Anamorphosis

I learned a new word today - anamorphosis - which means a distorted or fragmented image that comes together at a single point. I would otherwise just call it optical illusion. I am responding to the works of Matthew Ngui, a Singapore-born artist residing both in Perth and Singapore. At the basement gallery of NMS (when will the National Museum of Singapore be so well-established that the people on the street will know it by its acronym?), there is an exhibition of his works from 1980s to the present. I particularly like his most-representative piece - The Chair. It took me some time to realise that the real art work is not the solitary wooden chair placed against the wall, but the fragments of pieces of wood scattered on the floor, on the wall, the painted chair parts on the vertical wall corner. Watching the video in which Ngui interacts with his 'chair', I suddenly realise that, if you place yourself at a certain point in space, the fragmented pieces form a complete chair! Okay, so where is this point? I can't just leave without discovering for myself. I tiptoed, I squatted, I knelt, I shifted to the left, and to the right. Hey presto, got it! Quite pleased with myself. Now that's what I call a successful artist to evoke from the audience a response, which probably looks quite silly to a bystander.

That Spooky Staircase

When I was young, I used to be quite afraid of this staircase. It's always chained up, dusty and forlon. I wondered where it led to, and imagined that there must be a ghost up there. It is still there today (the staircase that is), but its lacy pattern contrasted prettily against the light from the window. There is a chain across, suggestive of forbidden space. There's no notice, but it's almost clear to anyone that this is Do Not Enter zone. The mysterious forboding continues to tantalise my imagination.

David's Big Feet

Someone says that the museum is the attic of a nation. Quite an apt description. It's like a family treasure chest, sometimes long forgotten in the attic, occasionally taken out to re-live the good old times. It is thus with some surprise that I found out museums also commission art works to create a commentary on the architectural space. At the National Museum, this is how David (that Michelangelo's David) draped in Indonesian batik, fills up the rotunda space.

We all know that the original statue of David is huge, but his p*** is quite small. This one is quite well- endowed. I do not know if it is built in exact proportion to the original, but his feet are HUGE. See for yourself. I'm quite pleased that I manage to capture the batik details quite well in the photo.

Sound of Nostalgia

It's quite subtle, and you almost don't notice it's there. I'm talking about the sound background that adds to your total museum experience. It's employed quite extensively by the National Museum of Singapore. Take for example, the Fashion Living Gallery. As you lose yourself in the dark cavenous room, admiring the fashion statements through the years, there is a subtle, warm, fuzzy whisper in the background. Listen carefully, and you detect the whirring of a sewing machine. Come to think of it, I realise why it's a warm fuzzy feeling. It's so familiar, and yet so distant. It now dawns on me that it's a subconscious association of my mother tapping away at her trusty Singer sewing machine (still present in her bedroom today). Those were the days when she had to lug home bundles of fabric cuttings and sew them into pyjamas, to supplement the family income. It brings back unpleasant memories of the days when the family, once wealthy, came to bad times, and mum had to eke out a living sewing pyjamas. A simple rattle of a sewing machine, but it evokes so much feelings in me. The strength of mum's character, her pessimism, and yet her commitment to do whatever it takes to get going. Yes, museum is about emotional engagement. But the engagement happens only when it means something to you. Is it no wonder that museums appeal only to older people like me?

My First EZLink Card

I bought my first EZLink Card two weeks ago. Not having to rush to work and meetings, I thought I would make the effort to commute through public transportation while I make my museum rounds in Singapore. Surprisingly, I felt a sense of liberation as I received the card. I guess not having to worry about parking is liberation enough. That I would have had to mingle with the crowd in the bus and in the MRT has a comforting assurance that I am really part of the ordinary people mass. It's almost a personal triumph to declare that I'm not totally dependent on my car!

I boasted about my new-found freedom with my RGS girlfriends one day. Another revelation - we all share the same discovery that, now that we're into our 50s, less busy with work and bringing up children, we all want to go back to becoming mere plebians taking public transport. There's a tint of self-pride to 'return to our roots'. We've come full circle.

The Colour of Museums

If you think that, because my sabbatical theme is on museum, I'm an art or history connoisseur, you couldn't be further from the truth. My vocabulary in describing something that I enjoy would normally be limited to "That's nice!". Not exactly very profound, is it? So, I was intrigued by this write-up on a museum in New York, which describes the museum as "exuberantly abristle with the usual Victorian gewgaws". I did a quick search: gewgaw refers to a decorative trinket; the word has its origin in Middle Age English giuegaue. In simple English, the museum has a large collection of trinkets from the Victorian era. Now this sounds utterly unromantic and unexciting. Which leads me to deduce that, to really enjoy museums, you must make the effort to build up your vocabulary so as to add colour and depth to your emotions and experience.

First Day of Blog

Today I start my blog about my sabbatical. It's still a few weeks to come, but I'm already getting a bit restless. I vacillate between wanting to prepare comprehensively to get the most out of the learning journey, and worrying about over-planning to the detriment of missing out on accidental opportunities that may come my way.

The theme for Part 1 of my sabbatical leave is on museums in 3 different cities - Singapore, Washington DC and New York. What triggered the start of this blog is the story run by The Straits Times' Life! section today about Asian Civilisations Museum head Kenson Kwok. I would call this man an unsung hero in that he's transformed the local museums to a new level of sophistication in quiet seldom- publicised efforts. I still recall the musty and eerie National Museum next to the now-non-existent National Library along Stamford Road in the years gone by when I was still a young student. For a long period, that old, boring mental association with museums lingered on. Even when I earned enough to travel overseas on holiday, I kept wondering why people would spend time and money to see inanimate ancient artefacts. And yet, today I read about this museum honcho, who after 17 years at the helm of curatorship, plans to retire to visit even more museums, and to further value-add to his appreciation, decides to learn Latin so he can read the inscriptions on Roman monuments. This is what I call PASSION.

(Side thought: Ummm, good storyline to tell my students about PASSION.)