Of Scrawls and the Scatological
published in 'Left-Right', independent art magazine, Singapore
image by Kevin Lee, Public Notice
A trickle of pee is penned from an oddly-sized penis of a smiling man, anger scrawled in the threat of “I Call 999”; promises of a husband and wife’s successful insemination; non-descript tubes that facilitate the sludge of human excrement to othered spaces removed from human civility. The public spaces we inhabit attempt to hide these traits of disgust – we can smell the stink of pee and imagine the passionate sexual throes of couples – but also become the very place for their reveal. These relics of the bodily debased linger surreptitiously within sanitized spaces, desacralizing smooth cemented walls that applaud monotony, flatness, and person-less-ness. We move across these space, apparently unfazed by these visual leaks that remind us of our physical instincts, unlicensed notices that embody and reflect our deeper needs and urges. And yet, we seek them out for they represent us, a form no whitewashed space can contain. These visual leaks become a gentle orifice from where our excrement oozes, a bodily expulsion through hardy walls, a reminder that no tube can contain the vile and bile of the human body, a reminder that no surface can contain the baseness of our being. And we willingly embrace it.
A trickle of pee is penned from an oddly-sized penis of a smiling man, anger scrawled in the threat of “I Call 999”; promises of a husband and wife’s successful insemination; non-descript tubes that facilitate the sludge of human excrement to othered spaces removed from human civility. The public spaces we inhabit attempt to hide these traits of disgust – we can smell the stink of pee and imagine the passionate sexual throes of couples – but also become the very place for their reveal. These relics of the bodily debased linger surreptitiously within sanitized spaces, desacralizing smooth cemented walls that applaud monotony, flatness, and person-less-ness. We move across these space, apparently unfazed by these visual leaks that remind us of our physical instincts, unlicensed notices that embody and reflect our deeper needs and urges. And yet, we seek them out for they represent us, a form no whitewashed space can contain. These visual leaks become a gentle orifice from where our excrement oozes, a bodily expulsion through hardy walls, a reminder that no tube can contain the vile and bile of the human body, a reminder that no surface can contain the baseness of our being. And we willingly embrace it.