The Anxiety of Uncertainty in LKY as a Singapore Icon
By Seng Yu Jin
Senior Curator
The National Art Gallery, Singapore
Minster Mentor Lee Kuan Yew’s anxiety over the construction of a cult of personality has been well documented in writings on him and manifested in his refusal to have any image of him adorn any public building, even when he was serving as the Prime Minister of Singapore (1965-1990). It was only when he turned eighty that one institution, the Lee Kuan Yew School of Public Policy was allowed to be named after him.[1] His eschewal of a personality cult does not hide the fact that he continues to be Singapore’s most influential politician internationally and that the big question of what the future for Singapore holds after he passes on continues to weight on the minds of Singaporeans even though his son, Lee Hsien Loong, is the current Prime Minister of Singapore and it has been more than two decades since he stepped down as Prime Minister. After the publishing of his own memoirs, The Singapore Story: Memories of Lee Kuan Yew in 1998, Lee followed up with two more books, From Third World to First: The Singapore Story, 1965 – 2000, and Hard Truths to Keep Singapore Going published in 2000 and 2011 respectively. From Third World to First was significant for lifting the veil by giving personal insights into his family, particularly his wife, Kwa Geok Choo who has since passed away in 2010 and his eldest son, Lee Hsien Loong. These publications signaled the opening of historical appraisals of Lee’s legacy culminating in a conference organised by the Lee Kuan Yew School of Public Policy to mark the 90th birthday of Lee when Professor Tommy Koh if it was wise for Lee to sue opposition leaders for defamation right after elections, bankrupting them, eliciting a strong response from ex-Minister Professor S. Jayakumar who replied that Lee only sued for defamation if opposition politicians crossed the red line in questioning Lee’s integrity and reputation. Such public discussions on Lee would have been unthinkable by leading politicians and intellectuals just 5 years ago, signaling an opening of intellectual and discursive space in Singapore. But did this opening of space extend to the field of visual art and culture in Singapore?
Boo Sze Yang: The Father could be seen within the context of this opening of political and cultural discourse on Lee and what he means to Singaporeans and Singapore’s history.[2] This exhibition is not the first exhibition to engage with questions over the legacy of Lee Kuan Yew and anxieties over Singapore’s future after his passing. Singapore Survey: Beyond LKY (2010) co-curated by gallerist-curator Valentine Willie and curator-artist Jason Wee posed these questions in their curatorial statement when they invited artists mostly based in Singapore “to prod Singaporean artists to contemplate a future without LKY”.[3] Incidentally, Singapore Survey: Beyond LKY was organised in the same year when From Third World to First was published, riding on the increasing openness in the historical legacy of Lee. Neither is Boo Sze Yang the first artist to use the image of as an artwork. Other artists including Tan Swie Hian, Jimmy Ong, and Ong Hui Har have depicted Lee either from photographs or their imagination. Ong and Tan have even depicted Lee and his family in their paintings. If so, why is Boo choosing to portray Lee as a subject, and how is his representation of arguably Singapore’s most iconic political figure add to the current critical discourse on Lee?
The Father comprises of 16 portrait paintings of Lee by Boo that captures this iconic figure who has eschewed the cult of personality throughout different moments of his life. Lee’s aversion to personality cults triggers Boo’s own interest in exploring the power of the image in creating the iconic. Boo’s earlier works such as the House of God series looked at the interior spaces of iconic religious sites such as the St Peter’s Basilica in the Vatican to study the use of architectural space to inspire and manifest the spiritual and the transcendental, which further developed into his critique of consumerism in the new iconic turn towards the building of monumental mega malls by renowned architects, which he exhibited in the group exhibition, Crisis of Monumentality: Made/Remade/Unmade.[4] The new religion is consumerism and the shopping mall its icon. His process of deconstructing and reconstructing the monumental in architecture is extended to a different type of icon – the power of the image – in a political figure, Lee Kuan Yew who has resisted the making of his image into a personality cult, which turns Boo’s interest in a political figure whose image has not been emptied of meaning through over dissemination through propaganda like the cult of Mao. Instead, the power of Lee’s image remains relatively underrepresented, creating an aura of possibilities in which a painter like Boo could use in his exploration of an iconic political leader.
The creation of an iconic political figure requires an understanding of the cult of personality, which has been has a long history since human civilisation and institutions of governance requiring political leaders from the deified status of Egypt’s Pharaohs, the Chinese regard for the Emperor as the Son of Heaven to the Greek and Roman with leaders like Caesar who carefully crafted personality cults using lavish ceremonies and military victories to forge a bond between the charismatic political leader whose visions and actions are accepted by an adulating public. Images of Roman leaders were often minted on coins to cement this myth of power and prestige to inflate their victories and successes. The myth of the infallible leader was thus born from the unquestioning devotion of their followers. In modern times, the creation of personality cults through the use of the image of political leaders has not changed. What has changed is the use of new technologies and media, combined in the form of propaganda. All forms of media like the printed media, television and more recently the internet through social media with politicians using facebook and twitter to create personality cults that demonstrate a direct and personal connection to their constituencies are increasingly common. Anxieties over being regarded as ‘out of touch’ with the public in democratic governments have propelled the use of social media to address the issues of the public with increasing speeds to keep up with rising expectations of citizens.
Recent political heroes such as the deceased Nelson Mandela had a formidable personality cult as a symbol of freedom against apartheid, which grew in strength even when he was imprisoned for 27 years. Solidified by supporters internationally who carried out protests carrying placards and wearing T-shirts bearing the image of Mandela. The anxieties over personality cults of political leaders could be traced to the tendency of authoritarian leaders to engineer their own personality cults through state propaganda such as Mao Zedong, Hitler, and Benito Mussolini. According to Thomas Plate who interviewed Lee shed light on Lee’s discomfort with the cult of personality as “He thinks it’s tacky. Until very recently, he didn’t even want to talk much about aspects of personality and his personal life.”[5] Given that Lee’s image remained largely out of the psyche of Singaporeans except in the media, in which his image and that of cabinet ministers are supposed to require approval from the Media Development Authority (MDA), and thus tightly regulated and controlled, Boo is interested in how do Singaporeans, with himself and his own experience as a Singaporean who has a deep respect for Lee as a starting point, relate psychologically to the image of this iconic political leader?[6] What does Lee’s image symbolise and mean to Singapore and Singaporeans?
The Father VIII, IX, X and XI could be seen as a series of portraits of Lee at different times of his life. The Father VIII appears to the youngest Lee followed by The Father IX, The Father Xand The Father XI. What all 4 portraits have in common is a shared hand gesture that is pointing at someone, a familiar gesture that Singaporeans might be familiar with watching Lee on television when giving speeches or interviews. The familiarity of this pointing gesture ichnographically relates to the propaganda poster of Uncle Sam pointing to Americans to serve the U.S. army during the Second World War. Uncle Sam was the personification of the American government as his initials, ‘U.S. ‘implies. The gesture of pointing using one’s index finger is considered rude in Chinese cultural etiquette as well. Boo’s depiction of the image of Lee with his familiar gesture relates to both Lee as a figure of authority that people crave in their political leaders. The depiction of Lee’s image at different moments of his lifetime signify a continuity in Lee’s image as a paternalistic symbol of Singapore’s government whereby one is told what to do in what academics have often dubbed as a nanny state and a paternalistic government whereby its citizens are only told what is best for them, particularly during Lee’s term as Prime Minister over 25 years.
The Father I, II, III, IV, V, and VI depict what looks like images of Lee of roughly the same age in his later years, probably in his eighties sitting on a chair that resembles a throne with ornate carvings that symbolise power and authority. In The Father VI in particular, the chair seems to almost dwarf Lee. All 6 portraits depict Lee with different hand gestures, some restful such as The Father I while others more animated like The Father IV who appears almost like a concert conductor. Unlike the authoritative gestures in The Father VIII, IX, X and XI, this group of 6 portraits show gestures that are more welcoming and open, signalling a shift away from a paternalistic to a more softer persona of mutual trust between him and Singaporeans. This softer side of Lee in his later years most clear seen in The Father II as he beckons one to come over contrasts with The Father III whereby the image of Lee seems to dissolve into an unstable image that opens up questions about Lee’s legacy in the history of Singapore .
The only triptych in this exhibition is The Father XIII of three images of Lee sitting on ornate throne-chairs over different times of his life that differ from the other portraits in that these images of Lee are laughing. Unlike Yue Minjun’s self portraits of smiling men that are cynical of modern day China’s political and social condition, these smiling images of Lee portray both strength and determination in their gestures while remaining accessible and personable. The ground on which the chair and figure rests on appears to float, denoting instability that opens up readings into how history might come to judge this iconic figure in the future. Perhaps Lee’s image remains unstable, lacking solidity through Boo’s painterly drips and blurring of the image itself that lends to this atmosphere of uneasy tension that vacillates between the Lee’s image as symbolising power and paternalistic authority and the fragility of this very power itself.
The most complex picture in this exhibition is The Father VII in terms of its composition and layered iconography and symbolisms that immediately references Leonardo da Vinci’s the Last Supper commissioned by the Duke of Milan at the refractory of the Convent of Santa Maria delle Grazie, Milan. Leonardo took almost 4 years (1495-98) to complete this commission that optimised the artist’s mastery over the single point perspective by focusing the entire composition of the picture on the slightly tilted head while depicting the 12 apostles and Christ himself looking and acting like any ordinary person without stylising them. Christ had gathered his 12 disciples to eat, washed their feet and gave instructions on how to celebrate the Eucharist, a ritual in remembrance of Christ. The Last Supper captures the moment after Jesus revealed to his 12 disciples that he would be betrayed by one of them and he knew what was coming and all its drama as his disciples expressed shock and anger at the possibility of this betrayal. The group of three to Christ’s left is identified as Judas, Peter and John with Judas as the eventual betrayer, his face in the shadows clutching a bag of what is probably payment for his betrayal. Christ is in the middle in all his calmness in contrast to while his other disciples gesture agitatedly.
When held in comparison, The Father VII and the Last Supper provide insights into the former. The Father VII has only 7 figures, all of whom are portraits of Lee at different times of his life compared to the different 13 personalities in the Last Supper. The central figure of Christ is replaced by Lee in The Father VII, the only figure who makes direct eye contact with the viewer, acting as the compositional pivot to the entire picture, similar to Christ in the Last Supper. The multiple figures of Lee suggest the complexity of Lee as a father, husband and statesman and heightens the personality cult of Lee in the psyche of Singaporeans as a person larger than life imbued with talismanic powers in ensuring the present and future continuation of Singapore’s remarkable success story in a small country without driven by only its human resources in the absence of natural wealth. Unlike the 12 Apostles in various degrees of shock and anxiety, the 7 figures of Lee portray a steely calmness, ruled by rationality, pragmatism and even warmth as seen in the second figure of Lee smiling from the right of the picture. The 7 figures denote the seven days in a week providing sacred protection to Singapore at all times. Lee as the sacred symbol of Singapore’s ensured success in an increasingly competitive globalised world is embodied in the 6 pomegranates on the table that symbolise happiness, fertility and good fortune for one’s descendents. If Lee represents the paternal father of Singapore, all Singaporeans, by extension are his children are granted good fortune according to Chinese feng shui teachings based on a system of spatial arrangement and orientation that influences favourable or unfavourable effects on people when designing and siting buildings and homes. If the 6 pomegranates relate to each of the 7 figures, one wonders why there is a pomegranate missing? Is the talismanic power of Lee in question overt then uncertainty of Singapore’s future? The pomegranate closest to the figure of Lee in the centre is the only the pomegranate that is open exposing its seeds that symbolise fertility. Is this a reference to one of Singapore’s biggest challenges for survival as the country’s birth rate continues to fall below replacement levels?
Anxieties over real challenges that Singapore face and the leadership needed to sustain and improve in the face of changes internally in an increasingly active citizenry that is calling for more participation and consultation in the policies that shape the country. A growing civil society amidst a fast changing global landscape had made governance a much more complex affair. In The Father XII, both Lee and his son, Lee Hsien Loong, who has been helming the country as the third Prime Minister of Singapore since 2004 expresses these anxieties in political leadership for the next generation of leaders after Lee Hsien Loong. The pedestal on which the chair and both father and son are seated on is empty, creating a floating effect that is neither stable nor anchored despite the smiling, confident expressions of both figures. The question remains: who will determine Singapore’s future direction and what will the eventual loss of these 2 talismanic statesmen mean for Singapore?
The Father provides multiple readings of Singaporeans over the legacy of Lee, shared anxieties of how imagining the continued economic success of the country after this talismanic paternalistic leader who has guided Singapore to where it is today has passed on. Boo offers his own readings into these issues with critical depth derived from his own personal admiration for this political leader. More importantly, Boo has excavated the power of Lee’s image as an icon that demands more discursive space in Singapore by artists and intellectuals alike. The cult of personality that mindlessly glorifies a leader is not what Boo is searching for. Instead, it is an open, critical and intellectual discussion on Lee and the future vision and direction of Singapore that defines the purpose of this exhibition.
[1] Please refer to the Lee Kuan Yew School of Public Policy for information on the LKY School’s vision and misson.
[2] This exhibition will hence be referred to as The Father in this essay.
[3] Jason Wee and Valentine Willie, Singapore Survey: Beyond LKY (Singapore: Valentine Willie Fine Art, 2010).
[4] Please refer to the exhibition catalogue of Crisis of Monumentality: Made/Remade/Unmade (Singapore: Seng Yu Jin, 2013). This exhibition was curated by Seng Yu Jin at the ChanHampe Galleries.
[5] Sonia Kolesnlkov Jessop, ‘Singapore Portraits of a Prime Minister’ in Newsweek, 15 October 2010.
[6] Ibid.
By Seng Yu Jin
Senior Curator
The National Art Gallery, Singapore
Minster Mentor Lee Kuan Yew’s anxiety over the construction of a cult of personality has been well documented in writings on him and manifested in his refusal to have any image of him adorn any public building, even when he was serving as the Prime Minister of Singapore (1965-1990). It was only when he turned eighty that one institution, the Lee Kuan Yew School of Public Policy was allowed to be named after him.[1] His eschewal of a personality cult does not hide the fact that he continues to be Singapore’s most influential politician internationally and that the big question of what the future for Singapore holds after he passes on continues to weight on the minds of Singaporeans even though his son, Lee Hsien Loong, is the current Prime Minister of Singapore and it has been more than two decades since he stepped down as Prime Minister. After the publishing of his own memoirs, The Singapore Story: Memories of Lee Kuan Yew in 1998, Lee followed up with two more books, From Third World to First: The Singapore Story, 1965 – 2000, and Hard Truths to Keep Singapore Going published in 2000 and 2011 respectively. From Third World to First was significant for lifting the veil by giving personal insights into his family, particularly his wife, Kwa Geok Choo who has since passed away in 2010 and his eldest son, Lee Hsien Loong. These publications signaled the opening of historical appraisals of Lee’s legacy culminating in a conference organised by the Lee Kuan Yew School of Public Policy to mark the 90th birthday of Lee when Professor Tommy Koh if it was wise for Lee to sue opposition leaders for defamation right after elections, bankrupting them, eliciting a strong response from ex-Minister Professor S. Jayakumar who replied that Lee only sued for defamation if opposition politicians crossed the red line in questioning Lee’s integrity and reputation. Such public discussions on Lee would have been unthinkable by leading politicians and intellectuals just 5 years ago, signaling an opening of intellectual and discursive space in Singapore. But did this opening of space extend to the field of visual art and culture in Singapore?
Boo Sze Yang: The Father could be seen within the context of this opening of political and cultural discourse on Lee and what he means to Singaporeans and Singapore’s history.[2] This exhibition is not the first exhibition to engage with questions over the legacy of Lee Kuan Yew and anxieties over Singapore’s future after his passing. Singapore Survey: Beyond LKY (2010) co-curated by gallerist-curator Valentine Willie and curator-artist Jason Wee posed these questions in their curatorial statement when they invited artists mostly based in Singapore “to prod Singaporean artists to contemplate a future without LKY”.[3] Incidentally, Singapore Survey: Beyond LKY was organised in the same year when From Third World to First was published, riding on the increasing openness in the historical legacy of Lee. Neither is Boo Sze Yang the first artist to use the image of as an artwork. Other artists including Tan Swie Hian, Jimmy Ong, and Ong Hui Har have depicted Lee either from photographs or their imagination. Ong and Tan have even depicted Lee and his family in their paintings. If so, why is Boo choosing to portray Lee as a subject, and how is his representation of arguably Singapore’s most iconic political figure add to the current critical discourse on Lee?
The Father comprises of 16 portrait paintings of Lee by Boo that captures this iconic figure who has eschewed the cult of personality throughout different moments of his life. Lee’s aversion to personality cults triggers Boo’s own interest in exploring the power of the image in creating the iconic. Boo’s earlier works such as the House of God series looked at the interior spaces of iconic religious sites such as the St Peter’s Basilica in the Vatican to study the use of architectural space to inspire and manifest the spiritual and the transcendental, which further developed into his critique of consumerism in the new iconic turn towards the building of monumental mega malls by renowned architects, which he exhibited in the group exhibition, Crisis of Monumentality: Made/Remade/Unmade.[4] The new religion is consumerism and the shopping mall its icon. His process of deconstructing and reconstructing the monumental in architecture is extended to a different type of icon – the power of the image – in a political figure, Lee Kuan Yew who has resisted the making of his image into a personality cult, which turns Boo’s interest in a political figure whose image has not been emptied of meaning through over dissemination through propaganda like the cult of Mao. Instead, the power of Lee’s image remains relatively underrepresented, creating an aura of possibilities in which a painter like Boo could use in his exploration of an iconic political leader.
The creation of an iconic political figure requires an understanding of the cult of personality, which has been has a long history since human civilisation and institutions of governance requiring political leaders from the deified status of Egypt’s Pharaohs, the Chinese regard for the Emperor as the Son of Heaven to the Greek and Roman with leaders like Caesar who carefully crafted personality cults using lavish ceremonies and military victories to forge a bond between the charismatic political leader whose visions and actions are accepted by an adulating public. Images of Roman leaders were often minted on coins to cement this myth of power and prestige to inflate their victories and successes. The myth of the infallible leader was thus born from the unquestioning devotion of their followers. In modern times, the creation of personality cults through the use of the image of political leaders has not changed. What has changed is the use of new technologies and media, combined in the form of propaganda. All forms of media like the printed media, television and more recently the internet through social media with politicians using facebook and twitter to create personality cults that demonstrate a direct and personal connection to their constituencies are increasingly common. Anxieties over being regarded as ‘out of touch’ with the public in democratic governments have propelled the use of social media to address the issues of the public with increasing speeds to keep up with rising expectations of citizens.
Recent political heroes such as the deceased Nelson Mandela had a formidable personality cult as a symbol of freedom against apartheid, which grew in strength even when he was imprisoned for 27 years. Solidified by supporters internationally who carried out protests carrying placards and wearing T-shirts bearing the image of Mandela. The anxieties over personality cults of political leaders could be traced to the tendency of authoritarian leaders to engineer their own personality cults through state propaganda such as Mao Zedong, Hitler, and Benito Mussolini. According to Thomas Plate who interviewed Lee shed light on Lee’s discomfort with the cult of personality as “He thinks it’s tacky. Until very recently, he didn’t even want to talk much about aspects of personality and his personal life.”[5] Given that Lee’s image remained largely out of the psyche of Singaporeans except in the media, in which his image and that of cabinet ministers are supposed to require approval from the Media Development Authority (MDA), and thus tightly regulated and controlled, Boo is interested in how do Singaporeans, with himself and his own experience as a Singaporean who has a deep respect for Lee as a starting point, relate psychologically to the image of this iconic political leader?[6] What does Lee’s image symbolise and mean to Singapore and Singaporeans?
The Father VIII, IX, X and XI could be seen as a series of portraits of Lee at different times of his life. The Father VIII appears to the youngest Lee followed by The Father IX, The Father Xand The Father XI. What all 4 portraits have in common is a shared hand gesture that is pointing at someone, a familiar gesture that Singaporeans might be familiar with watching Lee on television when giving speeches or interviews. The familiarity of this pointing gesture ichnographically relates to the propaganda poster of Uncle Sam pointing to Americans to serve the U.S. army during the Second World War. Uncle Sam was the personification of the American government as his initials, ‘U.S. ‘implies. The gesture of pointing using one’s index finger is considered rude in Chinese cultural etiquette as well. Boo’s depiction of the image of Lee with his familiar gesture relates to both Lee as a figure of authority that people crave in their political leaders. The depiction of Lee’s image at different moments of his lifetime signify a continuity in Lee’s image as a paternalistic symbol of Singapore’s government whereby one is told what to do in what academics have often dubbed as a nanny state and a paternalistic government whereby its citizens are only told what is best for them, particularly during Lee’s term as Prime Minister over 25 years.
The Father I, II, III, IV, V, and VI depict what looks like images of Lee of roughly the same age in his later years, probably in his eighties sitting on a chair that resembles a throne with ornate carvings that symbolise power and authority. In The Father VI in particular, the chair seems to almost dwarf Lee. All 6 portraits depict Lee with different hand gestures, some restful such as The Father I while others more animated like The Father IV who appears almost like a concert conductor. Unlike the authoritative gestures in The Father VIII, IX, X and XI, this group of 6 portraits show gestures that are more welcoming and open, signalling a shift away from a paternalistic to a more softer persona of mutual trust between him and Singaporeans. This softer side of Lee in his later years most clear seen in The Father II as he beckons one to come over contrasts with The Father III whereby the image of Lee seems to dissolve into an unstable image that opens up questions about Lee’s legacy in the history of Singapore .
The only triptych in this exhibition is The Father XIII of three images of Lee sitting on ornate throne-chairs over different times of his life that differ from the other portraits in that these images of Lee are laughing. Unlike Yue Minjun’s self portraits of smiling men that are cynical of modern day China’s political and social condition, these smiling images of Lee portray both strength and determination in their gestures while remaining accessible and personable. The ground on which the chair and figure rests on appears to float, denoting instability that opens up readings into how history might come to judge this iconic figure in the future. Perhaps Lee’s image remains unstable, lacking solidity through Boo’s painterly drips and blurring of the image itself that lends to this atmosphere of uneasy tension that vacillates between the Lee’s image as symbolising power and paternalistic authority and the fragility of this very power itself.
The most complex picture in this exhibition is The Father VII in terms of its composition and layered iconography and symbolisms that immediately references Leonardo da Vinci’s the Last Supper commissioned by the Duke of Milan at the refractory of the Convent of Santa Maria delle Grazie, Milan. Leonardo took almost 4 years (1495-98) to complete this commission that optimised the artist’s mastery over the single point perspective by focusing the entire composition of the picture on the slightly tilted head while depicting the 12 apostles and Christ himself looking and acting like any ordinary person without stylising them. Christ had gathered his 12 disciples to eat, washed their feet and gave instructions on how to celebrate the Eucharist, a ritual in remembrance of Christ. The Last Supper captures the moment after Jesus revealed to his 12 disciples that he would be betrayed by one of them and he knew what was coming and all its drama as his disciples expressed shock and anger at the possibility of this betrayal. The group of three to Christ’s left is identified as Judas, Peter and John with Judas as the eventual betrayer, his face in the shadows clutching a bag of what is probably payment for his betrayal. Christ is in the middle in all his calmness in contrast to while his other disciples gesture agitatedly.
When held in comparison, The Father VII and the Last Supper provide insights into the former. The Father VII has only 7 figures, all of whom are portraits of Lee at different times of his life compared to the different 13 personalities in the Last Supper. The central figure of Christ is replaced by Lee in The Father VII, the only figure who makes direct eye contact with the viewer, acting as the compositional pivot to the entire picture, similar to Christ in the Last Supper. The multiple figures of Lee suggest the complexity of Lee as a father, husband and statesman and heightens the personality cult of Lee in the psyche of Singaporeans as a person larger than life imbued with talismanic powers in ensuring the present and future continuation of Singapore’s remarkable success story in a small country without driven by only its human resources in the absence of natural wealth. Unlike the 12 Apostles in various degrees of shock and anxiety, the 7 figures of Lee portray a steely calmness, ruled by rationality, pragmatism and even warmth as seen in the second figure of Lee smiling from the right of the picture. The 7 figures denote the seven days in a week providing sacred protection to Singapore at all times. Lee as the sacred symbol of Singapore’s ensured success in an increasingly competitive globalised world is embodied in the 6 pomegranates on the table that symbolise happiness, fertility and good fortune for one’s descendents. If Lee represents the paternal father of Singapore, all Singaporeans, by extension are his children are granted good fortune according to Chinese feng shui teachings based on a system of spatial arrangement and orientation that influences favourable or unfavourable effects on people when designing and siting buildings and homes. If the 6 pomegranates relate to each of the 7 figures, one wonders why there is a pomegranate missing? Is the talismanic power of Lee in question overt then uncertainty of Singapore’s future? The pomegranate closest to the figure of Lee in the centre is the only the pomegranate that is open exposing its seeds that symbolise fertility. Is this a reference to one of Singapore’s biggest challenges for survival as the country’s birth rate continues to fall below replacement levels?
Anxieties over real challenges that Singapore face and the leadership needed to sustain and improve in the face of changes internally in an increasingly active citizenry that is calling for more participation and consultation in the policies that shape the country. A growing civil society amidst a fast changing global landscape had made governance a much more complex affair. In The Father XII, both Lee and his son, Lee Hsien Loong, who has been helming the country as the third Prime Minister of Singapore since 2004 expresses these anxieties in political leadership for the next generation of leaders after Lee Hsien Loong. The pedestal on which the chair and both father and son are seated on is empty, creating a floating effect that is neither stable nor anchored despite the smiling, confident expressions of both figures. The question remains: who will determine Singapore’s future direction and what will the eventual loss of these 2 talismanic statesmen mean for Singapore?
The Father provides multiple readings of Singaporeans over the legacy of Lee, shared anxieties of how imagining the continued economic success of the country after this talismanic paternalistic leader who has guided Singapore to where it is today has passed on. Boo offers his own readings into these issues with critical depth derived from his own personal admiration for this political leader. More importantly, Boo has excavated the power of Lee’s image as an icon that demands more discursive space in Singapore by artists and intellectuals alike. The cult of personality that mindlessly glorifies a leader is not what Boo is searching for. Instead, it is an open, critical and intellectual discussion on Lee and the future vision and direction of Singapore that defines the purpose of this exhibition.
[1] Please refer to the Lee Kuan Yew School of Public Policy for information on the LKY School’s vision and misson.
[2] This exhibition will hence be referred to as The Father in this essay.
[3] Jason Wee and Valentine Willie, Singapore Survey: Beyond LKY (Singapore: Valentine Willie Fine Art, 2010).
[4] Please refer to the exhibition catalogue of Crisis of Monumentality: Made/Remade/Unmade (Singapore: Seng Yu Jin, 2013). This exhibition was curated by Seng Yu Jin at the ChanHampe Galleries.
[5] Sonia Kolesnlkov Jessop, ‘Singapore Portraits of a Prime Minister’ in Newsweek, 15 October 2010.
[6] Ibid.