It’s easy to look at Dua’s sculptures of intertwining body parts — penises, testicles, faces and various limbs all meshed together — and dismiss them as being repulsive or intentionally shocking. But the Malaysian artist has reached a point in his career where he is unperturbed by other people’s reactions to his artwork.
“I’ve been told that my sculptures are ugly, that they resemble monsters,” Dua tells the Taipei Times over apple-flavored tea at Cafe Philo (慕哲咖啡), a coffee shop on Shaoxing North Street (紹興北街) known for hosting weekly salons where topics include art, philosophy and political activism.
Chuckling as he reaches for his tea cup, Dua’s baby face, bright eyes and mousey demeanor belies the fact that his artwork draws inspiration from the male reproductive system.
Photo courtesy of Dua
Growing up in a small village in the state of Perak in Malaysia, Dua, who sometimes goes by his Chinese name Yang Wei-bin (楊偉彬), says that living in Taiwan for the last three years has been a liberating experience.
“I felt bottled up in Malaysia because the government isn’t favorable towards ethnic Chinese, and society there is quite conservative,” Dua says. “It was only when I moved to Taiwan that I was able to freely express myself through my artwork.”
He adds that an exhibition like his current one at the Yingge Ceramics Museum (鶯歌陶瓷博物館) would have been impossible in Malaysia. The Rite for Tanah to Indai Kitae (土神祭聲之巫) features hundreds of Dua’s ceramics, which are teeming with penis motifs that he has created over the past two years. The series is satirical in the sense that it puts a raunchy spin on ancient Malay folklore, while also symbolizing the artist’s mixed feelings towards his own cultural identity.
Photo courtesy of Dua
CAN OF WORMS
Why penises? Dua is fascinated by the idea of birth and life, but feels that imagery of the female anatomy is a bit overdone, especially in Western artwork.
“I wanted to do something different and use male parts to represent the idea of giving birth and carrying on the life cycle,” Dua says.
Photo courtesy of Dua
This is evident in Singing Dragons, an installation of ceramic sperm with penis heads wiggling their way across the floor and climbing up a tower that looks like the tentacles of an octopus.
Dua also hopes to start conversations on topics like sex that are traditionally deemed as taboo in many Asian cultures. He’s opening a can of worms, literally and figuratively.
“At least there exists such a platform in Taiwan to display this kind of provocative artwork,” the artist says.
Photo courtesy of Dua
“When people first see my sculptures, they might feel a bit shy or embarrassed, but after a while, they’ll start thinking about it more and come to believe that there’s nothing wrong with expressing yourself in this kind of way.”
Dua is pleased to see this change occurring in Taiwan and hopes that it’ll happen one day in Malaysia as well, although that will take time.
IN GOOD HUMOR
Photo courtesy of Dua
Dua’s grotesque sculptures are actually quite humorous. Some of the monsters stick out their tongues and make silly faces. Others, like the dinosaur-like creature in Beast of Desire II, uses its multiple hands to jerk off its multiple penises, while Dragon Cauldron depicts a baby fireball attached to its mother through a chain-like umbilical cord. Not all of Dua’s creatures are male — some even have both male and female reproductive organs. This is because Malaysian aborigines — the orang asli — prayed to both male and female gods.
The question of identity is another facet that makes Dua’s seemingly bizarre sculptures seem more relatable. While pursuing his Master’s degree at National Taiwan Normal University (國立臺灣師範大學), Dua felt pressured to create artwork that was “Malaysian” — for him, an elusive concept.
“I’m Malaysian, but my blood is Chinese — yet my work is distinctly Southeast Asian,” Dua tells me, as if trying to reassure himself of something.
Since Chinese-language schools in Malaysia are privately owned and expensive, Dua attended a local Malay school where he was educated in the Malay language. He spoke in Chinese at home with his parents. In school, he was known as Dua. At home, his parents called him Wei-bin.
This feeling of tension is translated into Dua’s artwork. Despite their good humor, the monsters do not appear to be at ease. There’s so much to digest when looking at them — an eye bulging here, a testicle hanging there — that it’s difficult to take it in all at once.
THERAPY, SORT OF
Dua did not always make grotesque ceramic figures. His earlier work depicted scenes from everyday life in the Malaysian kampong or village. He painted boats, coconut trees, beaches, quilt shops and places of worship (including mosques and Chinese and Indian temples) with warm colors — in contrast to the earthier hues of his ceramics.
It was only in Taiwan that Dua started experimenting with clay, making little clay objects every now and then, and treating it more as a hobby than as something to take seriously. Then one day, he received a phone call. His father had passed away. He flew home for the funeral and put his father’s ashes in an urn. Returning to Taiwan heartbroken and homesick, he started working with ceramics and eventually stopped painting altogether.
“It was like carrying my father in an urn,” Dua says. “I could feel his energy inside the pottery.”
There was much pent-up tension to release. While grieving the loss of his father, Dua simply let loose. Without thinking much about it, he sculpted grotesque figures with intertwining body parts, expressing himself freely and not caring about what other people would say.
“It was through making these ceramic pieces that I was able to uncover bits and pieces of my identity,” he says.
Lesson learned. Never judge a penis by its outward appearance.
Dua’s exhibition is currently on display at the Yingge Ceramics Museum in New Taipei City. There will be a closing ceremony on Sept. 6 featuring a live performance with the artist himself as one of the dancers.
Sept.16 to Sept. 22 The “anti-communist train” with then-president Chiang Kai-shek’s (蔣介石) face plastered on the engine puffed along the “sugar railway” (糖業鐵路) in May 1955, drawing enthusiastic crowds at 103 stops covering nearly 1,200km. An estimated 1.58 million spectators were treated to propaganda films, plays and received free sugar products. By this time, the state-run Taiwan Sugar Corporation (台糖, Taisugar) had managed to connect the previously separate east-west lines established by Japanese-era sugar factories, allowing the anti-communist train to travel easily from Taichung to Pingtung’s Donggang Township (東港). Last Sunday’s feature (Taiwan in Time: The sugar express) covered the inauguration of the
The corruption cases surrounding former Taipei Mayor and Taiwan People’s Party (TPP) head Ko Wen-je (柯文哲) are just one item in the endless cycle of noise and fuss obscuring Taiwan’s deep and urgent structural and social problems. Even the case itself, as James Baron observed in an excellent piece at the Diplomat last week, is only one manifestation of the greater problem of deep-rooted corruption in land development. Last week the government announced a program to permit 25,000 foreign university students, primarily from the Philippines, Indonesia and Malaysia, to work in Taiwan after graduation for 2-4 years. That number is a
This year’s Michelin Gourmand Bib sported 16 new entries in the 126-strong Taiwan directory. The fight for the best braised pork rice and the crispiest scallion pancake painstakingly continued, but what stood out in the lineup this year? Pang Taqueria (胖塔可利亞); Taiwan’s first Michelin-recommended Mexican restaurant. Chef Charles Chen (陳治宇) is a self-confessed Americophile, earning his chef whites at a fine-dining Latin-American fusion restaurant. But what makes this Xinyi (信義) spot stand head and shoulders above Taipei’s existing Mexican offerings? The authenticity. The produce. The care. AUTHENTIC EATS In my time on the island, I have caved too many times to
In the aftermath of the 2020 general elections the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) was demoralized. The Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) had crushed them in a second landslide in a row, with their presidential candidate Tsai Ing-wen (蔡英文) winning more votes than any in Taiwan’s history. The KMT did pick up three legislative seats, but the DPP retained an outright majority. To take responsibility for that catastrophic loss, as is customary, party chairman Wu Den-yih (吳敦義) resigned. This would mark the end of an era of how the party operated and the beginning of a new effort at reform, first under