FOUNTS OF CREATIVITY

SIVARAJAH NATARAJAN
The great dancer Datuk Ramli Ibrahim of the Sutra Dance Theatre may have said that “where you dance is a temple” but, for artist Sivarajah Natarajan, one of the talents most associated with the legendary dance company, where one paints is revered equally. “I think art can be created anywhere although I do find a creative, inspiring space helps. I certainly don’t like a stark studio with bare walls. I believe artists should forge their own working space and let it be a reflection of themselves.”

Looking around, Siva’s studio is an exotic haven – surrounded by aged trees, wood, posters, heaped shelves of books and, always, the presence of his ‘bodyguard’, a dog named Fakir, nearby. “I like to paint outside during the day but I also enjoy working in my room at night. So, you’ll always see an easel next to my bed and it’s an easy, seamless way to create. If I can’t sleep, I get up and paint. I also like to sleep and wake with my paintings around me. I think it’s important to interact with one’s work in the process of its creation…to live with it, to infuse it with ‘you’.”

“I’m not a regimented artist and I can’t work fixed hours like, say, from 0900-1700hrs daily, although some of my peers can. I also like my art to have an element of the moment. Sometimes, I wake up and can finish a piece in one go. Sometimes I can’t. And that’s okay too. There’s a Dionysian element to it all, I suppose. I dislike too much order and prefer to work according to my mood and how I’m feeling. After all, art is about pleasing myself, not the gallery. Artists should always put their own soul first. If you don’t, it will show. And art comes from within and artists are supposed to use the medium of colour simply to express their innermost feelings. The public can tell if the work is from one’s heart or created for commercial gain.”

Currently occupying Siva’s time and space is a massive work entitled La Vie en Rose (as pictured), which he intends to present to the dancer Guna for his 50th birthday this month. “I have always been interested in painting figures in movement,” he recalls. “My college research centre asked me to look for material upon which I could base my art. At that time, Ramli and his dancers were always featured in the newspapers and magazines. So, I studied them and began creating. But my lecturer pronounced my work ‘stiff’ and asked me to go sketch them live. I then picked up the phone, called Ramli and asked if I could do so. Surprisingly, he said ‘yes’. I came, with my sketchbooks, and never looked back. Now, I paint and create amidst Sutra’s space and energy and I enjoy working… always look forward to it. I feel secure here in my own heaven.”

CHANG FEE MING
The idyllic East Coast state of Terengganu, with its golden beaches and surf, seems a naturally idyllic space in which inspiration abounds. For the eminent watercolourist Chang Fee Ming, his studio, Mengabang Telipot (an amalgam of the Malay words for ‘a small stream leading to the sea’ and ‘waterlily’) is his haven, a little kampong-esque oasis of calm where the self-taught artist can potter about in his sarong, the richly-detailed fabric iconic of the Nusantara region. However, it is the whole of his home state of Terengganu he regards as his “real studio”.

“Terengganu has always been the place in which I paint,” he muses. “As long as I am in, what I call, my natural habitat, I feel okay. Anyway, with watercolours, you don’t need a big studio. The way I work also makes it easy – I normally begin with initial sketches, many of which are done on the spot, and I also take a lot of photographs. I then work by combining the elements in my head. You could say the studio is where I finally put together all the pieces of my mental and visual jigsaw puzzle.”

Having formerly used Bali as a retreat to finish his paintings, Chang now divides his time between Mengabang Telipot, his hillside house in Chendering in Terengganu, as well as a smaller space in Kuala Lumpur, named Sekuchi, after the small fishing boats favoured by fishermen who use it for candat sotong (squid-jigging). “It used to be a traditional sight in the East Coast,” he laments. “It is a very beautiful vessel, usually made from chengal wood but it’s almost disappeared now. The locals pronounce it with an ‘o’ sound, like sekochi.”

“My works, if you study my portfolio, are always like diary entries, if you will…travelogues and images that blend elements of the past and present together. Some can even be considered social commentaries, albeit in a very subtle way. I don’t like to be too blunt or straightforward, compared to some young artists now, who are like journalists even. Me, I like to ruminate on issues. I have always loved culture, kampong tales and village life and I have always endeavored to fuse all these elements and references together into every painting I create.”

An inveterate traveller, Chang loves nothing better than exploring, particularly the mythical Langkasuka region, said to be the site of a fabled kingdom straddling the Isthmus of Kra, long before the time of the Malaccan sultanate. Never without his paint box and sketch books, work always begins, first, with delicate sketches, roughly done in colour before being outlined in ink. “I like things to be simple,” he says. “I consider myself a story-teller and I like weaving what I see together in art. Wherever I go, I make it a point to observe local life – from the hustle and bustle of a pasar (market) to even a person’s hands – they tell so much. You can almost see what’s on my mind from my works. It may be subtle but it’s there all the same. After all, what I do is: I see, I think, I paint. What else is there?”

IVAN LAM
Cutting-edge and cerebral best describe the white-hot contemporary artist Ivan Lam. His private studio in Kuala Lumpur is where he has been crafting his clever, attention-arresting and thought-provoking pieces for the past four years. “I used to work in Cyberjaya but, now, this little space is just perfect,” he says. Advocating the benefits of a dedicated artistic space, Lam considers it a sign of intent as well as privilege. “There’s nothing bad or wrong working from home or elsewhere but, being a father of two, it is indeed a privilege to have a dedicated space and I think it’s also shows your audience you are a dedicated professional. After all, being an artist is also a job, not unlike others.”

Lam’s creative schedule involves a daily visit to his studio. “Even when I don’t have to come in, I do – just to organise, think and plan. With young children in the house, working at home can be tricky. Distractions happen, life happens. Here, I am master of my domain,” he laughs. “I have always been cognisant of the world around me. It’s also about training your eye to pick them up and how to modify them to your own ideals. When you don’t limit your options, the world is vast. Then it’s up to you to build your thesis around it.”

Currently working on a series of pieces based on the concept of time, Lam isn’t revealing much except to say it will be based on the idea of “time capsules done in the tradition of portraiture”. Lam is also exploring the use of gold leaf in art. When he’s working, however, he admits to often losing track of time, citing that “only hunger will get me out. I also have to remember to take frequent breaks when I’m working with resin as it is very toxic.”

“What I love about my ‘job’,” he continues, “is that it’s impossible to hide. What you put out there is a bit like ‘show and tell’. To succeed as an artist, you’ve got to be honest!” Certainly, Lam’s personality shows in his workspace. Eclectic yet edgy, it’s a mish-mash of elements, including paint pots, a bright red Nextime wall clock, drawings by his daughters Andrea and Ashley, a Jackson Pollock-worthy mess of resin on the floor and a stein mug leftover from a bygone Oktoberfest. Lam’s fans would also recognise his iconic circular target motifs pasted here and there. “It’s a bit Freudian, I guess,” he shrugs. “It’s the approach of the endless, of infinity…and I like to get into it, lose myself in the loops. It’s also very universal in appeal as well as very much what I think the universe to be.” Music aficionados would no doubt appreciate a space-age looking Harman/Kardon sound system in a corner which Lam says is vital to his creative process. “I always work with music,” he grins. “It’s part of the creative process and I make sure to crank it up! I play Top 40s hits, oldies… anything with a catchy tune but nothing that takes me away from what I am doing.”

CHIN KONG YEE
If first impressions count, then Chin Kong Yee strikes as a quiet man who enjoys the simple pleasures of life. When not traveling around the world to showcase his incredible art work, he can be found working diligently in his studio in Kampung Baru Ampang, Selangor, which also happens to be his home. “As an artist, having my own studio is important as it not only provides me with a place to work but also to collect energy, which then gets released through my art. It’s also a place where I feel safe and comfortable, just like any home should be.”

The space is a modest one fitted with hardly any furniture, large wooden panels which serve as simple dividers, concrete floors that are cool to the touch and various works of art in progress. Towards the back is the kitchen, where Chin will sometimes retreat to sip his favourite brew made from freshly grounded coffee beans while contemplating on his next project. The kitchen opens up to a lovely garden which is home, not only to various species of flora, which were lovingly acquired by his wife, but also four lively dogs, who serve as his constant companions. “I usually won’t allow them inside the studio; there was this one incident where they got in and made a complete mess of a painting that I was working on!”

As to why Chin chose to set up his studio in this area, he explains: “I’ve lived in this neighbourhood for my entire life and grew up just a few doors away from my studio. As for this house, it was actually built by my father more than 20 years ago before my neighbour moved in. They started renting it out about a decade ago and my mother was the one who helped to collect the rent. Eventually, they asked if I wanted to use the space as a studio. After discussing it with my wife, we decided to take up their offer. But, as long as I have a place to work, I’m not really concerned about how long I stay here.”

CHEONG LAITONG
You can’t claim to be a Klang Valley resident and not recognise what is Cheong Laitong’s most visible work. Adorning the façade of Muzium Negara (or the National Museum), Cheong’s 1962 mural is also one of his most expansive, while a quick glance at his biodata (featuring a staggering list of awards, solo shows and group exhibitions) earmarks the sprightly 83-year-old as one of Malaysia’s most prolific as well. Certainly, as we meet at his verdant home in Kuala Lumpur, part of which has been cordoned off as his studio, he is working midway on something new, something beautiful. In one corner of the living room hangs a very rare self-portrait, done in 1988. Just outside, red ribbons festoon the tall trees that envelope his home while a pond is home to koi so playful and tame you can stroke their backs.

With his studio opening out right onto his garden, it’s clear why nature has always captivated Cheong, as well as being his primary source of inspiration since the 1950s. In fact, his latest finished work evoked images of China’s renowned Huangshan mountain range. Another interesting fact about Cheong’s repertoire is most of his works are unnamed. “I don’t see the need for labels. It’s just… art,” he smiles. “Anyway, how does one begin to name their works? Also, when people see a painting, it should evoke their own feelings and emotions. I don’t want a label to influence their perception.”

Self-taught until the age of 25, Cheong was awarded scholarships to study art, first in the United States, followed by the UK. “I wanted to draw all the time,” he says. “Even as a child. But I never thought I would be an artist. Moreover, there was no art school I could go to, no teachers. It was World War II during my teens.” Cheong further shares how he’d even entertained thoughts of becoming a ballet dancer. “I had a lot of dreams,” he laughs, “and I loved music and even thought of writing. But, in the end, I didn’t think too much. I just followed my heart and ‘did’.”

Still, a moment of destiny occurred around the age of 16 when Cheong suddenly entertained the fancy of seeing his art hanging in a museum. “I came from a poor family and my uncles said quite a bit about not being able to ‘make money’ drawing. I really became an artist by choice, not chance. Also, life was tough then. People who grew up in my era easily missed opportunities due to the difficulty of circumstances. Now, the doors are thrown wide open for young people. Those days, you had to make your own door,” he jokes.

Using no initial sketches or photographs as reference, Cheong’s magic lies entirely in his ability to conjure up beauty; first, in his mind and then on canvas, guided just by the talent that flows strongly through his veins. Now, almost seven decades on since he painted his first significant piece, he also continues to maintain a steady, creative rhythm, painting, most often, at night and always, always accompanied by the sound of classical music, particularly Brahms, Chopin and Vivaldi. “You always borrow ideas from music,” he says. “Music inspires art and I just cannot paint without it. If you don’t know music, you will not be able to understand the sense of space. It’s like that sound of silence in between notes. Art, likewise, must possess the same quality. If not, it will be flat and uninteresting. Look at Chinese art – you will realise the surface of the painting is never fully filled up. There will always be room – room to breathe, room for more… I call it ‘the breathing space’.”

“I have always maintained that art and music change the way you behave,” he adds. “The way you talk and even how you walk… all these are enhanced by one’s appreciation of them. Without art and music, one is all the poorer, with one’s quality of life and, indeed, the quality of the person himself, going down.” As if to drive home the point, he adds: “Imagine a country without artists, poets or musicians to call its own.” How bankrupt it truly would be, indeed.

WONG CHEE MENG
Born in 1975 in Taiping, Perak, Wong Chee Meng’s journey into the world of arts was one filled with a series of trials and tribulations. It all began with a motorcycle accident during his university days, which left the vision in his left eye slightly impaired.  “I can’t really see depth, so everything just looks flat. For example, this cup on the table might seem ordinary to you but, for me, there are two cups, with one image looking slightly blurrier than the other.

As Wong recalls, the early stages after the accident were the most difficult to adjust to. “I couldn’t even do something as simple as climbing the stairs unattended. It was especially hard during my university days as I struggled a lot with my assignments and needed my friends just to guide me through. It took a long time, but I eventually managed to retrain myself to draw a simple, straight line by constantly practicing.”

It was through sheer determination that Wong managed to work around the problem, which allowed him to explore various ways in discovering the beauty of what others would normally perceive as flaws. It didn’t take long before his physical weakness would be deemed as his artistic strength and, by 2013, his first solo exhibition, The Urban Abyss, would appear at Wei-Ling Gallery, solidifying his status as one of the most skilful artists in Malaysia. “In the end, it was art that helped me overcome these challenges. So, in a way, that incident ended up being a blessing in disguise,” he reveals.

When not travelling the world or catching up with his friends at the local kopitiam, Wong prefers to stay at home to work in his studio, located in Puchong, Selangor. Stepping into his abode is akin to stepping into an unfinished canvas. The space where one would normally use as a living room has been stripped bare to make room for essentials such as paint, brushes, easels, canvas and other materials, while the colourful splatters of paint on the laminated grey floors add to its charm. “Personally, I believe that an artist just needs a place to be able to do their work and be free to explore their ideas. My only real requirement is that the environment has to be quiet enough for me to think and study without any distractions. I also prefer the space to be clean, simple and white, as having too many objects tend to distract my vision.”

“Since my studio is also my home, I have to practice a lot of self-discipline in order to complete my projects. The downside to this is that sometimes it can be hard to know when to stop, and there have been times where I have worked until the break of dawn. But I do relish the fact that it provides me with more freedom to spend quality time with my loved ones.”

JALAINI ABU HASSAN
There is method to the chaos that is Jalaini Abu Hassan’s studio. Disorganised as it is, this space is the culmination of his journey – and self-discovery – as an artist thus far. “I’ve been working here for more than 10 years,” says the engagingly erudite artist popularly known as ‘Jai’. “This is my premise of knowledge, where theory and practise collide. It’s a place for experiments and exploration of ideas – as well as a dumping ground,” he adds with a smile.

Located on the top floor of a shop lot in Ampang, Kuala Lumpur, Jai still remembers when he first moved in. “It was very quiet then and most of the area was still empty,” he says. “Things are different now; the shops are fully occupied and there’re more people around. Still, it’s pretty quiet in the evenings and nights.” The location does have its convenience for Jai. “My home is nearby, which makes it easy for me to drop by whenever I need to work,” he says. He also likes the separation between work and family. “Sometimes, I work until the wee hours of the morning and being here at the studio allows me to concentrate on my work.”

Having spent so many years here, Jai fully understands how the studio has shaped his art. “At the most basic level, I can only work on paintings of a certain size – if they’re too big, I can’t get them down the stairs!” he laughs. More importantly, “this is where I weave my stories and review my heritage; here is where I explore and have my flashbacks, re-examining my upbringing, my childhood, my experiences… all the things that have made me the artist I am – it’s all here,” he says, gesturing all around him, conjuring magic out of the madness in the space that is Jai’s studio.

RUZZEKI HARRIS
It’s not exactly off the beaten path but, then, you’re hardly likely to stumble on Ruzzeki Harris’ studio if you weren’t actively looking for it. A simple double-storey house within a medium-sized development in Kuala Selangor serves as both studio and home for him and his young family. “I know it’s kind of far for most people but I like it,” he says. His studio, in a back room on the ground floor, is similarly plain – a computer, some shelves and a stereo are almost the only adornments, apart from the huge works-in-progress against the walls.

The house in which Ruzzeki has been living for the past six years is a total change for the young artist. “After I graduated from UiTM in 2007, one of my coursemates and I decide to set up a studio together. We had won some prize money and we used it to rent a shop lot.” He remembers it as an exciting but challenging time. “I think we were inspired by each other; we would have all-night marathon painting sessions and were very focused on the art. We were always short of money, though.” Things, in fact, got so desperate that Ruzzeki seriously considered giving up his calling. “There was a time when we only had MYR1.50 between the two of us and we had no idea how we were going to survive after that.”

Still, Ruzzeki not only managed to overcome those difficult times but also, indeed, thrived. Life now is a far cry from those early days. In fact, it’s become settled and almost routine in this house that he has called home for nearly six years. “My wife is a teacher and, when she’s at school, I take care of our daughter. I like working here at home – I’m close to my family, which is great as they, especially my daughter, inspire me.” Although he has achieved a measure of success in his art and struck a balance between work and family, Ruzzeki is not settling on his laurels. “You need to work hard to be successful. I’ve had experience of what it’s like to struggle; it’s made me who I am today and a reminder of the need to keep striving.” He still has a habit of working late into the night, especially when inspiration strikes, listening to the same kind of eclectic music as the old shop lot studio space – Ozzy Osbourne, Black Sabbath, indie, country and folk. Only now, it’s downstairs from his slumbering family, in his little haven of peace and quiet.

SEAN LEAN
Life is rarely a straight and narrow path. Choices and circumstances always throw up forks on the road we travel and, often, we end up somewhere never quite expected. Just ask Sean Lean. “After I finished art school, I went into business with my brother, doing graphic design,” he says. The work was satisfying and lucrative enough that the thought of going into art remained on the back burner – constantly in mind but never seriously pursued.

Things change, inevitably: business slowed down, to the point that Lean decided it was time to move on. Art was calling and he finally answered. “I had set up studios previously but never really got around to using them,” Lean says. He finally ended up here, in a shop lot in Klang, Selangor, where he has spent the last four years producing art. “Initially, this was just a work space but I realised I was wasting too much time travelling to and from home, so I decided to move in,” he smiles. All the necessities of a simple life – a mattress, fridge, storage space for personal items – are unobtrusively present, but the greater part of the space is devoted to making art. “I don’t need much; just the basics,” he explains.

Large canvasses, works-in-progress for an upcoming exhibition, hang on the walls, with all the tools of his trade near on hand. Living here allows him to keep his own hours, free from distractions. “I can be a bit of a recluse when I’m working. In fact, when I’m preparing for an exhibition, I usually cut off all ties with the world outside,” he says. Not entirely, though, as this part of Klang is quite familiar to him. “I grew up near here and my parents still live nearby; sometimes, my mother even brings lunch over,” he smiles.

SHIA YIH YIING
Moving into her home couldn’t have come at a more opportune time for Shia Yih Yiing. “My father-in-law’s house used to stand here – it was a wooden house similar to many of those in this neighbourhood,” she explains. The new building is three-storeys high, not including an attic space that serves as a store room, and is a perfect encapsulation of what she needs.

“I’m what you would call a mid-career artist,” she smiles. “I’ve been spending a lot of time lately, thinking about the direction I want to take and the work I want to make.” This house, in Jinjang, Kuala Lumpur, has allowed her to draw all the things precious and comfortable to her into one place. “The ground floor is a bit like a public space, where I hold my classes,” she says. These classes, for adult students, are important for Shia as they allow her to discover a world larger than what her experience has taught her. “I like teaching these classes and interacting with my students,” she says. “They help give me ideas and work out problems.”

The family quarters are on the second floor, while her studio is on the top floor, a space she shares with her husband’s study. Her section is open, bright with natural light streaming through the large windows. Brightly verdant potted plants stand on shelves while stacks of books are arranged neatly. A simple desk, clear of all but notebooks, pens and a tablet, is where Shia works out ideas and sketches. Rail hooks high up on the walls allow her to work on huge unframed canvasses, which are rolled up after they are completed. “This way I don’t have to worry about getting the work down the stairs, regardless of how large they are,” she explains. Her studio, clearly, has been carefully planned – the books that inspire her are close at hand, for example – allowing her to concentrate on her work. “I can’t work in a messy space,” she says

Similarly, the house has also been carefully thought out. “Before we built this, I used to paint in the old house. Every day after I finished work, I would go home to my family or to where I held my classes,” she says. “When we had the opportunity to rebuild, we thought a lot about what would work best for us.” For Shia, it was about achieving balance between work and family. “It wasn’t easy doing that before; it’s still difficult now but, at least, everything is in one place,” she says. Here, within this house, is where she finds her equilibrium – as a wife, mother, teacher and artist.