Curated by Dr. Apinan Poshyananda
By Yu Ke Dong

‘The Spirits of Maritime Crossing’ (still from video), 2022, single screening, performed by Marina Abramovic and Pichet Klunchun, directed by Apinan Poshyananda, stereo, 34.27 min. Commissioned by Bangkok Art Biennale Foundation. Image courtesy of the artists and Bangkok Art Biennale Foundation.

Wandering through the historic Palazzo Smith Mangilli Valmarana in the heart of Venice, I was surprised to encounter a short poetry collection by Silpakorn University’s Prof. Sayan Daengklom titled Ku, Kala, Gaia, and the Wandering Mind. In it, Prof. Daengklom introduces the word “ku”, which means to “invent stories, distort, falsify, lie”.¹ The term is adapted from the name of K.S.R. Kulap, a 19th century Siamese journalist who gained infamy for falsifying monarchical histories.² In Daengklom’s poetry, however, this concept takes on a different meaning. Waiting in an airport, the poem’s anonymous speaker admits: “I “ku”, so I invent. Ku myself as foreigner, stranger”.³

The poem is a part of Dr. Apinan Poshynanda’s exhibition at the 60th Venice Biennale, titled ‘The Spirits of Maritime Crossing’. Much like Prof. Daengklom’s poetry, Dr. Poshynanda’s exhibition is an excellent critical examination and deconstruction of the notion of “foreignness” as “ku”: not an inherent condition but an artificial construct, one which is used to exploit differences, sow division, and ultimately oppress marginalised communities. The exhibition exposes the arbitrary nature of the perception of foreignness through two distinct lenses: first, in speculative encounters between Western and Southeast Asian cultures, and second, through the narratives of alienated and marginalised communities within Southeast Asian nations today. Despite its nuanced and sophisticated exploration of the theme, the exhibition at times reveals its ambition by seeking to incorporate many works within a limited space, a decision that comes at the cost of thematic consistency.

Natee Utarit, ‘Déjà vu’, 2019, bronze sculpture, 60 cm in height, artist proof. Installation view at Palazzo Smith Mangilli Valmarana, Venice, Italy. Photo by Amarin. — Natee Utarit, ‘Déjà vu’, 2019, bronze sculpture, 60cm in height, artist proof. Installation view at Palazzo Smith Mangilli Valmarana, Venice, Italy. Photo by Amarin.

Entering the exhibition space, I was immediately drawn to the palazzo walls, which feature a series of meticulously painted murals rendered in the style of classical Greco-Roman painting. This is the Palazzo Smith Mangilli Valmarana, one of the only buildings in Venice decorated in the neoclassical style. The clash of Southeast Asian contemporary art with neoclassical Western aesthetics may at first seem strange; however, the exhibition deliberately draws upon this tension to reevaluate the notion of foreignness through a reexamination of the perceived binaries between East and West, which address and ultimately undermine prevalent Eurocentric ideologies.

I was particularly intrigued by Natee Utarit’s ‘Déjà vu’ (2019), which depicts a speculative meeting between the Buddha and the Greek sculpture Doryphoros. Drawing from classical Greco-Roman artistic traditions, Utarit’s work resonates strongly with the surrounding neoclassical decor, highlighting the undeniable parallels between Western and Southeast Asian creative impulses. Likewise, the experimental film ‘The Spirits of Maritime Crossing’ (2022) incorporates images of the city’s famous architecture such as the iconic Piazza San Marco, juxtaposing it with famous religious temples and monasteries in Bangkok. The film thus plays upon the perception of Bangkok as the “Venice of the Orient”, an Orientalist exotica filled with mysterious and unworldly cults. Depicting a wandering spirits’ pilgrimage from Venice to Bangkok, the film subverts such Orientalist views and speaks instead to the universality of human spirituality.

Beyond exploring points of contact between Southeast Asia and the West, Dr. Poshynanda’s exhibition further exposes the artificiality of the perception of foreignness by examining the experiences of ethnic minorities, migratory communities and otherwise marginalised groups who have been deemed so-called “foreigners” by modern-day Southeast Asian states. The exhibition thus nuances its thematic exploration by turning its focus inward, highlighting ongoing narratives of dispossession and oppression, as well as resilience and perseverance, that arise from within the region.

Two works stand out in jointly addressing contemporary issues of labour exploitation within Southeast Asia: the works of Singaporean artist Priyageetha Dia and Thai artist Kawita Vatanjyankur. Dia’s animated video ‘The Sea is a Blue Memory’ (2022) elegises the indentured workers who journeyed across the Indian Ocean to Malaya and Singapore, destined to work in rubber plantations under the colonial British administration. Dia’s research unsettles official narratives of Singapore and Malaysia as self-made nations, revealing the exploitation of migrant labour inextricably embedded in national histories. The work also evokes pertinent issues of migrant labour today: contemporary Southeast Asian cities remain heavily reliant on foreign workers for construction and domestic labour, with workers enduring insufficient pay and hazardous working conditions.

I encountered the video works of Kawita Vatanajyankur in the Palazzo’s sumptuous bathrooms: chambers of polished marble where, I am told by a guide, Napoleon himself once bathed. Vatanjyankur’s works brilliantly interrogate their settings by exposing the oft-unseen costs of female domestic labour; they depict her body being literally objectified for mundane, everyday purposes, used for instance as a toilet brush to clean the inside of a urinal, or dipped headfirst into a large bowl of dye to colour the threads attached to her hair. I find myself craning my neck to watch a video projected onto the ceiling, in which Vatanajyankur holds an unending spool of green yarn in an ocean of blue dye. In another room, I peer over the edge of a bathtub to witness the artist’s body vigorously scrubbed in a basin of clouded water. Placed at unorthodox angles, Vatanajyankur’s works are deliberately installed in such a way as to induce physical discomfort in the viewer, transferring some of the physical sensations of their labour onto the audience and allowing us to share in their experiences. Despite the thematic similarities between the works of Dia and Vatanajyankur, the two pieces are installed in different parts of the Palazzo, leading me to wonder if they would have benefited by being installed alongside each other.

Jakkai Siributr, ‘There's no Place’, 2020, ongoing and geographically mobile collaborative 'call-and-response' embroidery installation, hand embroidery on fabric, dimensions variable. Installation view at Palazzo Smith Mangilli Valmarana, Venice, Italy. Photo by Amarin.

The exhibition is at its most sophisticated when it harnesses art as a means of amplifying indigenous and minority voices and resisting oppressive regimes, highlighting contemporary political issues which need greater international attention. Here, the exhibition turns the notion of foreignness on its head by examining the plight of communities who have a claim to the land, yet have been neglected or alienated by the state and effectively rendered “foreigners”. For instance, Jakkai Siributr’s ongoing project There’s no Place’ (2020) draws attention to the ongoing plight of the Shan community in Burma, thousands of whom have been forced to flee to the Thai-Burmese border to escape persecution by the military government.⁴ Entering Siributr’s installation, I found myself walking beneath a ceiling of colourful textiles which grew lower and lower, eventually bringing me into direct contact with rows of brightly woven cloth featuring messages such as “Happy New Year” and “Shan Refugee Freedom”. These textiles are part of an archive of refugee voices from the Koung Jo Shan Refugee camp along the Thai-Burma border, created in collaboration between Siributr and the camp’s refugees. Creating a simultaneously visual and tactile experience that confronts the audience directly, the installation serves as testament to the unyielding spirit of the Shan people, who continue to resist the junta by documenting expressions of ethnic identity through Siributr’s archive.

Yee I-Lann, ‘Oh My Dalling’, 2022 (featuring Billboard and Balai Bikin), single-channel video, 13:26 min. Still from video. Photo Andy Chia Chee Shiong. Collection of the Artist. Image courtesy the artist and Silverlens. — Yee I-Lann, ‘Oh My Dalling’ (still from video), 2022 (featuring Billboard and Balai Bikin), single-channel video, 13:26 min. Photo Andy Chia Chee Shiong. Collection of the Artist. Image courtesy the artist and Silverlens.

Likewise, Yee I-Lann’s two films ‘Oh My Dalling’ (2022) and ‘Budi’s Song’ (2023), alongside the woven mat ‘Jalan-jalan cari Jalan’ (2024), highlight the centrality of weaving within the Bajau Sama Dilaut community who live on Omadal Island in Sabah, Borneo. Featuring mats (or tikar) woven from plastic pollution found in the village’s surroundings, Yee presents material evidence of the vulnerability of rural indigenous communities to the ongoing climate crisis. Left to fend for themselves, the Bajau community are nonetheless able to adapt to their changing environment, retaining essential cultural practices like weaving and singing—the latter serving as the soundtrack for both films.

Yee I-Lann, ‘Oh My Dalling’, 2022 (featuring Billboard and Balai Bikin), single-channel video, 13:26 min. Installation view at Palazzo Smith Mangilli Valmarana, Venice, Italy. Photo by Arina Matvee.

The installation of the work presents a subtle but significant reconfiguration of the space; by placing two televisions on floor level with a tikar between them, Yee invites audiences to take off their shoes and sit on the mat to experience the works. This practice, as I was told by an exhibition attendant, was shunned by most European visitors who consider the removal of footwear and sitting on the floor unspoken taboos. Yet, this setting is familiar to most modern-day Southeast Asian communities, providing the space for everyday communal tasks like weaving, cooking, and sharing stories. Yee writes: “Historically, we had no tables in Southeast Asia; we sat and met on mats … The table, to me, represents the violence of patriarchal, colonial administration … The mat remembers feminist, egalitarian communities”.⁵ By defying the unspoken rules of the art world and embracing Southeast Asian social practices, Yee demonstrates in real time how the tikar can decolonise Eurocentric art spaces and recentre the lived experiences of these indigenous communities which continue to be marginalised within Southeast Asia.

Overall, however, the exhibition felt split in two directions due to its simultaneous exploration of East-West themes and issues of marginalised communities, and would have benefitted from focusing exclusively on either. Moreover, the show included some works which are arguably less engaged with the theme of foreignness, leading to an inconsistent and at times puzzling experience. This is a pity, given that these works are by themselves highly nuanced and complex, and might be better experienced in a different setting. For instance, Moe Satt’s

‘Hunting and Dancing: 15 Years’ (2023) presents a riveting dance performance inspired by ancient hunter-gatherer societies, but shares few thematic similarities with the work installed alongside it, Natee Utarit’s ‘Déjà vu’. This inconsistency may be partly explained by the fact that this exhibition also seeks to raise awareness about another of Dr Poshynanda’s projects, the ongoing Bangkok Art Biennale (BAB), and thus hopes to highlight artists from the BAB’s lineup.

Nonetheless, as someone interested in the art practices of Southeast Asia, I found ‘The Spirits of Maritime Crossing’ to be a welcome breakaway from the Eurocentric norms of the art world, creating a space where traditionally marginalised voices can be reclaimed and legitimised. For audiences perhaps unfamiliar with art from the region, the exhibition may also provide new ways of contemplating relationships between Southeast Asia and the West, doing so through playful and provocative dialogue with its historic settings. Ultimately, the exhibition excels when it engages with nuanced and complex narratives from marginalised, migratory and indigenous communities from the region, critically deconstructing perceptions of foreignness amongst modern-day Southeast Asian states. This aspect of the exhibition is perhaps its most significant, and one that I hope will be explored by other curators and institutions in subsequent exhibitions of Southeast Asian art.

¹Daengklom, “Ku”, in Our Place in Their World, ed. Nakrob Moonmanas and Chitti Kaesemkitvatana (Bangkok Art Biennale Foundation, 2024)
²Moonmanas, Nakrob and Kaesemkitvatana, Chitti, Our Place in Their World (Bangkok Art Biennale Foundation, 2024).
³ Daengklom, “Ku”.
⁴ “Thailand: Recent Refugees Pushed Back to Myanmar.” Human Rights Watch, November 30, 2023. https://www.hrw.org/news/2023/11/29/thailand-recent-refugees-pushed-back-myanmar#:~:text=Thailand%20has%20sheltered%20about%2090%2C000,Myanmar%20refugees%20fled%20to%20Thailand.
⁵ I-Lann, Yee. “TIKAR/MEJA.” CLIMATES. HABITATS. ENVIRONMENTS., March 26, 2024. https://climateshabitatsenvironments.art/i-lann-yee/#budis-song.