A Beacon in the Barracks

By Cassie Sim

Citra Sasmita (pictured), Ode to The Sun, 2020. Courtesy Yeo Workshop.

A former military base that accommodated the British Army in Singapore for more than 30 years, the sprawling concrete imposition on the tropical jungle that is Gillman Barracks holds bittersweet memories. The strange feeling, in my case, is not because of the period of colonization which concluded before I was born (though of course imperialist presence still lingers) but because: Gillman is 1) next to my old high school, itself part of the barracks and 2) where I spent the summer of 2017 as a jumpy, wide-eyed art gallery intern at Yeo Workshop.

The first week of 2020, I paid owner and Gallery Director Audrey Yeo a visit. Nothing much has changed. Audrey was in the middle of de-installing Points of Articulation, a show paying homage to the late Solamalay Namasivayam, a pioneer of the figurative arts in Singapore, and the scene was a familiar one of organized chaos: cardboard boxes lined the floor; the wall text was partially stripped down; and a small, excited dog ran up to greet me. I followed Smeagol to the front desk where I knew I would find his owner juggling a multitude of tasks with steely aplomb. 

Since founding Yeo Workshop in 2013, every day has been a fight to reinvent and rejuvenate the local art scene, especially for a small gallery that has chosen not to go the commercial route. While Singapore has developed at an unprecedented rate since the 60s in terms of economy, technology and infrastructure, it is young, small, reputably stringent and harsh – not exactly fertile ground for the arts. Gillman’s vision as a major art center in Southeast Asia is admirable in its creative conception and ambition, but it was not without initial struggles; low traffic and sales forced five galleries to close in 2015, while survivors went on with the seemingly Sisyphean task that was garnering enough support to keep up with skyrocketing rent. The Singapore art scene in general has been criticized as ‘sterile’ by local and foreigner visitors alike and is still fighting this perception among other culturally-tied stereotypes. 

2 Cavan Road warehouse during installation. Photo by Cassie Sim.

However, as one can imagine, successes do happen and are immensely rewarding. Starting the year off with a bang with TWENTY TWENTY, Yeo Workshop tackled the daunting task of converting a 2000sq feet warehouse at 2 Cavan Road into a pop-art destination in January. The venue is a nod to the past, adding a nostalgic factor for those who grew up knowing it as the street of a prewar building from the 1930s and who were about to see it transformed into an immersive body of dazzling exhibitions. Exploring the space in the beginning stages of installation was a surreal experience. The warehouse was a vast, echoic chamber, brutalist in its industrial starkness, except where a handful of artworks broke up the emptiness, most notably a hanging fiber sculpture spilling down to the ground like a waterfall of colorful threads. Overall, it was like witnessing a skeleton of an idea slowly forming flesh.

Santi Wangchuan, My Local Way of Life, 2016. TWENTY TWENTY. Courtesy Yeo Workshop.

Once fully fleshed out, the warehouse was unrecognizable. For a fortnight, 2 Cavan Road was an explosive sensation of neon light, sound and colour, showcasing vibrant installations and provocative performances to waves of delighted spectators. The whole scene was a far cry from the quiet, tucked-away street with shabby buildings that normally would not elicit a second glance. But Audrey saw potential, and she realized it.

Citra Sasmita, Ode to the Sun, 2020, Acrylic on Traditional Kamasan Canvas, approximately 300 cm x 300cm. Courtesy Yeo Workshop.

Meanwhile, Indonesian artist Citra Sasmita’s Ode to the Sun inhabited Yeo Workshop; bright, tranquil and reverent as the name suggested, the exhibition was like a warm welcome back to the gallery. Though obviously a contrast with the big warehouse party a 15-minute drive away, it had a few parallels. A three-tiered paper sculpture hung from the ceiling like an upside-down wedding cake over a pool of turmeric, which radiated like the eponymous star of the show and hit visitors in the face with its pungent smell immediately upon entrance. Without the benefit of TWENTY TWENTY’s flash and fanfare, Ode to the Sun was an absolute stimulation to the senses.

Sasmita’s works are also contemplative and multilayered, featuring intricately detailed paintings and drawings that deal with the sensitive topic of womanhood in the patriarchal Balinese society. The illustrative depiction of the women visually hearkens to the traditional Kamasan painting style of Bali and works of classical literature such as the epic Hindu Mahabharata and Javanese kitab, but conceptually they are reimagined from Sasmita’s feminist perspective, in defiance of how women were portrayed in history: as the object of men’s sexual desires, as aesthetically pleasing decorations. In her illustrations, the women reclaim their autonomy and their narrative in an expressive dance all around the canvas, nude but invulnerable, in control of their actions and bodies. 

“Citra Sasmita explores race, gender, spirituality, which is timely and relevant,” Audrey writes in an exclusive statement to Squinch. “She is able to ‘hack’ a traditional culture in not only bringing light to cultural ancient knowledge but also looking at the information in a critical and new way.”

Citra Sasmita, The Age of Fire, 2020, Acrylic on Traditional Kamasan Canvas, 70 x 90 cm. Courtesy Yeo Workshop.

Yeo Workshop’s next exhibition, coming up in March, also deals with issues of womanhood. Taking cues from the avant-garde poetry of Gertrude Stein, What is current that takes a behaved waist by Singapore artist Stephanie Burt investigates the currents behind ideal imagery of women fed to us by fiction, film and other media. I remember Burt as a shy, soft-spoken woman while acquainting with her projects during my internship, but her practice, which is largely concerned with Girl Culture and other aspects of femininity, unabashedly poses challenging questions through dynamic installations.

Gillman Barracks during the Singapore Biennale 2019. Photo by Cassie Sim.

Yeo Workshop may be small, but the visions are not. The conversations are critical but relayed in an approachable way. As a gallery interested in supporting artists with relevant socio-economic issues and that places emphasis on education, the dialogue each exhibition generates are a breath of fresh air.

The international stance is appreciable, too. Having studied and worked in the United States and London, Audrey spent a long time overseas and at one point even considered settling down in Los Angeles, a place she loves very much, but her heart called to home. She took the illustrious experience she accumulated on foreign land and returned to Singapore soil; her multifariously informed perspective shows in her practice, but not at the expense of communication with the local audience. If anything, her pride for her homeland and her sensitivity to local concerns are the backbone of the gallery, as demonstrated by providing the first major retrospective of Solamalay Namasivayam this winter.

‘This is where my roots are,’ she explained on our drive to the warehouse from the gallery when I visited her that day. I didn’t tell her this, but what she said resonated with me as I stared out at the lush palm trees flanking the road, wishing I could stay. I thought: mine, too.

The tune I sang five years ago was very different to the tune I sing now. Like many people at 18 who were told they were special and destined for greater things, I couldn’t leave home fast enough. Yes, America will have its obstacles, but it won’t be the environment getting in the way of the arts. ‘Art there is organic,’ my brother had advised. ‘Go to America. Europe. The UK. Anywhere but here.’ He is currently studying abroad in Scotland and has made more music compositions than he did at any other point of his college career. I wonder when the novelty will wear off for him.

My homecoming, of course, won’t be smooth. Neither will this little Southeast Asian island’s ascension to the art world stage, but I believe it will get there. In the meantime, we will have small but tenacious galleries like Yeo Workshop lighting the way.