Showing posts with label Zoe Sua-Kay. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Zoe Sua-Kay. Show all posts
Mid-Year Critiques
By Zoë Sua Kay (MFA 2014)
It might be said that one of the frustrating things about
mid year critiques is that as soon as they’re over, the school closes because Christmas
around the corner. But what about all that advice you’ve just been given?
Regardless of whether your own critique went well, or whether it was a disaster, it’s probably a good thing that no one really remembers in the immediate aftermath what had been said. A few salient comments stick in your mind but really, when you’re under the spot light in front of one hundred-or-so of your peers, adrenalin kicks in and part of you snaps in to survivor mode. On critique day, all the work you’ve done thus far – the desperate search for meaningful content and that entirely original stroke of genius that makes your artistic "voice" more Pavarotti than the guy at the 14th street subway who for years never quite managed to figure out the lyrics to The Beatles song he keeps singing – all that exertion is finally, and in one fell swoop of the 15 minutes you’re assigned, either deemed worthwhile or, heaven forbid, a fundamental "mismanagement" of time.
Although I had only witnessed a couple of the mid-year critiques the previous year, I had heard the horror stories. In the days leading up to critiques for my fellow class of 2014, compatriots were divided between fear of imminent apocalyptic disaster and a Joan of Arc-esque sense of martyred stoicism. You try to tell yourself it doesn’t matter that much, that you’ve done what can. By the time you you’re hanging your work, you are falling apart at the seams because you’re suddenly overcome with grief at the lackluster body of work you’ve produced. However, when my name was finally called and the formal introduction made, something unexpected happened. I found myself switching into the role of a host. As I gave my little blurb about what my work was about, it felt as though I was welcoming them into the party that I guess is my art making. And then it was all a blur.
It might be said that one of the frustrating things about
mid year critiques is that as soon as they’re over, the school closes because Christmas
around the corner. But what about all that advice you’ve just been given?
Suddenly, despite having been absolutely exhausted from the
final push in the studio leading up to it, you’re re-energized – you’ve got to
go and fix that thing you’ve just been told is the collapsing point of that
painting. But alas, you’re being shuffled out, slightly relieved, slightly
ecstatic, slightly like you’ve just survived you first foray through the tumble
dryer.
Regardless of whether your own critique went well, or whether it was a disaster, it’s probably a good thing that no one really remembers in the immediate aftermath what had been said. A few salient comments stick in your mind but really, when you’re under the spot light in front of one hundred-or-so of your peers, adrenalin kicks in and part of you snaps in to survivor mode. On critique day, all the work you’ve done thus far – the desperate search for meaningful content and that entirely original stroke of genius that makes your artistic "voice" more Pavarotti than the guy at the 14th street subway who for years never quite managed to figure out the lyrics to The Beatles song he keeps singing – all that exertion is finally, and in one fell swoop of the 15 minutes you’re assigned, either deemed worthwhile or, heaven forbid, a fundamental "mismanagement" of time.
Although I had only witnessed a couple of the mid-year critiques the previous year, I had heard the horror stories. In the days leading up to critiques for my fellow class of 2014, compatriots were divided between fear of imminent apocalyptic disaster and a Joan of Arc-esque sense of martyred stoicism. You try to tell yourself it doesn’t matter that much, that you’ve done what can. By the time you you’re hanging your work, you are falling apart at the seams because you’re suddenly overcome with grief at the lackluster body of work you’ve produced. However, when my name was finally called and the formal introduction made, something unexpected happened. I found myself switching into the role of a host. As I gave my little blurb about what my work was about, it felt as though I was welcoming them into the party that I guess is my art making. And then it was all a blur.
I remember Wade Schuman likening one painting to a billboard
(thanks, Wade) but it was all mixed between more positive comments and other
criticisms. So much is said in so little
time and between so many "jurors" that it’s difficult to keep track of it all. In
hindsight, it’s difficult to get into a meaty debate over certain points you’d
have liked to expand on. The comments that are made by our professors are
incredibly astute yet abridged versions of a full criticism you want explore.
It’s actually rather an unbelievable exposé of their intellect and ability to
get to the meat of the matter within a few minutes. This, however is the only
drawback. If such insightful issues can be raised in such a short time, imagine
what could be discussed if we had each had an hour of their time..or an entire
day?? I think I can safely say that all my classmates were left hungry for more.
Alas, we must take pity on our faculty members, and applaud what, for them, must
have been a long and grueling two days.
All in all, the experience for us students was a good one. And I didn’t even feel the urge to cry. At the end, when people gave their congrats and shook my hand, and exhaled with a somewhat shaky sense of relief, thinking, ‘it’s all over…for now’. All in all the experience for us students was a good one. And I didn’t even feel the urge to cry. Especially at the end when people gave their congratulations and shook your hand, and you exhaled with a somewhat shaky sense of relief, thinking, "it’s all over…for now".
All in all, the experience for us students was a good one. And I didn’t even feel the urge to cry. At the end, when people gave their congrats and shook my hand, and exhaled with a somewhat shaky sense of relief, thinking, ‘it’s all over…for now’. All in all the experience for us students was a good one. And I didn’t even feel the urge to cry. Especially at the end when people gave their congratulations and shook your hand, and you exhaled with a somewhat shaky sense of relief, thinking, "it’s all over…for now".
My only grievance, as a young female artist, is the lack of
female presence on the panel. Catherine Howe did a fantastic job of holding the
flag for us and there were a few more women artists in the mix the following
day, but in all honesty, my heart did sink a bit when in the morning I noticed
the male to female ratio.
Now though, after the dust has settled and I’ve had time to
obsess over the transcripts of my critique, I feel armed and ready for the
turbulence of the final semester. The time has come to jump back into attack
mode and prove to Wade that my paintings are not fated to be billboards, thank
you very much. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with a good billboard.
On behalf of the students I’d like to thank the faculty for
their time and effort, it really is an honor to be offered so much of it.
Thanks to Holly for providing us all with transcripts and
ultimately minimizing post-blur amnesia. I’d also like to thank the first years
that made it in to show their support. And well-bloody-done fellow second
years!
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Interested to experience critiques for yourself? Find past critiques on Academy’s Vimeo channel.
The Final Chapter: China Residency, Part 8
By Zoe Sua-Kay (MFA 2014)
After a week in the Chinese capital and having soaked up some of the local culture and scene close to our hotel, we decided it was time to put our tourist hats on and see some of global tourism’s most famous sites – The Forbidden City, the Summer Palace and of course, the Great Wall of China.
Our final weekend in China was spent with Ian, our guide on
the Beijing side. He took us around CAFA’s/China Academy of Fine Art’s museum
of ‘Excellent Student Work’. And excellent it was - we all left a little mind
boggled (a.k.a downright intimidated) at the quality of work these Chinese undergraduates had produced.
On May 25, four Academy students arrived in China to start a two-month residency in Shanghai and Beijing. James Adelman, Elliot Purse, Elizabeth Shupe and Zoe Sua-Kay (all members of the class of 2014) will share their experiences here throughout the summer.
After a week in the Chinese capital and having soaked up some of the local culture and scene close to our hotel, we decided it was time to put our tourist hats on and see some of global tourism’s most famous sites – The Forbidden City, the Summer Palace and of course, the Great Wall of China.
The Forbidden City
Probably somewhat unwisely, we chose one of the hottest days
we’d yet experienced to explore the Palace. Without trees and with it’s
relentless expanses of brick courtyards
we were rarely offered any relief from the glaring sun as we trekked the 3,153
feet from the entrance (Meridian Gate) to the Imperial Gardens at the very end…
and back again.
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Forbidden City, view
from the Meridian Gate.
|
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The Hall of Supreme
Harmony
|
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Girl with Chinese head wear
|
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Elliot Purse strikes a
pose in the Forbidden City
|
The Summer Palace
The Summer Palace was a nice contrast to the flat, scorching
and exposed layout of the Forbidden City. Located forty minutes from central
Beijing by subway, the Palace is arranged over leafy hills and at the bank of
the large Kunming Lake.
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Lady in an old-fashioned
Chinese outfit inside the Summer Palace
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| View from interior |
The following day, and having delayed what we had deemed to
be the climax of our cultural education in China, the time had finally come to
undertake the epic experience of taking a hike along the Great Wall of China.
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Elizabeth Shupe,
Elliot Purse and James Adelman on the Great Wall
|
And what a hike it was!
We had the good fortune of visiting a part of the wall that
had only just recently been opened to the public. Thus, we hardly encountered
any tourists outside of the group we had gone with. We were able to explore the
ancient, unreconstructed sections and happily take photographs without the
reputed hoards of tourists at other, more well-known sections of the wall.
However, this also meant that we had to be on guard of the
loose, uneven terrain of the ancient wall. Without any kind of railing (or
safety precautions of any kind at all), the possibility of miss-stepping and
falling off the steep, isolated wall was imminent. But we made it.
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Elliot conquers the
wall
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| Beth conquers the wall |
 | |
| I conquer the wall |
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James conquers the
wall
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Last weekend in China
This was followed by lunch down the road from Ai Weiwei’sStudio.
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Ai Wei Wei’s studio,
exterior view
|
And finally, a trip to Beijing’s famous 798 Art District,
for an opening at Pace Beijing.
A word of sincere thanks.
On behalf of James, Elliot, Beth and myself, I would like to
thank everyone who has made this trip possible. It has, with all honesty, been
a life changing experience.
While we have now all finally
separated to our respective homes, I think my fellow residency compatriots will
appreciate the quote I quite simply could not have signed off without:
I've seen things you
people wouldn't believe.
Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion.
I watched c-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhäuser Gate.
All those... moments... will be lost in time, like] tears... in... rain.
Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion.
I watched c-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhäuser Gate.
All those... moments... will be lost in time, like] tears... in... rain.
- Roy Batty
On May 25, four Academy students arrived in China to start a two-month residency in Shanghai and Beijing. James Adelman, Elliot Purse, Elizabeth Shupe and Zoe Sua-Kay (all members of the class of 2014) will share their experiences here throughout the summer.
The Colors of Beijing: China Residency, Part 7
Today
it rained. We woke up to the sound of the water gently swishing down the gutter
outside the window and drip-dripping off of the roof. When I stepped outside of the hotel to make
my way to breakfast, it seemed Beijing was still half asleep, curled into
itself like a contented house cat The rain continued to drizzle down from the
sky.
In
the early afternoon we took the subway to the National Art Museum, grateful to
have an indoor activity to do on a day such as this. We walked through an
exhibit of delicate ink paintings done in a traditional style. Each showed
incredible skill- deft handling of line combined with subtle washes of grey
tones rendered both the sweep of great vistas and the tiny intricacies of a
human face with precision. Most of the paintings were immense, and they filled the
gallery with their presence, requesting respect and silence. Their fine grey
gradations and the blurry edges where the wet ink had soaked into the rice
paper put me in mind of the world I had woken up in that morning- a moist,
monochromatic world, where all sounds were hushed by the steady drip of the
water from the sky.
Yes,
Beijing could be that way, I supposed. But it had surprised me when I had woken
up this morning to find the vibrant city dampened and quiet. I had only spent a
few days here, and yet I felt that I had a good grasp on the character of the
place- colorful and bustling, filled with shouts and laughter, cooking smells,
and countless rickshaws. The city of Beijing was a wrinkled, knowing smile on
the face of China, reflecting its deep history and good nature. But today, a
more reserved and stately Beijing was revealed. It was a new color to add to
the palette I had been composing in my head, a palette of all the colors of this
ancient city.
It
had started in the Forbidden City, my mental palette, when I had noticed the
specific yellow of all of the roof tiles. It was a mustardy yellow, verging on
gold, and it stretched across the Forbidden City, crowning almost every building.
My guide book had said that the yellow color had belonged to the emperor, and
no one else had been allowed to decorate their buildings with it. I had thought
about what power that must be, to own a color. As an artist, I must say I was a
tad bit jealous.
The next
day, on my way to breakfast, I stumbled across a store selling lucky cats. They
came in different colors- red, pink, blue, green, yellow, and black. Each color
meant something different, and although I couldn’t discern what they meant, I
knew they were all auspicious. The round smiling faces of the cat figurines in
so many different hues cheered me, and it was then that I truly started paying
attention to the colors of the city.
The
maroon curtains of the bicycle rickshaws matched almost exactly the rich maroon
of the buildings at the opulent Lama Temple. Gold and bronze Buddha statues
peered out from shop windows, and gold decorated the eaves of the concubine’s
quarters in the Forbidden City. White marble gleamed on bridges where the railings
were carved to look like clouds. The same color was more austere in a statue of
the philosopher and religious leader Confucious. Bright green and blue paintings of dragons
adorned wooden gates. The sky was a paler shade of blue, the trees lining the streets
a more lively green.
Also
green was the bodies of two crickets in cages that I heard before I saw, in a
small courtyard off of a narrow hutong alley. There were orange carp in a bowl,
glinting in the sunlight, and a paler orange cat who shared tea with me in a
quiet teahouse. There was a black bird in front of a convenience store, its leg
shackled to a leather cord that was tied to its perch. The acid pink of plastic
lotus flowers in a garland contrasted with the soft blush of fresh peaches that
were being sold in the very same store.
Truly, this was a city made of color.
But
the color that spoke the loudest here was red.
A bright red like oxygenated blood. In the form of giant red silk
tassels it hung in nearly every shop front window. Red lanterns hung in the
trees over a shopping street, marching in straight lines above the shoppers.
The same red was on cartons of Double Happiness cigarettes, and in the fresh
peppers siting in a bowl in front of a Sichuan restaurant, even on the Chinese
flag itself that snapped in the breeze above Tiananmen Square. Red was the
color of luck, and good fortune.
I
struggled to remember that fact as Zoe and I huddled under her umbrella on the
short trek back from the subway station after the art museum. We were talking
about how much was riding on our next year at the Academy, how simultaneously
excited and terrified we were. The red lanterns in front of a restaurant had
turned dark and saggy in the rain, I noticed. I felt a little like that myself.
But
then I remembered a piece of graffiti I had seen on my way to breakfast that
morning. It had been written in English, black spray-paint on a grey concrete
wall, and was just as colorful as the morning had promised it be- in other
words, completely devoid of chroma. But I remembered the message. “KEEP ON
PAINTING” it had said, with an underline for emphasis. “Ok then, I will.” I
thought to myself.
Keep on painting. Its all any of us
can really do. But in a world as colorful as this one, those words promise
adventure.
On May 25, four Academy students arrived in China to start a two-month residency in Shanghai and Beijing. James Adelman, Elliot Purse, Elizabeth Shupe and Zoe Sua-Kay (all members of the class of 2014) will share their experiences here throughout the summer.
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