But what does it really mean?
A common misconception, or rather, a misplaced query often posed by audiences when viewing art, that works of creation can be sufficiently taken apart and understood in absolutism, or even dissected for a complete understanding of the artist’s intentions.
I’ve heard many a variation of the age-old query posed; all well-intended, but nonetheless extraneous.
The study of art has long relied on psychoanalysis as the basis for interpretation, and there has been no greater emphasis on the
“deeper meaning of art” through the emphasis on psychoanalytical tenets of art than in Surrealist factions.
In the age of information systems — where we are imbued into the matrix of computing — art is revolutionised.
Baudrillard-ian theories of a world dominated by mass media, images, signs, and any other simulacra is no longer a philosophical study of a potential future, but rather realism embodied.
Media culture has created an information overload, and the subsequent implications on the ways in which we view and approach the vast amounts of information made available to us through mass media. …
Visa applications and restrictions withal, there are boat loads of other social issues that plague the endeavour. Definitely not for the weak-willed, but nonetheless rewarding.
I graduated from University in July 2019 (for the second time), and this around, Mother and Father insisted on attending their first ever graduation ceremony. I relented.
Not 30 minutes after walking down the 20 metre square platform, came the all too familiar “good job, time to get a job now” comment from my emotionally subdued Mother whilst we pushed past a hall full of sweaty, over zealous fresh graduates, their parents, friends, caterers, university…
Application after application sent through a plethora of portals, decked out to the nines, all to no avail.
I must have read over a dozen “How to” articles for tips and tricks for a stand out-resume, written at least ten revised versions of my curriculum vitae, all meticulously categorised into job-specific renditions in an all too familiar excel sheet.
Buzzwords abuzz, applications aplenty, but no news nightly.
Blame it on pandemic, the overwhelming number of degrees handed out, the nefarious arts degree, or perhaps the allergies the human resource agent had the day they received my application, finding an arts…
A little less-known hometown singer Kit Chan first sang the ceremonious Home some 20 years ago, leaving its mark on local residents. The catch phrase (or verse, or maybe chorus, I forget):
“This is home truly, where I know I must be
Where my dreams wait for me, where the river always flows
This is home surely, as my senses tell me
This is where I won’t be alone, for this is where I know it’s home”
A staple of nation-building, I never really understood its appeal. I admit I found it tacky, cringey, and even lacklustre as an attempt…
My parents recoiled when I first announced some ten years ago that I was adamant on pursuing an academic career in the arts, namely in the fields of English Literature and Art History. They pushed for a major in Economics, Law, even Media and Communications, something more tangible and understandable for them, anything they could gloat over with friends and families.
They could scarcely fathom what use it was to be spending hours upon hours reading text after text from Greek classics, to the likes of medieval authors (think: Chauncer’s The Canterbury Tales), to the strange and bewildering universe of…
Hello friends, family, and foe of Poetry Salad, and welcome to this month’s Salad stop (no affiliation to any similarly named food chains, but willing to be sponsored).
This month, we’re serving up some of our resident poets’ creative juices, moulded into a more palatable form: Poetry.
To eat between you and the poet
My prey of flesh, thinning hair
I’ll serve you with colonised pho
— In it
Like a tripe surprise
I’ll squeeze on lemons
And learn how to use metaphors
And very little rhymes.
Who did you steal from, poet?
And who do you spy on
Ghost? Bending on the edge of a
A couple of months ago I decided to sign myself up for a food delivery service — not as a customer, but as a rider — for some spare disposable income, and in the short few weeks of delivering bubble tea, fried chicken, and the occasional grocery shop, I’ve quickly caught on that food delivery riders aren’t always treated particularly well by customers, restaurants or the general public.
While lockdowns, social distancing, endless zoom calls, which masks pattern should I get dilemma, and the exponential rise in our sanitiser-purchases have become the norm across the globe, one major shift that…
The International Museum Day is an often forgotten marvel in the art historical world. The brain child of the International Council of Museums some 40 years ago, each year on the 18th of May (give or take), museums are invited to participate in the year’s thematic objective.
Centred around promoting and generating awareness of the arts, history, and culture housed inside a museum, alongside the promotion of the role of museums to audiences, this year’s (2021) focal point revolves around The Future of Museums: Recover and Reimagine, an especially necessary concern given the harsh reality of a pandemic-ridden period.
No, not that time of the month, but the time for Poetry Salad’s monthly newsletter!
Poetry-critiques or literature snobs rejoice, we’ve got a handful of poems for you hungry readers this month.
yesnodunno (shameless plug)
Tell me the stories of past and present, the turmoil undergone with spirits consumed,
By a blazing fire, with smoke so pure in essence.
A silent letter printed to fit only this story that can scarcely be read,
By the fugitives you cozy up to, spreading your —
Legs broken from rest, and eyes muddied by the sun peeking through your clouded dream.
Each beginning we embark on as…
Not Tristram Shandy.