ground from which New-ism emerged.

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But is it really new?

The name carries its own contradiction. Rituals, discipline, repetition — these are ancient things. New-ism does not claim invention. The “new” is not about discovering something never seen before, but about recognising how each disciplined act produces difference. Every time a prayer is called, the voice shifts. Every wheel turns the same but not the same. Every collage cut and reassembled alters the fragments just enough to make them different.

The “new” in New-ism is not invention but recognition — that even repetition carries difference, and that in each gesture lies both memory and renewal. Nothing is ever wholly new, yet everything is always becoming.

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Art as Ritual: The Sacred and the Mutable

I began this discipline not with clay or drums, but with trash. Old magazines and newspapers became my first materials, cut, torn, and reassembled into collages and assemblages. This practice was rooted in the moment I was first introduced to art-making by the late artist Jeri Azhari in Kuala Lumpur.

He only taught me a few technical things — how to stretch a canvas, how to use photocopies to make portraits — the rest I had to discover myself. What mattered more were the endless conversations we had, sometimes talking from afternoon until late at night, until the morning call to prayer reminded us it was time to sleep. Other times, we sat together in silence, saying nothing at all, simply embracing the quiet. In that rhythm of words and silence, I first learned that art could be its own ritual — a discipline of mind and presence.

As I see it now, these artistic rituals are not so different from religious ones. Just as prayer five times a day, or going to church every Sunday, binds the believer to a rhythm larger than themselves, so too does the daily discipline of the artist — coloring, cutting, reading, or simply sitting in solitude. If you have a studio, or just a quiet corner to reflect, that place becomes a chapel. The gestures, repeated and imperfect, become prayer.

For me, art is a religion. A faith not in dogma, but in process: the belief that through returning again and again to humble acts — cutting, layering, undoing, and reassembling — something greater than the sum of scraps can appear.

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The Liminal Space of Creation

New-ism thrives in thresholds — the line between accident and intention, presence and absence, destruction and reconstruction. The artist does not stand above the work but surrenders control, becoming part of processes that hover between futility and devotion.

Daily disciplines of assembling and disassembling, gestures repeated until they lose and gain meaning, works shifting between physical and digital, personal and collective — these are not static objects but acts of becoming.

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Materials as Memory and Time

Materials are not inert. They are vessels of memory and markers of time. Paper frays, fabric fades, stamps blur into illegibility. Sometimes I dismantle my own past works, reassembling fragments into new configurations. In this cycle of destruction and renewal, materials carry scars like memory itself — fragile, layered, unfinished.

Unlike movements built on purity of form (Minimalism, Abstract Expressionism), New-ism embraces impurity — the unstable, the marked, the layered — as its core truth.

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The Role of the Viewer: Participation as Invocation

The viewer is no longer a spectator but a participant. Their presence, touch, or gesture completes the work.

In Dear Helle, I began by installing postcards on the wall. But the work did not end when the exhibition opened. Throughout the exhibition period, visitors were invited to write their own postcards and add them directly to the piece. The installation grew, shifted, and transformed through these contributions. Authorship dissolved; the work became a shared ritual of writing, remembering, and leaving traces.

In New-ism, art becomes a communal practice: a discipline of acknowledging impermanence, presence, and renewal.

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New-ism in the Contemporary Context

In an age of speed, automation, and digital saturation, New-ism insists on slowness, tactility, and discipline. It resists spectacle and commodification, urging art to be lived rather than consumed.

By foregrounding process over product, New-ism destabilizes the structures of gallery and market. It offers instead a practice rooted in resilience, in rituals that ground us within cycles of making and unmaking.

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Conclusion: A New Ritual

New-ism is less a movement than a state of being. It honors imperfection, embraces discipline, and thrives in flux. It teaches that art is not something we finish but something we inhabit — always in transition, always becoming.

For me, art is a religion. Not one bound by temples or texts, but by the faith that daily gestures — cutting, layering, drawing, sitting in silence — can open us to transformation. To return to the work, again and again, is to pray. To assemble and disassemble is to believe.

And in this, I return to where it began: my grandfather asking us to call the prayer, the bicycles flowing through Copenhagen, the endless talks with Jeri. Each act the same, yet never the same.

This is our new ritual.
Though what feels new to me
may already be old to you.
And perhaps that is the point.

This is New-ism.

“Read more about my upcoming exhibition Rhythms of Identity →”

From the performance The hand Shake at Port's Residency Program, 2022

 

From the performance X- Box National Art Gallery Malaysia, 2010 

From Installation art at Heerup Museum, Rødover, Denmark, 2004

From Pop Art to Material Memory: Tracing the Evolution of Identity in My Work

 At my solo installation at Budderup Odekirke, Rebild, Denmark-2013

Double Warhol, collage and acrylic on canvas, 1999

Shop til u flop, Collage and acrylic, 2006

 

From Pop Art to the Present: My Evolving Artistic Journey

Art has always been my gateway between self and world — a dialogue at once personal and collective. My practice did not emerge fully formed. It began with fragments, with chance encounters, with what was available at hand.

I was first introduced to art-making by the late artist Jeri Azhari in Kuala Lumpur. He showed me a few technical things — how to stretch a canvas, how to use photocopies to make portraits — but more importantly, we talked. For hours, for days, sometimes deep into the night until the morning call to prayer. Other times we sat together in silence, saying nothing, simply holding space. From him I first learned that art could be both discipline and ritual: not only about making but about being present.

In those early years, Pop Art caught my attention. Its bold colors and irreverence spoke to a childhood shaped by television shows, American films, and advertising images. In its repetition of icons I found both a mirror of my own fragmented upbringing and a language of critique. But Pop Art was not the end point. It was a gateway, one that eventually felt too neat, too closed.

A turning point came during my time on Perhentian Island. There, life was stripped to essentials. The sound of boat engines in the early morning would wake me. My feet sank into soft sand — shoes unnecessary. The sea was warm, inviting; you could dip into the water and stay there the whole day under the heat of the East Coast sun. Materials were scarce. We didn’t have many magazines or newspapers on the island, but I had a few cuttings of images I carried with me. I began using what I could find: discarded wood, ropes, fishing nets, sand from the beach, and those fragments of print. Out of scarcity came improvisation, and from improvisation, the beginnings of my practice: assembling what was broken, overlooked, or cast aside into something that could speak again.

A couple of years later, back in Kuala Lumpur, I was still working with popular images. But the experiments had expanded — into monoprint, woodcut, and assemblage. At the same time, I continued collecting what I could find: old newspapers, discarded magazines, and objects from the street. These fragments carried the city’s texture, just as driftwood and nets had carried the memory of the island. In KL, my practice became less about images alone and more about the material presence of what others overlooked.

In the early 2000s, I experienced a rupture: the total loss of my personal archive — drawings, writings, photographs, certificates — all discarded. Out of that devastation, I began again. At first I returned to the basics: drawing, painting, collage.

The actual turning point arrived in 2002, when I moved to Copenhagen. That shift — geographic, cultural, and personal — marked the beginning of a deeper evolution. Trash there was abundant, almost a paradise. Magazines and sales catalogues arrived daily through the pigeonhole door. Old furniture — chairs, tables, doors — was left on the corners where people threw things away. These discards became my resources, shifting my practice toward assemblage, layering, and improvisation on a new scale.

At the same time, I began to explore digital art more seriously. Video became both documentation and artwork in its own right. I experimented with video animation, photography, and moving images — a shift deeply influenced by my wife Pia. Alongside this, I entered performance: reading poetry and spending time with Ole Lillelund, the Danish beatnik poet. Together we created Escape from the Shark, a video of him reading poetry across the city. Copenhagen, for me, was not only a material paradise but also a testing ground for new forms — a place where assemblage expanded into performance, digital art, image, word, and sound.

Only later did I begin to work with more charged materials: old passports, rubber stamps, maps, gauze, bandages, atlases, x-ray films, and broken vessels. These were not just objects. They carried memory, migration, bureaucracy, faith, and fracture. Each one was both surface and story.

My practice became less about representation and more about transformation. Collage gave way to installation, to performance, to works that breathe with participation. In Dear Helle, visitors added their own postcards to mine, dissolving authorship into collective ritual. In Rhythm of Identity, kompangs made from x-ray films became instruments played by others, layering sound over the fragility of skin and memory. With Gravity of Time, I am exploring the inevitability of collapse: clay vessels placed on blocks of ice, waiting to fall as their foundation dissolves. The work already exists in its title and conception — the collapse is only a matter of time.

What links these works is not style but attention — to process, to fragility, to the unstable beauty of impermanence. I am drawn to gestures that resist finality: cutting, layering, undoing, reassembling. To rhythms that echo both prayer and daily life: repetition, silence, listening.

Today, my practice is not about producing a fixed image of identity. It is about inhabiting the in-between: visible and invisible, personal and political, memory and forgetting. It asks for patience, for openness, for presence.

Still evolving, still shifting. Art remains my question and my answer — a site of negotiation between past and future, certainty and doubt, loss and renewal.

 

Silver, Acrylic on paper, 2010- from the Most Wanted Series

The Thinker, Collage on polyester, 2006

 

Lincoln, Postcards Assemblage on Softboard, 2013

 

Cartologica

 

Installation Title: Cartologica- (ongoing project)

Medium: Cardboards and Atlas

Size: Variable

Year 2025

Cartologica is a fusion of two core concepts—cartography and logic—that together explore how we map and make sense of the world, both geographically and intellectually. Cartography, the practice of mapping, serves as the foundation for this installation, where hundreds of thin, flat, round cardboard shapes, each hollowed and filled with pages from atlases. These delicate pieces represent not only the physical act of mapping but also the mental landscapes we navigate—our memories, perceptions, and the shifting topographies of identity and history.

The use of atlas pages is intentional—maps are tools that shape our understanding of geography, but they are also tied to the act of migration, displacement, and exploration. These pages symbolize the diverse geographies we inhabit and the complex histories of movement that define both individual and collective identities. These maps, with their fragmented and overlapping territories, reflect the fluid nature of experience and the ongoing process of navigating between places, cultures, and memories.

The second part of the title, logic, introduces the intellectual framework that governs the creation of these maps. It points to the process by which we impose order on the world—through systems of knowledge, reason, and understanding. As we chart the world around us, we use logic to organize our experiences into something coherent, creating personal maps that help us navigate both space and time. The hollow centers of the cardboard pieces symbolize the gaps within memory—spaces between moments and places that remain fluid and malleable, shaped by evolving perspectives.

The cardboard itself serves as a symbol of movement—its lightweight, flexible nature evoking the transient, ever-changing conditions of migration and displacement. The organic arrangement of the pieces reflects the fluidity of migration, the movement from one place to another, and the process of re-establishing oneself in a new space, much like the constant reshaping of personal and collective identities.

In Cartologica, these two elements—cartography and logic—are not fixed. The installation challenges the traditional notion of maps as immutable or static, suggesting instead that our understanding of geography, memory, and identity is constantly shifting. The arrangement of the pieces reflects the unpredictable nature of life, where personal maps are in constant flux, reshaped by new experiences, shifting perspectives, and evolving ways of thinking.

The installation invite us to reflect on our own process of mapping—our personal journeys through time, place, and memory. Cartologica encourages us to reconsider the boundaries we draw in our lives, examining how they are influenced by both the logic of understanding and the fluid, ever-changing landscapes of our experiences.

“Read more about my upcoming exhibition Rhythms of Identity →”

Stateless Mind Pavilion: An Exploration of Belonging, Displacement, and Rebellion

  

The Stateless Mind Pavilion is more than just a space—it is a dynamic hub of interaction and dialogue. Designed to foster cross-cultural exchange and understanding, the Pavilion hosts an array of interactive events, including artist talks, workshops, performances, and panel discussions. Its mission is rooted in facilitating meaningful conversations about belonging, identity, and displacement, themes that resonate deeply through the "In Between Worlds" exhibition. Guided by the artist and curator’s narratives, visitors are invited to embark on a visual and emotional journey, discovering the complexities of existing between multiple worlds.

 

Origins of the Stateless Mind Pavilion

The Stateless Mind Pavilion finds its roots in the Stateless Mind Festivals, organized by Jambatan. Jambatan itself was founded in 2009 by Pia Poulsen and I, as a bridge between artistic communities in Malaysia and Denmark. This vision was brought to life when Nur Hanim Khairuddin—now the General Manager of PORT—and I co-organized the Malaysian Art Festival at the Museum of Contemporary Art Roskilde and Gallery Shambala in Copenhagen in 2010. These early efforts planted the seeds for what would later evolve into the Stateless Mind Pavilion.

After a brief hiatus, I reactivated Jambatan in 2019, organizing the Stateless Mind Festival for the first time. This resurgence brought a renewed focus on challenging conventional boundaries and celebrating the richness of cross-cultural narratives. However, the true genesis of the Stateless Mind Pavilion came during my collaboration with PORT for their participation in the 59th Venice Biennale as part of a collateral event. Interestingly, while planning this, we were informed that the term "pavilion" could not be used unless it represented a national entity. This restriction became the catalyst for the Stateless Mind Pavilion.

The Stateless Mind Pavilion was officially activated during my solo show at Kapallorek. The Pavilion also showcases an archive of activities from past Stateless Mind Festivals, providing visitors with a historical context and a deeper understanding of its evolution. This marked a pivotal moment, situating the Pavilion as an evolving platform for dialogue and exchange. It will be fascinating to see how it develops in the future, continuing to challenge norms and create spaces for meaningful interaction.

 

A Rebellion Against Conformity

The Stateless Mind Pavilion was born out of a spirit of rebellion. Its creation represents a refusal to adhere to institutional rules and a declaration of independence from imposed limitations.  

In essence, the Stateless Mind Pavilion challenges the notion of conformity. It embodies the idea of making one’s own rules, charting one’s own path, and dictating one’s own journey. It questions the validity of man-made restrictions imposed by institutions, governments, or even familial expectations. By doing so, the Pavilion becomes a symbol of empowerment, encouraging individuals to embrace their unique identities and stories.

 

A Platform for Dialogue and Exchange

The Stateless Mind Pavilion serves as a sanctuary for artists, thinkers, and audiences to engage in open dialogue and to offers participants a chance to share, learn, and connect in profound ways—to create a platform for artists who live between worlds, who don’t fit into neat categories, who are constantly negotiating their place in different systems where in-betweenness is not a limitation, but a creative force.

 

Link to previous Stateless Mind Festivals:

https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100064468159134

https://portperakvenice.wordpress.com/amir-zainorin/

 

Art as a Stubborn Journey to Empathy

  

Artworks from 'Atlas of Being ' series

 

Art as a Stubborn Journey to Empathy

Art is about being stubborn. It begins with the refusal to give in—to the pressures of conformity, the weight of doubt, or the noise of distractions. This stubbornness isn’t about arrogance; it’s about conviction. It’s about standing firm in the face of uncertainty, choosing to believe that something within you is worth exploring, worth bringing into existence, even if the world doesn’t immediately understand or value it.

But stubbornness isn’t without consequence. It thickens your skin. Rejections, misunderstandings, and failures become familiar companions, teaching you resilience. Over time, this "thickness" shields you from external judgment and self-doubt, allowing you to remain on the path, even when it feels like no one else sees what you see.

And yet, it’s in this space of stubborn persistence and thickened defenses that reflection begins. The solitude of creating—the repetition, the experimentation, the endless wrestling with ideas—forces you to look inward. You start to see yourself not just as the creator but as a human being in all your complexity: flawed, searching, vulnerable.

This self-reflection opens the door to empathy. As you navigate your own struggles, you recognize them in others. The stories you tell through your art become not just about you but about the shared experiences of humanity. Stubbornness, thick skin, and introspection evolve into compassion. You realize that art is not merely an act of self-expression; it’s a bridge to connect with others, to feel their joys, sorrows, and aspirations as if they were your own.

In the end, art is the process of being stubborn enough to create, thick enough to endure, and open enough to reflect. And in doing so, it transforms both the artist and the audience, fostering empathy in a world that so desperately needs it.

 

 

X-Raying to the Inside with Kompang

  

https://www.instagram.com/reel/DE-HRJ6yVYr/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link&igsh=MzRlODBiNWFlZA==

I am not entirely sure when or where I got the idea to make the kompang. Perhaps it came from a desire to create an artwork that connects with my childhood. Growing up, music played a significant role in my life, and my father, a ghazal singer, surely influenced this love from an early age. Music has always been a companion, moving with me through the eras of transistor radios, Walkmans, cassette players, record albums, CDs, and now Spotify.

In my artwork X-ray Kompang, I merge this personal connection to music with a fascination for X-ray films. X-rays have always captivated me—their ability to reveal the unseen within us is both scientific and poetic. By replacing the traditional skin of the kompang, a Malaysian drum, with X-ray films, I transform the instrument into a bridge between sound and introspection. The X-ray, a tool that reveals what lies beneath the surface, becomes a powerful metaphor for identity—what exists beyond nationality, beyond external appearances, beyond the visible.

This project has also encouraged me to reconnect with family and old friends. As I’ve grown older, I’ve realised how precious it is to nurture these relationships. The X-rays used in this work come exclusively from my close circle, making the piece deeply personal. Each X-ray carries a unique story, evoking memories of shared experiences and ties to my roots.

Through X-ray Kompang, I invite viewers to reflect—not just on the visible and invisible within themselves, but also on the relationships and memories that shape who we are. 

This work explores the ways in which movement—of people, of sound —shapes our understanding of who we are. The process is one of adaptation and dialogue, where materials carry histories, and objects are repurposed to tell new stories. I do not impose conclusions but rather invites engagement, reflection, and participation. In Rhythm of Identity, identity is neither fixed nor singular; it is a rhythm, an echo, an evolving composition.

 

 

Contemporary Ode to the Daily Mundane

Title: Contemporary Ode to the Daily Mundane @Edinburg Print, Scotland in 2023 
Medium:  Silk Screen on atlas

In the Margin: Navigating Displacement as a Diaspora Artist

It's simply by accident that I stumbled into being part of the group exhibition called "In the Margin", which took place at Edinburgh Print in Scotland. As COVID restrictions eased after two years, I was eager to unleash the creative energy that had been building up. The theme of displacement resonated deeply with me, a diaspora artist constantly navigating the complexities of identity and belonging.

Journey to the Exhibition

In my quest for artistic residencies, I discovered Fyns Grafiske Værksted in Odense, Denmark. This city holds a special place in my heart, as I had previously worked on a school project there. Odense, with its rich history and connection to HC Andersen, felt like a familiar yet new adventure. Despite my hesitations about speaking Danish, I decided to call the residency program, leading to a fruitful conversation with Lene, who runs the place.

Challenges and Memorable Moments

During my residency, I faced the challenge of working with new techniques and materials. However, the experience was enriched by collaborating with Birgitte Lyng Andersen. Her openness to experimentation allowed me to explore new artistic avenues and push the boundaries of my work.

Artistic Techniques and Processes

The "Contemporary Ode to the Daily Mundane" series emerged from this residency. I employed silk screen techniques, integrating photo-performance elements with maps and text. The use of old atlas pages as backgrounds symbolized the ever-changing boundaries and spaces we navigate. The prints featured images of me holding or wearing objects that shape my identity, such as a mortar, globe, luggage bag, and rice cooker.

Thematic Exploration

Displacement, both voluntary and forced, has been a recurring theme in my work. While I moved to Denmark out of love, the feeling of being 'displaced' still lingers. This series explores the idea of home, identity, and belonging in times of uncertainty. It seeks to understand what it means to be human and an artist amidst constant change.

Conclusion

My residency at Fyns Grafiske Værksted and participation in the "In the Margin" exhibition have profoundly impacted my artistic journey. It provided a platform to delve deeper into the theme of displacement and express my experiences as a diaspora artist. I invite you to explore this journey with me and reflect on the intricate layers of identity and belonging.

https://edinburghprintmakers.co.uk/in-from-the-margins/
https://fynsgv.dk/nyheder/
https://www.thestar.com.my/lifestyle/culture/2020/06/05/denmark-based-amir-zainorin-takes-multiplicity-to-surreal-heights-in-lockdown-photo-series

 

 

Dear Helle...

 

Title: Dear Helle
Medium: Installation @Immigrant Museum Farum, Denmark
Materials: Postcards and pins

Year: 2014

Dear Helle: An Interactive Installation at the Immigrant Museum, Farum, Denmark

In 2014, the Immigrant Museum in Farum, Denmark, hosted a compelling installation titled Dear Helle. This unique artwork featured two images of the former Danish Prime Minister, Helle Thorning Schmidt, adorned with hundreds of postcards meticulously pinned to the museum's wall. These postcards were a collection amassed over the years from cultural hubs and restaurants in Copenhagen, creating a rich tapestry of public sentiment and cultural dialogue.

Visitor Engagement

The installation was designed to be interactive, encouraging museum visitors to engage actively by writing postcards to the Prime Minister throughout the exhibition's duration. This engagement fostered a sense of participation and personal connection, allowing visitors to voice their thoughts and feelings directly to a political figure.

Collaboration with Trampoline House

In collaboration with Trampoline House, an independent community center offering support to refugees and asylum seekers in Copenhagen, workshops were organized where participants could share their experiences and challenges. These workshops were a platform for refugees to articulate the unbearable challenges of living in refugee camps, creating heartfelt messages that were later compiled and sent to the Prime Minister. This collaboration highlighted the voices of those often marginalized, bringing their stories to the forefront of public consciousness.

Messages to the Prime Minister

The postcards collected during the exhibition were not just symbolic; they were a direct line of communication to the Prime Minister. After the exhibition concluded, these messages were dispatched to Helle Thorning Schmidt's office, ensuring that the voices of the participants and visitors were heard at the highest levels of government.

Migrant Interviews

Adding another layer to the installation, videos showcasing interviews with migrants detailed their experiences living in Denmark. These personal narratives provided a poignant backdrop to the postcards, offering deeper insight into the lives and struggles of migrants. The interviews were a powerful testament to the resilience and courage of those who have sought refuge in Denmark.

Thematic Essence

The essence of Dear Helle revolves around the fleeting nature of existence, as its original form could only be observed and experienced within the exhibition's temporal confines. The utilization of postcards symbolizes transparency and signifies a period of transition—a tangible marker of change amidst the rapid evolution towards a digitized era characterized by swift technological advancements.

Impact and Response

The installation elicited emotional responses from museum visitors and the general public. Many were moved by the personal stories and the opportunity to engage directly with a political figure. The emotional impact of the artwork was profound, resonating deeply with those who experienced it.

Conclusion

Dear Helle stands as a significant contribution to the discourse on migration and political engagement. By combining visual art, personal narratives, and direct political communication, the installation created a powerful platform for dialogue and reflection. It underscored the importance of giving a voice to the marginalized and highlighted the potential of art to influence and inspire societal change.

 

Narratives Unveiled: A Multisensory Exploration of Reality

 

 

Title: "Narratives Unveiled: A Multisensory Exploration of Reality"

Performance and installation @Museum of Contemporary Art, Roskilde, Denmark

Materials: Spices, sand, salt, paper, ink, newspaper, bullet caps, shisha, toy gun, photograph and guitar, Size: variables, Year: 2016

This immersive artwork delves into the layered dimensions of reality through the lens of Feras, a Syrian refugee in Denmark. Central to the narrative is Feras's journey, depicted through a symbolic roadmap tracing his passage from Syria to Denmark. Utilizing a diverse array of materials, including spices, the piece evokes historical echoes, drawing parallels to the Age of Discovery. Here, the quest for spices mirrors humanity's enduring pursuit of resources, ultimately intertwining with narratives of colonization and cultural exchange.  

During the opening, a group of people were invited to do a live performance. The performance was an exploration that delved into the intricate ways in which mass media impacts and molds our views and understanding of the world around us. It aimed to shed light on how the information and narratives presented to us through various media channels can influence our thoughts, opinions, and perspectives on different topics. By examining our relationship with mass media, the performance sought to raise awareness and provoke reflection on the power and influence of media in shaping our perceptions and creating a shared reality.

https://politiken.dk/ibyen/guider/art5624481/Museer-%C3%A6ndrer-liv-Se-tre-udstillinger-med-voldsomme-historier

 

   

Subject to Change

  

 

Amir Zainorin - 'Me, We' by Sharon Chin

November 10, 2010 at 4:43pm

Amir Zainorin - ‘Me, We’ 

Amir is someone I’ve yet to meet in person. I know him only through email, blogs, Facebook and a parcel containing catalogues and a DVD of his work he sent to my house. Yet from these thin, mostly electronic, threads we are weaving a conversation, the beginnings of understanding, and perhaps a friendship.

What do I know about Amir? He grew up in Kelantan and Johor. He studied in the US, returned to work in Malaysia and now lives in Denmark with his wife and son. It’s no surprise that his art deals with identity and representation – living and working in different places can turn your sense of self into putty. Even crossing the street or buying bread becomes a cultural experiment!

The questions of identity are the eternal ones: Who am I? Who are we? At the same time, these questions have an everyday urgency, like buying bread. Somewhere in between there lies a political dimension, where this ‘who’ becomes a ‘what’ – What am I? What are we? In that political space, identity is associated with power.

 What is it like to be Malaysian right now? Interesting would be one way to put it. Scary would be another. Since the March 2008 general elections, we have been living in times of huge political change. The political dimension has expanded to touch every aspect of life. You couldn’t escape it even if you wanted to – the roads will likely be jammed tight because of some by-election.

 Issues of identity have become especially heightened and complex. Old certainties are now up for questioning – the social contract, the monarchy, even the federation itself. It is as though we are waking up from a collective dream, dazed and confused, but more energized than we have been in decades. Our political masters feel the ground shifting beneath their feet. In order to rally support to new political needs, desperate games are played that draw lines deeply in the raw, soft sand of our identities. Being told what we are (Bumiputera, Si botol, Si mata sepet, Dan lain-lain) makes us much more manageable, just like in the colonial days.

It is into this space, that Amir brings his art and his questions: Who am I? Who are we?I won’t betray the spirit of Amir’s work by limiting its scope to this specific moment in Malaysian identity politics. He clearly states: ‘Even though I am a Malaysian citizen, I don’t see myself as a ‘Malaysian artist’. I am just an artist, born in Malaysia with a big interest in what is going on in the world. My influence is global, not only based on my roots in Malaysia.’ However, by locating it here, we can see how Amir’s search is not about trying to establish answers. Instead, it’s concerned with enlarging the space of how we can look at and make meaning of ourselves.

He starts with a view of himself – a self-portrait. The video Mind My Hat shows him donning variously the headgears of the Sultan, Tok Guru Nik Aziz, a Jew, Yap Ah Loy, Uncle Sam and many others. Watching it on Youtube, I wondered about the lo-fi quality – you can clearly see where the images have been digitally altered to replace Amir’s face with that of the abovementioned subjects. It uses the rough cut n’ paste techniques of most internet ‘mash ups’, that is, digital videos, music or images that consist of original content altered in some way. Amir’s self-portrait treats images, including his own, like disposable shells – each one recognizable for an instant, then falling away to reveal nothing but another image, and another. We may well ask ourselves what such disposable images are doing in a gallery, a place where we expect images (paintings, photographs, etc) to be precious… valuable…

 The question brings us to the subject of Pop Art. There is tendency in Malaysian artists and intellectuals to confuse Pop Art with a technique or ‘style’, rather than recognize it as a particular moment in the development of modern art in Europe and America. Campbell soup cans, bright colours, Andy Warhol, silk-screened images of Marilyn Monroe and Elvis Presley selling for millions of bucks – this is what Pop art means for many people. In an essay for one of Amir’s previous solo exhibitions, Mad(e) In Malaysia, Badrolhisham Tahir says as much: ‘Amir is known as a Pop artist. This is what many don’t understand and want to know more about.’ He goes on: ‘Sometimes a public story can become a powerful myth and even though we know how Amir became an artist, the public story has so much power, it becomes believable.’ Unfortunately, Badrolhisham doesn’t delve much deeper into the relationship between Amir’s ideas and Pop art, allowing the myth to hang in the air as part of the artist’s constructed identity.

Pop Art developed around the 1960s, at a time when western society was being reshaped and defined by its relationship to mass media (by late 1950s, TVs were to be found in almost every American home), fame and consumerism. Things other than objects could become commodities – such as human values or images. The perception of something could be more valuable than the thing itself, hence the rise of branding and advertising. When it came to determining value, fame (i.e. when something is widely known or reproduced) was just as, or more important than, exclusivity. Warhol explored these ideas in art by becoming an art machine, manufacturing images in the same way a factory produced canned soup. He commented on the system by being fully complicit in it. Decades after his death, his work continues to command astounding prices.

 Today, we are living in a different world, one defined by instant connectivity and information technology. We can now broadcast ourselves every moment of every day, using digital text, images, video and sound. Amir’s ideas about how mass produced images influence the way we perceive identity, value and power are indeed related to those that gave rise to Pop art. In the series of digital prints, he creates new stories and narratives by digitally piecing together images found on the internet or taken on his digital camera. The images come from modern art, history, advertising, news, the landscape, family portraits, etc – it doesn’t matter. They are all flattened to create new, instant and disposable fairytales for a generation of Facebook, Youtube, and Twitter users.  

Like Warhol and the other Pop artists, Amir also plays these ideas off the art world. One work consists of Facebook updates collected from his network of friends over a period of 3 months. During this time, he updated his own status daily with thoughts about art. He has arranged these to produce a large digital print that reads ‘Status’. Placed in a gallery, these little fragments of selves literally and symbolically claim their status as art. Another work, Mr Prime Minister, looks like an average painting, but in fact, it has been out-sourced to a company in China that specializes in copies of famous masterpieces. Skilled labourers produced the painting according to a digital image created by Amir in Photoshop. These funny, quietly subversive works make us rethink how we view and value art.

 Given that so much media content is disposable, how do we reconcile the fact that words and images continue to exert such power on us? It was only recently that cartoons of Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) caused uproar across the world, erupting in violence and even death. Closer to home, the right of non-Muslims to use the word Allah has been fiercely debated. Again and again, this modern technological age will bring us into close encounters with those who are different from us. We will see and hear things that shake our beliefs, values and worldviews. How do we negotiate between what we must hold sacred and what we can hold in common? Or perhaps it is better to say: what we can hold sacred and what we must hold in common? Who am I? Who are we?

Yes, words and images hold immense power, but let’s not forget, so do actions. In a performance held at the entrance to the Danish embassy, Amir turns the usually de-humanizing process of visa application into an opportunity for human conversation and exchange. Meanwhile, his online project Like A Prayer asks people of any (or no) faith from all over the world to submit a prayer via email, which is then posted on a blog for everyone to read. Similarly, I see his three interviews with Malaysian art icons Redza Piyadasa, Jeri Azahari and Rahime Haron as acts of listening and recording. It is interesting to observe how actions are not subject to same games of representation and power. Through his interventions into real and online life, Amir illustrates that actions not only communicate, they open up pathways – roads for us to make meaning in art, in our lives and in the world.

Sharon Chin

Nov 2010