Being an Artist in New York City

I never grew up in a posh neighbourhood and my family are very simple people. My dad’s from a small country town in the northern tip of Borneo, and my mum’s from Penang, a little island off the Malaysian peninsular. They both moved to Australia on school scholarships and believe in being practical, hard-working, and living frugally so you can enjoy more for longer. All of these traits have become very useful for my career as an artist. Despite what people imagine, being an artist is 90% slogging and grinding, and only 10% being dreamy and inspired! (Which sounds exactly like something my dad would quote!)

It was a surprising outcome that I became an artist because I wasn’t really exposed to anything artistic growing up. The creative highlights of my childhood were the annual Salvation Army Christmas production and the occasional Enid Blyton play at the local teacher’s college theatre. I used to dream about knowing ‘cultured’ people when I was a teenager: writers, musicians, artists, or just people who lived in Paddington or Glebe who had ethnic rugs and drank cappuccinos in cafes. And even though I’ve come a long way since then, and have mixed my way through all different worlds, it’s still essentially hard for me to relate to some of the shit that goes on in the NY art world. Sometimes I walk around Chelsea and I see people who I could never imagine knowing or having anything to do with. I can’t help but stare at them and feel like a primitive, suburban hillbilly. But then I think about my own people, and know that they have their culture too, which is just as valid and in some ways cooler and more real.

I called my grandfather in Malaysia the other day. I had been stressing out about how I was going to make things work out for me here, with my work visa, employment, and art practice. My grandfather is the coolest and wisest person I know. He asked me about New York. “I love it here but it’s very stressful. Sometimes there’s not enough work and life is very expensive. People here pay over $1000 a month for rent! Can you imagine that?” My grandfather lives in a housing project beside a giant cemetery on Penang Island. He laughed at me. “Ohhh, $1000! Oh, very expensive! Very much cheaper here!" I sighed. "I know! I wish I was in Penang. Food is so cheap and good there, and everything is so relaxing.” He thought this was even funnier. “You live very expensive, and you very stressed. But now you are in New York, and you wishing you are in Penang! Hahahahaha! Penang food very good! Very cheap! Hahaha! Hahahahahaha!” He laughed and laughed and laughed. And so did I.

My grandfather

Laughing Buddha, on top of my grandfather's TV