Welcome

Foreword

I started drawing from a very young age. My first attempt was that of a perfectly drawn mermaid. As a child with an orthodox strict Asian upbringing, I was taught to follow the rules and always ‘colour within the lines’. Doing otherwise would draw attention to imperfections and flaws in one’s character. This would bring shame I was told. 

I learnt the same about colour. Bright colours are associated with happy events while somber one’s reflected sobriety. It was important to keep them separate. My adolescent life followed suit. I complied with the rules and did what I was expected to do. I took great pains to hide my flaws and accentuate strengths to compensate. 

I learnt much from the rich and challenging life I have had since my youth. Being born in Malaysia and then living most of my life in New Zealand as a young migrant provided fertile soils for learning about difference, exclusion and transcultural bridges. 

I learnt that the very experiences that scar or haunt us, also heal and make us whole. We are taught many things that are not right. Nothing is only good. Good and bad co-exist, as does dark and light. One has no meaning without the other. 

I found perfection and beauty in my beloved, aged nanny’s hands before she passed.  Her weathered papery scars were beautiful to me. 

Perfection is often only skin deep - and indeed can only be appreciated when contrasted with flaws. Blues and bright greens don’t always signify truth and growth. Blacks, greys and sombre ochres don’t always mean gloom. My old beliefs had confined my experiences and constricted my life. 

Paradox is a foundation of Hindu spiritual philosophy which I had grown up with, but this had evaporated over time as a result of the supposed modernization of the East. Ironically, my life experiences brought me back to the source of my cultural roots.

Harsh life experiences such as abuse, racism, homophobia, exclusion and the death of loved ones, brought me the very medicine my soul needed, if not yearned. Art became the expression of this philosophy for the rest of my journey. I began to express unbridled stories of paradox in my work. I rebelled against what I had deeply learnt, and art became the kind physician and friend that brought healing. 

I don’t paint what is beautiful but what is. I celebrate imperfection on my canvases. The random and the planned, the chaotic and structured, dark and light, joy and sadness – all sit together in a scrambled mess - like the story of what is my wonderful life. 

I share narratives about a harsh and violent world which in turn, create a void for the expression of love, beauty and infinite compassion. Each painting evolves, I hope, to show a rich and bittersweet tapestry that goes against the polarities of good and bad that many believe in. Right and wrong, the profane and divine, dark and light are madly weaved together like threads on the same cloth. My best pieces feature this jumble of extremities. 

Scratches and gouges appear regularly. They make no apology for marring my canvas. They create desirable depth and character, layers of experience, one over the other, laid sometimes purposely and other times not. 

Repeated ‘mistakes’ are evident often obsessively, worked over until the final rectification, discerned by knowing what ‘the right thing to do is’. That’s what my life is like. Swatches of paper and fabric are pasted on like band aids over ‘what went wrong’, to ironically, only accentuate what is concealed. 

Bright colours feature in most of my work. I feel all the colours I use – but not in the conventional way. Red does not depict anger and passion. Neither is white always about innocence or purity, but yellow always represents illumination and hope. Spontaneous splashes express the suddenness of random events that we have no control over but must live with. Pencils and pens scribble across everything, highlighting our childish responses to life’s challenges. Drips illustrate our tears and the bleeding wounds we wear but try to mask. Space is manically filled, leaving little room for self-awareness or stillness, accentuating the warp-speed pace of contemporary life. 

I am obsessed about ensuring my works are always backlit, like light streaming through stained glass. This represents a poignant reminder that behind our darkest hours lie an enduring and shining light of hope. 

I am told my work disturbs some people. In one exhibition, an angry man marched up to me say how upsetting my work was before leaving abruptly. I was sorry for him also deeply flattered. My work had evoked an emotion in him that he did not understand. That, for me, is an artist’s best achievement – to disturb, unearth, or gouge emotions that beg questions in the perceiver. I want to make people feel something and that something must be deep.

Art is my healer and my best friend. When no one is left around, she and I will sit together in silence knowing we are bound together for life.

Mervin Singham