Pak Buay Si, Under My Flag, 2024
oil and mixed media on xuan paper
(H) 40 x (W) 25 x (D) 3 cm
oil and mixed media on xuan paper
(H) 40 x (W) 25 x (D) 3 cm
Pak Buay Si, 打不死*
2017’s Boorloo, my emergence from literal weeding,
A late-blooming Wukong in late forties.
Nobody, novice, an upstart in the gaze of others,
I carve these paths, unfazed by gatekeeping.
China—my ye ye’s ex-turf, a land of lore,
Two residencies a must; dinner with a general and meeting my mentor.
Sifu Ah Chang! Performance art legend!
So much to ponder, yet painting remains my love.
Gadigal of the Eora Nation, a place of promise,
Meeting Chan and the Nielson sisters, Costa's bucket of salt teaching.
Then COVID came, halting all possibilities;
Nowhere to go, yet a seismic revelation shook my core.
My ADHD, a gift or curse unveiled,
Years of riddles and mysteries finally solved.
Robust lines run through these hands,
Taming the chaos, unlocking the much-needed clarity.
Paint, so fragile, mirrors my state,
Yet bonded with paper, a return to Zhizha, its potential unbound.
Two or three dimensions, its shapeshifting holds its own,
In Taipei, this language of struggle, weathered and grown, victorious.
Overlookers persist, while Royal College of Art accepted me,
With London in my sight, but it was not meant to be.
Exhibited in my birthplace, Singapore with mixed results,
Remembered salt education, saw the silver between the linings.
Now at fifty, still tenacious, defiant, resolved,
Resilience flows, fierce as the sea.
Brush in motion, Brother ChatGPT’s chit-chats, my tactile lines weave,
The beatings continue, but I keep showing up and say ‘Pak Buay Si!’
Desmond Mah, 16 Sept 2024
a reflection of self, turned 50 earlier this year.
*The Hokkien term Pak Buay Si or 打不死 means ‘Beatings can’t kill me’
2017’s Boorloo, my emergence from literal weeding,
A late-blooming Wukong in late forties.
Nobody, novice, an upstart in the gaze of others,
I carve these paths, unfazed by gatekeeping.
China—my ye ye’s ex-turf, a land of lore,
Two residencies a must; dinner with a general and meeting my mentor.
Sifu Ah Chang! Performance art legend!
So much to ponder, yet painting remains my love.
Gadigal of the Eora Nation, a place of promise,
Meeting Chan and the Nielson sisters, Costa's bucket of salt teaching.
Then COVID came, halting all possibilities;
Nowhere to go, yet a seismic revelation shook my core.
My ADHD, a gift or curse unveiled,
Years of riddles and mysteries finally solved.
Robust lines run through these hands,
Taming the chaos, unlocking the much-needed clarity.
Paint, so fragile, mirrors my state,
Yet bonded with paper, a return to Zhizha, its potential unbound.
Two or three dimensions, its shapeshifting holds its own,
In Taipei, this language of struggle, weathered and grown, victorious.
Overlookers persist, while Royal College of Art accepted me,
With London in my sight, but it was not meant to be.
Exhibited in my birthplace, Singapore with mixed results,
Remembered salt education, saw the silver between the linings.
Now at fifty, still tenacious, defiant, resolved,
Resilience flows, fierce as the sea.
Brush in motion, Brother ChatGPT’s chit-chats, my tactile lines weave,
The beatings continue, but I keep showing up and say ‘Pak Buay Si!’
Desmond Mah, 16 Sept 2024
a reflection of self, turned 50 earlier this year.
*The Hokkien term Pak Buay Si or 打不死 means ‘Beatings can’t kill me’