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Artist and poet Claire Lee recently moved to England with her husband, but she used to call Hong Kong home. Born and raised in the city, she lived in the neighbourhood of Yau Ma Tei, known for its density and rough edges—but it’s quite peaceful, she says. By day, she would manage an art gallery, and after work she would write poetry and paint. A frequent haunt was the nearby Kubrick cafe, a mecca for local creatives where she would put her poetry collections on sale and listen to people discuss film.
In 2008, Lee held her first solo exhibition “Muse,” in which she presented mixed-media works on canvas at Temple Bar in her home city. Since then, she has found her focus in expressing primal anxieties in physical form. To create “Tofu & Violence” (2013), a series of paintings and photographs, the artist asked her subjects one question: “If I give you a brick of tofu, how would your hands respond to it before it breaks into pieces?” Another example is “Under Pressure” (2014), a collection of drawings, photographs and mixed media on wood featured at Art Central last year, where some of the more striking images show hands and bodies caught at the moment of seizure.
Lee’s latest show, “The Awakening,” will be held at Hong Kong’s Charbon Art Space. Speaking to ArtAsiaPacific, the artist discusses the ink painting series that lends its name to the presentation, which comes with the subtitle: “Bison, the Spiritual Animal of Our Times.”
Why bison?
I once saw bison at a park in Scotland. The park had other animals as well, like deer and otters, and when children saw them they would go nuts. But when it came to bison, people would be mesmerized. They would stop in their tracks and stare in silence, often for a long time. What was the exchange between them? It’s hard to tell, but I think there’s always a connection between human and animal. What I want to express is this mesmerizing quality. This quality describes our human condition: from them I can see a certain fragility but also something powerful. [These contrasting elements] can coexist.
What do you mean when you mention our “human condition”? Are you referring to something specific to Hong Kong, or a concept that is universal?
I mean [all of] humanity. Nowadays, much in our world is about power, lust, violence. From political leaders to housewives, everyone wants to be the one to wear the trousers. It’s a matter of survival. [Social progress] doesn’t make it easier for us to reveal our vulnerabilities, because people still see it as a disadvantage. The bison’s physical features reflect how people pose, both men and women—especially women, since we’re told to project strength.
My question is, why do we always feel the need to hide our sentimental, fragile side? That is why the bison is the spiritual animal for “The Awakening,” because the series is about rediscovering this connection, facing our fears, and making peace with ourselves. Otherwise, everything just becomes a game of power, which doesn’t lead us anywhere.
How is that journey reflected in your latest paintings?
I started by studying the eyes of bison—they always look sleepy. They have small eyes and thick eyelids, and their facial expressions [resemble] human features. So I drew a series of eyes, and then I drew bison walking into eyes, and the collection continues from there. There are both images of bison and of human emotions, juxtaposed against one another.
Gradually the images develop into something more abstract, moving from physical to spiritual. At one point it almost felt like I was seeing through their eyes. In the middle, there is a section full of violent motion, where I use splashes and different textures, like in Chinese ink paintings. The collection ends with an abstract landscape, which appears as a void. In the center is a source of light, signifying the end and the beginning.
For your previous works, commentators often said they saw anguish, whereas you said it’s about liberation. How would you compare “The Awakening” to your previous bodies of work?
The feeling of liberation should be stronger [for “The Awakening”]. The difference is, I want to explore what we can do: it’s more about strength and less about pain. So this time, people probably won’t find my work disturbing. It’s not so much about my emotions; rather, viewers will go through their own emotional reflection. One of the key paintings shows two bison, one standing and one fallen, and in the middle there’s a chaotic explosion. This represents two reactions to the awakening: would you choose to surrender and be beaten? Or would you be brave so you can accept it and respond to it?
While you retain some stylistic elements from previous works, this collection relies exclusively on ink. How did you arrive at this medium, and what were your sources of inspiration?
When I first started painting, it wasn’t a deliberate choice. It was just one time when I had a breakdown; I went and bought loads of canvas, and started to fling paint around at home. Those were my earliest works, and nobody knows about them. [As for “The Awakening”,] once I found a direction, I let myself go. When I finished researching and studying references, I wouldn’t make any sketches before I painted.
In terms of inspiration, I think of The Turin Horse (2011), a film directed by Béla Tarr. When I saw it, I felt a strong reaction, despite the fact that the whole film is very quiet. In one scene, [the stableman and his daughter] peel potatoes together. There is definitely something potent in the air, but the two characters don’t interact at all. That’s the kind of contrast I’m interested in. Like Tarr, I want to show that intensity: somehow, the most violent things happen in silence.
CLAIRE LEE, Elegy for Mother Earth I, ink and bitumen paint on paper, 13 × 20 cm. Courtesy the artist.
The interview has been condensed and edited for clarity.
Claire Lee’s “The Awakening” is on view at Charbon Art Space, Hong Kong, until November 11, 2017.
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