Timothy Lai's paintings are constructed like a dream. While looking at them, I often find myself quite transfixed with the idea that faces sort of drift in and out of the works, that the animals seem to possess a deep clarity, while humans merge in and out of focus. It seems apt that the title of Lai's last solo show at Josh Lilley's in London was Towards a Blue Room, a nod to Chet Baker, who, too, was able to create notes that seemed to drift and vanish like cigarette smoke in the night. You can hear these paintings but can't quite recognize their origins.
There is something in the idea of covered faces, viewed from behind, and then bared looking back, as adjacent figures embrace, then find themselves alone and trying to hide. The domestic settings in each painting create a narrative of how it is to live with someone, how to interact, and how to hide in one's own space while also sharing it. I think this is where the jazz reference enters, like the harmony of trumpet, bass, piano and drum, each with their own space to roam but connected to a whole sound. The characters here are themselves, individuals who make something greater by virtue of their relation to each other.
Charles Moore: I'd like to start with getting to know a little bit about where you're originally from. You were born in Malaysia?
Timothy Lai: Yes. I was born in Kota Bharu, in the state of Kelantan, to the northeast of Peninsular Malaysia. We lived about 45 minutes from the border of Thailand.
And it's where you spent most of your life?
I was raised there. Very candidly, my parents' plan was to only be there for a year, but my grandfather died unexpectedly. My dad, who was then in his master's program, had to leave his studies to help handle the family business and affairs. So that's where they ended up setting roots. I was there until the age of 17. My mom is from Texas, and once I finished high school, I went to the University of Texas at San Antonio.
From what I hear about Malaysia, it's a melting pot of cultures. What was your experience growing up there?
Historically, you are correct. Due to the spice trade in the 18th century, Malaysia was a stopover for trading vessels from the Portuguese, Dutch, and British East India Company at ports like Singapore, Penang, and Malacca, where they formed settlements. As the British gained control over the various states in Malaysia, they introduced rubber planting and tin mining and brought in labor from India and China. Both of these groups contributed significantly to the economy. While the main population is Malay, the second largest population is Chinese, followed by Indians and others. So, yes, Malaysia can be considered a melting pot, though in many senses and in my limited experience, the country remains politically and culturally divided. As context, I think growing up there as a biracial individual was complicated.
So how did you fit in as a person of mixed parentage?
I was very conscious of my "otherness," not being Malay and not Chinese enough to be fully accepted among the Chinese. I don't look East Asian at all, and everyone was hyper-aware of my "Americanness." So it was complicated. There are many aspects that I love and still miss- the food and easygoing lifestyle-but there were many not so great experiences as well.
When I moved to America, there was this tension between the American dream, the land of opportunity and the reality on the ground-feeling like you don't quite belong-and I still feel like I don't. It was just, culturally and societally, a difficult path to negotiate.
[https://cdn.magzter.com/1369171671/1715886556/articles/ab5N9UckJ1716207784910/6611717171.jpg]
And so you moved to Texas, I assume, for school?
Yes. I didn't go directly into art. My BA was in Communication and I minored in Business Administration and International Studies. In my experience, art was a subject that was de-emphasized by the Malaysian education system, while math and science were prioritized. At 17, I felt like I needed to choose a subject that was more applicable to the real world. My parents wanted me to do business studies, so I opted for communication, thinking it would be slightly more creative, and I worked in that field for a while.
Could you discuss any early influences that shaped your artistic vision and how it has evolved--that is, family, museums, viewing art, listening to music, watching film, or reading particular writers?
My mom certainly was a strong influence when I was young. She would encourage me to draw or decorate pieces for Easter or Christmas, such as setting up the nativity scene. I loved the squiggly sheep she drew whenever we had to draw shepherds and their flock. So my first experiences with art had a lot of religious undertones.
[https://cdn.magzter.com/1369171671/1715886556/articles/ab5N9UckJ1716207784910/6161771767.jpg]
But once I was into it, I wanted more education because I saw there was power in what this flat, two-dimensional thing could do. I didn't really understand, but I was cocky and stupid enough to think I could do it. So, here was this millennial kid starting to scour the internet for art references and influences just so I could learn more. I had an early pinboard where the algorithm would suggest names to me online. That led me to Robert Motherwell, Rothko, and Joan Mitchell, who is my absolute favorite. For me, Joan Mitchell had this capacity to translate visual language in a way that was accessible and emotional, sort of like a gateway to abstract language that flipped the way I considered representation, form, and subject. Two of my early favorite Mitchell paintings that do this are Hudson River Day Line, 1955, and No Birds, 1987.
When I started taking classes and met some friends in the field, I got exposed to more art, found more community, and started diving deeper and deeper into my own creations. I was drawn to the idea of having a public voice without having to be public myself, if that makes sense.
[https://cdn.magzter.com/1369171671/1715886556/articles/ab5N9UckJ1716207784910/1777717117.jpg]
How do you approach the beginning of a new piece, and how does your creative process unfold from conception to completion?
Earlier, I mentioned having an online Pinboard, where I would save images of art that appealed to me-art history, film, photography, whatever. Sometimes my inspiration came from there. Over the past few years, I became more idea-and-concept driven and would formulate images to support that practice. I would work alongside this archive of things to find compositions that resonated with me and build from there. Usually, the visualization of an idea comes in a very loose way. A loose sketch happens, a tighter sketch happens, and then, if the drawing still holds, it might get "transferred" onto canvas and renegotiated there.
Once worked on canvas, it's a whole different battle-a lot of pushing and pulling to situate and ground the image. I don't really have a full plan. I don't make really tight drawings. I think, for me, a lot of the value is in searching the canvas and coming into that experience. I mean, it's a space of meditation, a space of learning and unlearning and sometimes forgiving. It takes time to ground the work.
[https://cdn.magzter.com/1369171671/1715886556/articles/ab5N9UckJ1716207784910/4111771711.jpg]
Recently, after this show with Josh Lilley in London, I've been trying to flip my process, approach things more organically as opposed to a very linear structure. I'm not letting the concept lead how I make it, but rather following instincts and natural impulses, making things that resonate with me first, even if I don't understand, just following the trail. I'll review what I've made and try to make sense of it all later. That's a very uncomfortable way of working for me, but I recognize how fruitful it's been thus far.
Given your experiences growing up in Southeast Asia, living in Texas, and now in the Northeast, your work seems to navigate these various cultural and international themes. How do you perceive your role as an artist in the context of a global cultural dialogue, and how does this perspective influence your creative choices?
I think, as someone who engages in a particular type of figuration, the figure is inherently political and engages in a cross cultural discourse, whether I like it or not. To me, these aren't paintings that are actively trying to be diasporic, not work that seeks my Asianness and longing for home or regretting that I never had the opportunity to learn about my Mexican Americanness. I definitely do not believe that one artistic practice can serve as a monolithic voice for a people. No, nothing of that. These are paintings about being in and experiencing the mood of the present, either in a family structure or in a love relationship. And the fact that it's an interracial relationship makes things even more charged.
Switching the topic, could you elaborate on how color and material influence or contribute to your narrative and aesthetic choices?
In terms of material, I'm particularly interested in the objectness of paint and, thus, have been invested in how oil paint itself functions on the surface. This heavy paint buildup stems from a place of stubbornness, as I do not feel like I have the efficiency to describe what I am rendering. It is the result of a belabored buildup, of negotiating the material, image, and composition of the surface.
Color has an emotional relationship for me. In my earlier works, there was a huge interest in ochres, earth tones, reds, and yellows, grounding the figure in a particular narrative that feels connected to memory, just like a sepia photograph. In the earlier stages of these works, I was trying to figure out how to ground POC figures into a painting, and someone recommended looking at Paul Gauguin as a point of reference. Reviewing his work, I thought it was a necessary conceptual grounding point to choose a palette that was opposite of his view. I used him as someone to work against. I felt that the color choices I made were of this reality, not some hyper-romantic exoticism of an experience.
[https://cdn.magzter.com/1369171671/1715886556/articles/ab5N9UckJ1716207784910/7771774711.jpg]
However, when I did the most recent show, I think I was interested in expanding my knowledge and interest in color, so I moved down the color wheel a little, ha! At the time, Chet Baker's rendition of "Blue Room" was playing in my head, and incorporating that into the title held some form of poignancy. So naturally, the work moved from the warm earth tones towards the blues and greens. Strategically, I've found that having a dominant color is also a way to carry a show, to build as if it were a running conversation between one work and the next.
[https://cdn.magzter.com/1369171671/1715886556/articles/ab5N9UckJ1716207784910/7117177111.jpg]
You have referenced a few art movements, the abstract expressionists, Francis Bacon, and the European Old Masters. Are there any other artists that hold a particular kinship or influence?
I think in the past year or two, there has been a leaning towards the London School Painters, most notably, Lucian Freud, Leon Kossoff, Frank Auerbach, and Fancis Bacon. But I also cross reference different things. I might look at a photographer or some classical religious painting for composition, but a contemporary work for color, or someone else for material manipulation. I'm pretty fluid.
[https://cdn.magzter.com/1369171671/1715886556/articles/ab5N9UckJ1716207784910/7711114767.jpg]
I think part of the challenge is answering the questions you want to address with your art. Which have been most significant, and how do you overcome them?
I feel the biggest challenge is sustaining a practice and balancing the demands of running a studio. Like, you as a maker have an idea, and after the euphoria of the first painting, you ask yourself what's next and how you can keep up with and expand upon this thought. So trying to build and go along with the momentum is important. We're all marathon runners, in a way, essentially always in training.
[https://cdn.magzter.com/1369171671/1715886556/articles/ab5N9UckJ1716207784910/7617177141.jpg]
It's a balancing act; it's engaging in the business side of things but also keeping it at bay and not allowing that to interfere with the vulnerability and sensitivity required to do the work. You ...
There is something in the idea of covered faces, viewed from behind, and then bared looking back, as adjacent figures embrace, then find themselves alone and trying to hide. The domestic settings in each painting create a narrative of how it is to live with someone, how to interact, and how to hide in one's own space while also sharing it. I think this is where the jazz reference enters, like the harmony of trumpet, bass, piano and drum, each with their own space to roam but connected to a whole sound. The characters here are themselves, individuals who make something greater by virtue of their relation to each other.
Charles Moore: I'd like to start with getting to know a little bit about where you're originally from. You were born in Malaysia?
Timothy Lai: Yes. I was born in Kota Bharu, in the state of Kelantan, to the northeast of Peninsular Malaysia. We lived about 45 minutes from the border of Thailand.
And it's where you spent most of your life?
I was raised there. Very candidly, my parents' plan was to only be there for a year, but my grandfather died unexpectedly. My dad, who was then in his master's program, had to leave his studies to help handle the family business and affairs. So that's where they ended up setting roots. I was there until the age of 17. My mom is from Texas, and once I finished high school, I went to the University of Texas at San Antonio.
From what I hear about Malaysia, it's a melting pot of cultures. What was your experience growing up there?
Historically, you are correct. Due to the spice trade in the 18th century, Malaysia was a stopover for trading vessels from the Portuguese, Dutch, and British East India Company at ports like Singapore, Penang, and Malacca, where they formed settlements. As the British gained control over the various states in Malaysia, they introduced rubber planting and tin mining and brought in labor from India and China. Both of these groups contributed significantly to the economy. While the main population is Malay, the second largest population is Chinese, followed by Indians and others. So, yes, Malaysia can be considered a melting pot, though in many senses and in my limited experience, the country remains politically and culturally divided. As context, I think growing up there as a biracial individual was complicated.
So how did you fit in as a person of mixed parentage?
I was very conscious of my "otherness," not being Malay and not Chinese enough to be fully accepted among the Chinese. I don't look East Asian at all, and everyone was hyper-aware of my "Americanness." So it was complicated. There are many aspects that I love and still miss- the food and easygoing lifestyle-but there were many not so great experiences as well.
When I moved to America, there was this tension between the American dream, the land of opportunity and the reality on the ground-feeling like you don't quite belong-and I still feel like I don't. It was just, culturally and societally, a difficult path to negotiate.
[https://cdn.magzter.com/1369171671/1715886556/articles/ab5N9UckJ1716207784910/6611717171.jpg]
And so you moved to Texas, I assume, for school?
Yes. I didn't go directly into art. My BA was in Communication and I minored in Business Administration and International Studies. In my experience, art was a subject that was de-emphasized by the Malaysian education system, while math and science were prioritized. At 17, I felt like I needed to choose a subject that was more applicable to the real world. My parents wanted me to do business studies, so I opted for communication, thinking it would be slightly more creative, and I worked in that field for a while.
Could you discuss any early influences that shaped your artistic vision and how it has evolved--that is, family, museums, viewing art, listening to music, watching film, or reading particular writers?
My mom certainly was a strong influence when I was young. She would encourage me to draw or decorate pieces for Easter or Christmas, such as setting up the nativity scene. I loved the squiggly sheep she drew whenever we had to draw shepherds and their flock. So my first experiences with art had a lot of religious undertones.
[https://cdn.magzter.com/1369171671/1715886556/articles/ab5N9UckJ1716207784910/6161771767.jpg]
But once I was into it, I wanted more education because I saw there was power in what this flat, two-dimensional thing could do. I didn't really understand, but I was cocky and stupid enough to think I could do it. So, here was this millennial kid starting to scour the internet for art references and influences just so I could learn more. I had an early pinboard where the algorithm would suggest names to me online. That led me to Robert Motherwell, Rothko, and Joan Mitchell, who is my absolute favorite. For me, Joan Mitchell had this capacity to translate visual language in a way that was accessible and emotional, sort of like a gateway to abstract language that flipped the way I considered representation, form, and subject. Two of my early favorite Mitchell paintings that do this are Hudson River Day Line, 1955, and No Birds, 1987.
When I started taking classes and met some friends in the field, I got exposed to more art, found more community, and started diving deeper and deeper into my own creations. I was drawn to the idea of having a public voice without having to be public myself, if that makes sense.
[https://cdn.magzter.com/1369171671/1715886556/articles/ab5N9UckJ1716207784910/1777717117.jpg]
How do you approach the beginning of a new piece, and how does your creative process unfold from conception to completion?
Earlier, I mentioned having an online Pinboard, where I would save images of art that appealed to me-art history, film, photography, whatever. Sometimes my inspiration came from there. Over the past few years, I became more idea-and-concept driven and would formulate images to support that practice. I would work alongside this archive of things to find compositions that resonated with me and build from there. Usually, the visualization of an idea comes in a very loose way. A loose sketch happens, a tighter sketch happens, and then, if the drawing still holds, it might get "transferred" onto canvas and renegotiated there.
Once worked on canvas, it's a whole different battle-a lot of pushing and pulling to situate and ground the image. I don't really have a full plan. I don't make really tight drawings. I think, for me, a lot of the value is in searching the canvas and coming into that experience. I mean, it's a space of meditation, a space of learning and unlearning and sometimes forgiving. It takes time to ground the work.
[https://cdn.magzter.com/1369171671/1715886556/articles/ab5N9UckJ1716207784910/4111771711.jpg]
Recently, after this show with Josh Lilley in London, I've been trying to flip my process, approach things more organically as opposed to a very linear structure. I'm not letting the concept lead how I make it, but rather following instincts and natural impulses, making things that resonate with me first, even if I don't understand, just following the trail. I'll review what I've made and try to make sense of it all later. That's a very uncomfortable way of working for me, but I recognize how fruitful it's been thus far.
Given your experiences growing up in Southeast Asia, living in Texas, and now in the Northeast, your work seems to navigate these various cultural and international themes. How do you perceive your role as an artist in the context of a global cultural dialogue, and how does this perspective influence your creative choices?
I think, as someone who engages in a particular type of figuration, the figure is inherently political and engages in a cross cultural discourse, whether I like it or not. To me, these aren't paintings that are actively trying to be diasporic, not work that seeks my Asianness and longing for home or regretting that I never had the opportunity to learn about my Mexican Americanness. I definitely do not believe that one artistic practice can serve as a monolithic voice for a people. No, nothing of that. These are paintings about being in and experiencing the mood of the present, either in a family structure or in a love relationship. And the fact that it's an interracial relationship makes things even more charged.
Switching the topic, could you elaborate on how color and material influence or contribute to your narrative and aesthetic choices?
In terms of material, I'm particularly interested in the objectness of paint and, thus, have been invested in how oil paint itself functions on the surface. This heavy paint buildup stems from a place of stubbornness, as I do not feel like I have the efficiency to describe what I am rendering. It is the result of a belabored buildup, of negotiating the material, image, and composition of the surface.
Color has an emotional relationship for me. In my earlier works, there was a huge interest in ochres, earth tones, reds, and yellows, grounding the figure in a particular narrative that feels connected to memory, just like a sepia photograph. In the earlier stages of these works, I was trying to figure out how to ground POC figures into a painting, and someone recommended looking at Paul Gauguin as a point of reference. Reviewing his work, I thought it was a necessary conceptual grounding point to choose a palette that was opposite of his view. I used him as someone to work against. I felt that the color choices I made were of this reality, not some hyper-romantic exoticism of an experience.
[https://cdn.magzter.com/1369171671/1715886556/articles/ab5N9UckJ1716207784910/7771774711.jpg]
However, when I did the most recent show, I think I was interested in expanding my knowledge and interest in color, so I moved down the color wheel a little, ha! At the time, Chet Baker's rendition of "Blue Room" was playing in my head, and incorporating that into the title held some form of poignancy. So naturally, the work moved from the warm earth tones towards the blues and greens. Strategically, I've found that having a dominant color is also a way to carry a show, to build as if it were a running conversation between one work and the next.
[https://cdn.magzter.com/1369171671/1715886556/articles/ab5N9UckJ1716207784910/7117177111.jpg]
You have referenced a few art movements, the abstract expressionists, Francis Bacon, and the European Old Masters. Are there any other artists that hold a particular kinship or influence?
I think in the past year or two, there has been a leaning towards the London School Painters, most notably, Lucian Freud, Leon Kossoff, Frank Auerbach, and Fancis Bacon. But I also cross reference different things. I might look at a photographer or some classical religious painting for composition, but a contemporary work for color, or someone else for material manipulation. I'm pretty fluid.
[https://cdn.magzter.com/1369171671/1715886556/articles/ab5N9UckJ1716207784910/7711114767.jpg]
I think part of the challenge is answering the questions you want to address with your art. Which have been most significant, and how do you overcome them?
I feel the biggest challenge is sustaining a practice and balancing the demands of running a studio. Like, you as a maker have an idea, and after the euphoria of the first painting, you ask yourself what's next and how you can keep up with and expand upon this thought. So trying to build and go along with the momentum is important. We're all marathon runners, in a way, essentially always in training.
[https://cdn.magzter.com/1369171671/1715886556/articles/ab5N9UckJ1716207784910/7617177141.jpg]
It's a balancing act; it's engaging in the business side of things but also keeping it at bay and not allowing that to interfere with the vulnerability and sensitivity required to do the work. You ...
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Juxtapoz (Digital) - 1 Issue, Summer 2024