Authenticity through interdisciplinary practice
By Vivyan Yeo

Midpoint is a monthly series that invites established Southeast Asian contemporary artists to take stock of their career thus far, reflect upon generational shifts and consider the advantages and challenges of working in the present day. It is part of A&M Dialogues and builds upon the popular Fresh Faces series.

Leon Leong with his work, ‘Malaysia Stilt House No. 1’, 2022, at ILHAM Gallery, Kaula Lumpur, Malaysia. Image courtesy of the artist. — Leon Leong with his work, ‘Stilt House No. 1’, 2022, at ILHAM Gallery, Kaula Lumpur, Malaysia. Image courtesy of the artist.

This month’s guest is Leon Leong, a Malaysian artist who investigates the themes of people, place and history through mixed-media installation, painting, woodworking and literature. His recent series ‘Stilt Houses—The Floating World of Kampung Baru’ (2022) was exhibited at the Ilham Art Show 2022 and later at the IX Tashkent International Biennale of Contemporary Art, where it won a special jury prize.

In this conversation, Leong speaks about his pursuit of authenticity, his interdisciplinary practice, and the importance of gaining knowledge from multiple art forms.

Leon Leong, ’Couple in Transition’ from the Istanbul series ‘Optimistic Melancholics’, 2013, oil on linen, 65 x 100cm. Image courtesy of the artist.

Could you share a decision or event that marked a significant turn in your path as an artist?

A significant turn came with my decision to paint Istanbul in the series ‘Optimistic Melancholics’ (2015). After a short visit to the city in 2012, I soon returned to Istanbul and rented myself a studio, where I stayed for six months. The experience taught me how to tell the story of a place and its people through artwork. Relocating to my subjects' home environments and living and working closely with them to gain first-hand knowledge is a crucial part of my process. Since my Istanbul series, this approach has become my modus operandi.

“Relocating to my subjects’ home environments and living and working closely with them to gain first-hand knowledge is a crucial part of my process. Since my Istanbul series, this approach has become my modus operandi.”

Leon Leong, installation view of ‘Cracks in the Wall’, 2018, Kuala Lumpur Biennale. The plan of a typical 6-unit floor at Razak Mansion is depicted on the floor. Image courtesy of the artist.

What have been milestone achievements for you as an artist, and why have they been particularly memorable?

I fondly remember ‘Cracks in the Wall’ (2018), a series about Razak Mansion and its community of 600 families. Before its demolition in 2017, it was the last remaining public housing project in Kuala Lumpur from the 1960s. I lived and worked among the residents until the project's final moments, creating over 50 artworks comprising paintings, drawings, videos, photographs, murals, essays and installations. Many of them were created live in Razak Mansion. Through an open studio, I invited people to see the works-in-progress and the site before it went to dust. The series was exhibited at the Kuala Lumpur Biennale and the UNESCO Asia-Pacific Heritage 20/20 Forum.

The Razak Mansion project set the direction for my latest series, ‘Stilt Houses—The Floating World of Kampung Baru’ (2022), for which I received funding from CENDANA and a production grant from ILHAM Gallery. Through seven Indo-Persian miniature paintings, the series chronicles the history and socio-cultural significance of Kampung Baru, the oldest surviving Malay village in the heart of Kuala Lumpur. It was exhibited at the ILHAM Art Show in 2022. Thanks to social media, the series turned out to be highly popular, and I received many heart-warming responses from visitors. Through a grant from PORTIpoh, I also made a short film about the project titled 'Making Room'.

Leon Leong, ‘Malaysia Stilt House No. 1’ a part of the series ‘Stilt Houses—The Floating World of Kampung Baru’, 2022, wood in pigmented varnish, cement stumps, 240 x 368 x 276cm. Image courtesy of the artist. — Leon Leong, ‘Stilt House No. 1’ a part of the series ‘Stilt Houses—The Floating World of Kampung Baru’, 2022, wood in pigmented varnish, cement stumps, 240 x 368 x 276cm. Image courtesy of the artist.

Leon Leong, process of painting ‘Progress of Love’, 2021, gouache, egg-washed paper, kolinsky sable brush, burnishing agate and magnifying lamp, 29.7 x 21cm. Image courtesy of the artist.

Could you walk us through a typical workday or week? What routine do you follow to nourish your artistic practice?

My subjects and mediums are varied, so my typical workday is hard to pinpoint. For example, during my research of Kampung Baru, I moved to the village and walked through the labyrinthian pathways that connect the seven sub-villages daily. I took the chance to meet with the villagers and hear their stories. During production, I was back at my studio and worked about 10 hours a day until my eyes gave up. I was doing Indo-Persian miniature paintings, so visual exhaustion was not something I could ignore. When working on installations, I would use the computer to draft the technical drawings and conduct site visits with woodworkers. This part usually involves running around.

Between projects, I often take long breaks to rest, reflect and catch up on reading. I consciously try to read books rather than absorb the many articles conveniently fed to us on the internet. If I can, I travel. Travel fuels my curiosity about the world and helps me connect the dots of my growing knowledge.

You have written short stories, photo essays and published the novel Beautiful Things in 2006. How has literature informed your art-making, and vice versa?

I do not see literature as different from visual art. To me, they are both art and storytelling. They differ in language and form but are two sides of the same coin. Each art form has a unique mode of expression with its strengths and weaknesses. Often, one art form informs or enhances the other.

I borrow structures from literature to maintain a relationship between individual artworks, allowing tangential thinking and the freedom to investigate different ideas. A series may paint a bigger picture than the sum of its parts, and their titles help make the paintings more cohesive. For example, the Turkish novelist Orhan Pamuk inspired the title of my Istanbul series ‘Optimistic Melancholics’. The way the Czech writer Milan Kundera masterfully structures his novels, taking cues from symphonic music, is also very close to my heart. On the flip side, visual art has taught me to cut down on words in fiction writing; describing a scene or an action in a straightforward manner leaves more room for imagination in the mind of the readers.

“I borrow structures from literature to maintain a relationship between individual artworks, allowing tangential thinking and the freedom to investigate different ideas. A series may paint a bigger picture than the sum of its parts, and their titles help make the paintings more cohesive. ”

Leon Leong, installation view of ‘A Piece of Kampung’, 2022, created in collaboration with woodworker Hani Ali. Image courtesy of the artist.

Your works span a wide range of mediums, including oil painting, watercolour painting, charcoal, photography, film and woodworking. What is the importance of interdisciplinary engagement in your practice?

I knew a few tricks and trades before I started visual art, and it is natural for me to call up these skills when they are fit for a project. While I do not consciously choose to be multidisciplinary, I believe some mediums are better suited to articulate specific ideas to particular audiences. The Renaissance artists switched from fresco to oil and from sculpture to architecture. The ancient Chinese literati wrote poetry, prose and fiction and were equally adept in painting, calligraphy, and even tea-making!

In recent years, I have extended my medium to installation and film. They grow from my curious desire to engage with the transitioning world around us. My work is context-driven, and my subjects demand a particular expression. Art-making, to me, is a process and a passion; it is not about sticking to one signature style or medium.

“Art-making, to me, is a process and a passion; it is not about sticking to one signature style or medium.”

What do you think were the unique advantages and disadvantages you had when you were an emerging artist, and with establishing your place since then?

Being self-taught in visual art, I went through much trial and error to get my craft right. Unlike fine art graduates, I did not have support groups like classmates and teachers. My close friends are writers, filmmakers, architects and designers rather than fine artists. That also means I am exposed to a different and, at times, more interesting world. I see art quite broadly; I believe in the seven arts that Italian film theoretician Ricciotto Canudo identified – architecture, sculpture, painting, poetry, music, dance and cinema. While I lacked painting skills at the beginning of my career, I was confident, inspired and enriched by the other arts.

What has been your purpose? How has it kept you going, or how has it been challenging to push against boundaries to keep your focus? How has your purpose remained steadfast or evolved over the years?

My work typically responds to man’s relationship with the built environment and explores the themes of people, place and history. I am interested in the interstices where innovation happens. In The Language of Food: A Linguist Reads the Menu, linguist Dan Jurafsky describes “the intersection of cultures [where] each one modifies and enhances what is borrowed from its neighbours” and that “these [are] between places, the ancient clash of civilisations, the modern clash of culture, the covert clues to human cognition, society, and evolution.”

My fascination with these “between places” likely stemmed from growing up as part of a diaspora in a multiracial Southeast Asian country. This experience positioned me on the outside looking in. This sensitivity was heightened while living in the West and the Middle East in my later years. As I continuously rethink the deep interconnectedness of societies and tribes, home is a recurring motif in my work.

My challenge has been gaining the financial means to go farther and deeper. The funding I received over the past few years has provided some support, especially during the tough times of the pandemic years.

Could you talk about your current projects?

As we grow older, we understand ourselves better. After gleaning experience from previous projects, we find a method in the madness. But the more we know, the less we realise we know. I am now in Tbilisi working on a project with a local gallery about the small yet ancient country of Georgia. Just reading about this country’s geography overwhelms me. I am learning about the Greater and Lesser Caucasus between the Black Sea and the Caspian Sea, and how its many rivers defined the land and shaped its people. When I meet with a Georgian, my mind oscillates between ancient history and the contemporary moment, between the natural landscape in the background and the downtown café where we are sipping coffee. The Russia-Ukraine war is still very much felt here, as Georgia was under Russia’s control for 70 years until 1991. Today, Ukrainian flags are constantly waved in front of the Georgian parliament building.

Finally, what would be a key piece of advice to young art practitioners? What has been your formula for success that they can learn from to apply to their careers?

I do not think of art-making as a career, at least not in the traditional sense. It is something I must do, or else I will feel useless and depressed. By continuing to make art, telling stories and touching some people's lives, I feel happy. I guess this is some kind of success. I know if you love something enough and stay true to it, you will persevere and find rewards to sustain you. Art-making becomes a simple joy when you get rid of ego and worldly expectations.

The interview has been edited.

Access the full Midpoint series here.