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The Star Online: Lifestyle: Arts & Fashion

Posted: 26 Aug 2012 12:24 AM PDT

By playing with the visible and invisible, Ahmad Zakii Anwar creates tension in images that are open to interpretation.

THERE is something about the dark side of life that attracts, like a moth to a candle flame. Ahmad Zakii Anwar likes to skirt the frayed edges of this shadowy flip-side and then re-enact his moody, broody take on canvas.

His latest exhibition, Kota Sepi, which opened on Thursday, is a cavalcade of nine Hyper-Realist black-and-white works measuring 76cm x 206cm which focus on the goings-on in lonely back alleys and dingy rooms.

But the painted story has assumed new forms of film noir psycho dramas in the hands of this auteur, who hand-/finger-painted the 250gm Canson paper with ground charcoal. This gives a sense of immediacy to the quiet but intense moments captured in cinematic proportions.

It is no longer about the original impressions of transients roaming the streets at ungodly hours in search of sensation, or, more likely, bereft of sensation.

The darker side, like the Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde psychosis, is also revelatory of the artist, like an alter ego. "They reflect certain things in me, which I find intriguing," he admits.

The dark theme that runs through in this sequel to his Kota Sunyi Series (2006/2007) is the same, even the scene switch from Johor Baru to Kuala Lumpur. Kota Sepi is darker, less revealing, and even concealing and dissembling, with the characters shown disembodied, half-turned or with faces downcast or in soft focus.

The current series revels in an enervating ennui and plays with light to accentuate or hide emotions and features, whereas Kota Sunyi, painted with acrylic, is a fugue of strong shadows.

But the facial expressions and gestures of the figures, either seated or standing, are still as compelling, if not more so. And the mood is greatly enhanced by the subtle touches of natural surface textures.

In a work depicting a seated woman clad in a cheongsam and a man with only half-body shown, questions that leap to mind include who is she – a prostitute, a transvestite or the man's girlfriend?

Ahmad Zakii explains: "I am not painting portraits. I am not interested in this person, who he is, his life or his history. I am only interested in him as a prop, an actor, in this psychological play I'm creating. It's not about social commentary or something conceptual or intellectual.

"I show and at the same time, I hide. I hide things in the darkness, in the shadows and especially in the meanings behind my works. I play around with the visible and the invisible, to create a tension and a situation open to interpretations by the audience."

Although he dabbled with charcoal for his preliminary studies at Institut Teknologi Mara (ITM, now UiTM) – from which he graduated in 1977 – it was only in 2000 that he took it up seriously as a medium and has had three exhibitions using charcoal since.

In his 1999 works with the ideal Michelangelesque nude torsos looking like a Mapplethorpe photograph, in his Presence exhibition, the darkened tones are more an epidermis of modesty. Vulnerable, yes, but with a sense of emancipation and renewed confidence.

Nakedness also means a sense of anonymity as there is no hint of race, religion or culture. "It was like an avatar, standing in for me," he confides.

When his subjects are clothed, it becomes a symbol of the earthy, something grounded in reality and influenced by its surroundings.

It was the mysterious Smoking Man "masked" in a smoke-screen, that first established Ahmad Zakii in the art firmament and saw this ad man breach the transition. He reprised this two-sided appeal in his works of Balinese dancers wearing the masks of spiritual entities with a double entendre, the worlds of dancers and demons which can be interchangeable.

"When at first I had this smoke covering up people, hiding their faces, I never really understood why. It was a mask not defined by culture, whether it's Balinese or from the Chinese opera. It's a front, a mask that everyone puts on every day, a different mask for the home when with the wife, and when at work with the boss or with the subordinates," the artist.

The mask also acts as an invisible vantage point from whence to look at people, to see their true selves and actions, and to size them up.

He explains how his approach is different from that of Lucian Freud, who painted like he sculpted, and Francis Bacon, who played on distortion emanating from the inner self.

Ahmad Zakii has also painted the cow, both sacred and profane; the wild boar and the rhinoceros with the immaculate skills of a Durer.

"I am not painting the wild hog as a small animal, but (have) invested it with a power and my own persona. It is scaled up (crowding out the canvas) to look grand."

Ditto, the series on sofas which he turns into something iconic, even transcendental.

He recalls how his interest in art was kindled when he surreptitiously copied a picture of a nude from a copy of Life magazine subscribed by his father (Tan Sri Anwar Abdul Malik), a founding member of Umno.

"The concept of art-making (since then) has not changed for me," he says, adding that he needs to get "excited" about a subject and "feel" it to want to paint it. And the result must be something sublimal, especially in reaching a state of "one-ness" with whatever one is creating.

But when Ahmad Zakii enrolled at ITM, he chose the more dependable graphic design course. He kept a nine-to-five routine for a year before taking up freelance work in advertising.

"I was earning good money as illustrator, visualiser and doing story boards, but after 13-14 years, I couldn't take it anymore – the pressure and stress, the long meetings and briefings, the perpetual changes to satisfy clients' demands. There was no freedom. So I quit in 1990/91.

"It was not a clean break at first, I was still taking the odd job or two on the side. I bought canvases and paint but was at a loss as to what to paint. Then I met Latiff (Mohidin, the poet-painter-sculptor), who told me not to think too much. He asked me to play to my strength (and that is Realism), and never to look back. And that was what I did," he recalls.

The still-life of fruits (later he tackled antique ceramic and earthen vessels to show the shapes and forms as well as to celebrate their antiquity) was a great confidence pep. It was no plain academic exercise but one laden with erotic overtones and, to boot, wit too, as at that time he was absorbed in the sex manuals like the Kamasutra.

The cucumber, persimmon, chilli, pomegranate, banana, tomato, mangosteen, papaya and durian are orchestrated into a poetic empathy with naughty captions such as Tales From The Kamasutra; 120 Days Of Sodomy and SixtyNine.

Back recently from Mexico City after a three-week residency, he had a three-man show with Mexican sculptor Sebastian and the Philippines' master of contemporary art, Benedicto Cabrera (better known as BenCab), in Singapore and Kuala Lumpur.

Adaptable and sensitive, Ahmad Zakii is letting his Mexican experience seep into his works and admits to it. "I am an artist and I'm a user. I use things that I find intriguing."

Kota Sepi is on show till Sept 12 at Valentine Willie Fine Art Gallery, 1st Floor, 17, Jalan Telawi 3, Bangsar Baru, Kuala Lumpur. Viewing is from 11am-7pm, Mon-Fri and from noon to 6pm on Saturday. Closed on Sunday and public holidays.

Using the body as a canvas

Posted: 25 Aug 2012 12:12 AM PDT

Tens of thousands of visitors showed up at The World Body-painting Festival in Austria last week to celebrate the event's 15th anniversary of taking human canvases to the extreme. Can the Asian public accept this art form?

IT takes four to six hours for Tommy Yap to complete a single painting, but only a fraction of the time – 15 minutes – to wash it all off.

But that's all right. Five years in the business has taught this 38-year-old that beauty is fleeting, especially if it's to do with a human canvas.

Yap, you see, is no ordinary artist. He is among only a handful of professional paint mavericks to have emerged on the fringes of culturally conservative Asia in the past few years. Like many of his peers, he works according to the rules rather than around them, creating PG-rated versions from an art form that is notorious for its erotic imagery.

"I love doing this, but you have to constantly remind yourself to work within the boundaries of religious and cultural sensitivities," he says.

The bespectacled Yap, who wears his collared shirt neatly tucked in, looks more like a direct salesman than Leonardo da Vinci. His creative side, however, materialises the moment he picks up the airbrush and starts working on his latest demo piece.

This time, his canvas is June, a freelance model in her 20s whose willowy form is swathed in a white cotton tube and pair of shorts. With her arms and legs splayed out like a modern-day Vitruvian woman, she stands in the middle of the room, looking startlingly chaste.

"I think one of the biggest misconceptions is that one has to do it in the nude. A fabric, especially if it's not cotton, might ruin the outcome of the work, but that shouldn't stop you from creating art," murmurs Yap, through a protective mask.

Self-regulation, in his opinion, is an important ingredient if a body painter wants to thrive in Asia.

Recently, Yap came face to face with a similar "should-I-or-shouldn't-I" dilemma when he was asked to paint the Malaysian flag on some models for the Federal Territory Day parade.

Relating the incident, he explains: "I knew I would be setting myself up for trouble if I went ahead with my client's orders, so I requested an official letter ... you know, just to confirm that this project had been approved by the mayor. The whole idea was scrapped, just like I thought it would."

Knowing how to tread the fine line between sensuality and sensibility, then, is key. If Yap hadn't followed his head, his career would've been very short-lived.

Nothing to hide

If the impulse to create art is a defining sign of humanity, the body may well have been the first canvas. The practice has been common for centuries.

Since the 1960s, there was a revival of body painting in Western society but even today, opinions are divided on the legitimacy of body painting as an art form. As society evolves, however, the art form is increasingly celebrated for offering a shrilly, stylised alternative to tiresome fashion trends. It has left its mark on magazines, movies and – less often – on the streets.

Take Air New Zealand, for instance. In 2009, they ran a cheeky campaign whereby the instructions on their in-flight safety video were given out by employees in the nude covered in body paint and with strategically placed seat belts.

A corresponding article in the New York Times stated that "passengers on the video's maiden flight may have never paid more rapt attention to the line 'undo the seat belt by lifting the metal flap'."

But perhaps the biggest indicator that body painting is going mainstream is the fact that the Malaysian Expert Institute of Cosmetology, headed by the immaculately turned out principal Lim Wee Nee, is now offering classes in body painting.

Lim became acquainted with the art form as a student 20 years ago after she witnessed a sea of painted humans picketing for human rights on the streets of Canada.

"It really impressed me," she says. "You wouldn't have guessed that body painting would one day be considered the haute couture of cosmetics. I thought incorporating it as an optional subject was a great way to give final-year art students an edge in their career."

As head instructor, Yap conducts classes whenever Lim requests for it.

Admittedly, it's a small group. With just two, soon-to-be graduates paying rapt attention beside him, Yap launches into action, coating June's entire body in non-toxic, non-allergenic yellow paint. Then, he draws on a number of black squiggly lines on her collarbone with a brush, slowly working his way down to her hips.

June, who's being transformed into a mythical beast bit by bit, hardly speaks or moves except to shiver from the occasional gust of wind that blows through the open windows. Her job as a live mannequin may seem simple enough to the bystander but, in Yap's opinion, standing for six hours is no easy feat.

"I've worked with a number of models and I can tell you this ... not everyone is up for it.," he says.

Yap continues with his painting and dispensing creative pointers to the students in between. The initial tension has all but disappeared, and it seems like he's engaged in something almost therapeutic. But that's usually how it is.

After all, think of getting up close and personal with someone you've only met for five minutes and see how you feel.

"Things can get pretty awkward at first," he admits. "That's why it's important to crack jokes and laugh as you're working. It's a good way to break the ice."

Beyond the facade

Going from a make-up trainer to body painter was a natural transition for Yap, who's always had a passion for colours having grown up in a family whose business was selling art supplies. But it was curiosity that ultimately drove him to pursue body painting.

"I came across some amazing works by a few European and American body painters who managed to camouflage an entire person in a brick wall by just painting their bodies. I was like, 'Wow, I'd like to do the same!' It was very inspiring," he says.

It took him about a month to learn the basic techniques of body painting, which combines the meticulous artistry of an oil painter with the special expertise of a make-up artist. One must understand how to paint human skin. Yap soon discovered that the craft was all about patience and practice.

"It's nothing like painting on paper. Paper is flat, while a person has contours. It's also much more difficult to deal with something that's dynamic," he admits.

Having a supportive and remarkably self-assured spouse also helps. Yap's wife (yes, he's married) is, in fact, his biggest supporter and critic!

"My wife is not jealous at all," he says. "She was my first test model but she felt so cold and ticklish when I was painting that from then onwards, she told me to look for someone else.

"I suppose she knows that when I'm body painting, I see the model as a life canvas. It's not something sexual."

Yap soon embarked on an ambitious project, painting a medley of elaborate cheongsam on different bodies, and photographing each one for future reference.

"I wanted to do an Oriental version since all the previous artworks I've seen are all very Westernised," says Yap, adding that he hopes to do a kebaya series soon.

"Although my work can be washed off in an instant, it doesn't pain me. I feel a sense of accomplishment whenever I see my work come to life," he says.

Business is also brisk these days, with most of his clients coming from the beauty and fashion industries. While it sounds like amazing fun, Yap insists that body painting can be pretty stressful.

"Half of the time, we work on a very tight schedule and only get a 10-minute break for a quick bite. Mistakes are common. So the next time you're at one of our events, try and spot them!" he quips.

Asked if he has had any strange requests from clients and Yap shrugs non-committally.

"Body painting is, by itself, strange. So, no, I don't think I'll do anything weirder than that, although I'd love to blend someone into the Petronas Twin Towers one day," he grins.

Yap's ultimate dream, however, is to attend the World Bodypainting Festival held annually in Pörtschach, Austria where artists compete in different categories including brush and sponge, airbrush and special effects.

Online news portal Gather claims the event "isn't just a bunch of hippy artists painting naked bodies", it is "the largest and most important competition of its kind in the world."

Yap feels that one day, body painting in this region will catch on and then "a lot more commercial works done in the region can be published."

How long before that happens remains to be seen. After all, the art was dealt another blow last year when Facebook took down several photographs related to the Breast Cancer Awareness Body Painting Project, which featured photographs of the painted breasts of 25 post-mastectomy breast cancer survivors, citing them as "pornographic".

The photographer cum artist, Michael Colanero, had only this to say: "I think the human figure has been a subject since the first cave drawings. Are we still not used to it? We are all humans with similar bodies. Let's just get past that and talk about what matters."

> For more information on the next intake for body painting classes at the Malaysian Expert Institute of Cosmetology, call 03-7727 6636 or e-mail: enquiry@malaysianexpert.edu.my

Kredit: www.thestar.com.my

Ahad, 26 Ogos 2012