AsiaLIFE

Cambodia's former colonial rulers had a long-established perception of Khmer aesthetics. They considered the zenith Angkor and everything else as an afterthought. Vollak Kong does nothing to dispute the glory of Angkor. Everything that happened in the past is good, he says, but the past gives little inspiration on which to grow in the future. Carvings of stolid Apsaras and bas-reliefs of the Ramayana epic hardly reflect the nuances of the mechanised and high-speed life of young Cambodians.

Cambodia's Young Art Rebels

"I started from nothing," says Vuth Lyno, who looks a bit like a Khmer Buddy Holly. His original background was in IT. Like a lot of young Cambodians he was searching for the major that would bring the most lucrative return on his parent's investment. He discovered photography early on through collecting photos and "snapping photos around my head…" He met some artists at a workshop he took at Stéphane Janin's now sadly closed Popil Gallery. This workshop turned him towards fine art photography. He began to read more photography books and to fine tune his photographic skills.

At the workshop the young Khmer artists from disparate academic backgrounds from law to fine arts decided they did not want their frail community to end. Rattana Vandy also a member of Stéphane Janin's workshop remembers his desire to keep the community going. "We don't have a culture of youth coming together," he says.

Rattana recalls that no one felt they would continue in their arts if they did not meet as a group. They formed Stiev Selapak or the art rebels. This twenty-odd group of young artists specialising in multiple media, photography and sculpture wanted to create a group independent from any affiliation or other art centre in Cambodia. According to Rattana he and the other members of the group,  "want to sustain the contemporary arts in Cambodia."

These fresh faces in arty business casual attire seem unlikely candidates for art revolutionaries. Their work, however, is unlike any yet seen in Cambodia. The group's Canadian Khmer facilitator is Linda Saphan. She has helped the group by promoting them on her website and offering the group a place to meet. She also offers her suggestions and criticism.

"These guys share their artwork and the process of creating," Linda says. What is different about this way of learning is that there is no teacher to copy. There is no mimicry, but rather a search for individuality. This contravenes customary educational models in Cambodia.  Stiev Selapak's solution to the ever-pressing problem of capital is to reinvest in the group. Fifty per cent of the proceeds of any artwork sold by a group member goes back into the organisation.

Loving Kindness at the Meta House

"The students were like that," Lydia Parusol puts her hands up to her face in mock amazement. She is referring to the reactions of students at a recent video art workshop where a Thai video artist presented her work and conducted training for fine arts students. For Lydia it is "the collaborations where people are leaning from each other" that gets her excited about her work at Meta House.

Meta means loving kindness in Khmer, and the space is one dedicated to arts and film exhibitions and workshops, founded by Nico Mesterharm. When I talk to him the German documentary filmmaker is hunched over smoking and chatting with Cambodian artist Sothy Chhim about the latter's upcoming exhibition. Nico is quick to make it clear that Sothy will have a free rein. "Whatever you come up with we will create it in reality," he says. He turns to me and emphasises that this is his philosophy behind Meta House. "We try to create a dialogue," he says.

Making a Living from Art

A rarity among Cambodian artists, according to Nico, Sothy Chhim is "one of the few who knows how to sell his works." The artist's works are based on Ramayana pictures and other traditional themes. These are mostly what he sells. However, his show at Meta House will be different from his previous work. It will be more abstract, he says. He says he would like to do more of this type of work, but the problem is in selling such experimental pieces.

Sothy is fortunate to be able to sell his work and survive as an artist. This is primarily because of his language skills. Older artists, he says, can speak Russian, Vietnamese, Chinese, but the younger ones speak English and French. Sothy speaks French and English. These are the languages now required to sell to the foreign art buyers. Nico's voice, speculating on the art market in Cambodia, resonates. "I enjoy the boom we see here recently, but it is not leading to higher salaries for artists," he says. "This is for sure the next level."

Dana Langlois also knows about the exigencies of being an artist. "The simple truth is they need money to live," says the owner of Java Café, perhaps the longest running coffee shop and art space in Phnom Penh. Her recent Sala Arts project held workshops and exhibitions for Khmer artists. As Dana sees it, proponents of the visual arts in Cambodia face an uphill battle. "Traditional arts are very well appreciated," she points out and subsequently relatively well funded. Visual arts survive primarily through the generosity of a few individuals.

When asked if artists are ready to deal with buyers and collectors by themselves, she is clear. "Honestly, no. Some are, the majority? No," she replies. Education, experience and exposure are what are required. "The greatest potential for Cambodian artists is to be seen, exhibited and sold abroad," she says

Reaching an International Audience

According to Rattana Vandy, when Cambodian works are exhibited they tend to make a splash. "Many are surprised to see the work from Cambodia. They have never seen Cambodia before," he says, referring to a particular exhibition at the Khmer Art Academy where there was an installation of a hammock hanging in the tree.

"Both Cambodian and foreigners were surprised," he says. "People passing by just stared and asked, 'Why? What is it?' We explained it is a form of art - but they didn't get it!" To bring works like this to the international stage, Rattana thinks one of the most useful tools is the Internet. He reports that many Cambodian artists have been trying to network and build themselves up in order to reach "the international stage."

Rattana says that many ideas have sprung from interchanges like Stiev Selapak. One of these was their recent group show at Gasolina, but there are other ideas in the works as well. "Up to now I don't see contemporary art using the public space," he says. He has plans of asking building owners to lend their outdoor spaces for a one-day temporary exhibition or riding bikes around the Tonle Sap and giving impromptu arts workshops for the children living there.

Artists Playing Catch-up

"It is very tempting to say an art community exists," Linda Saphan says of the recent movement in the arts over the past couple years. In reality, the 'scene' as defined as an environment or background is difficult to impose on a country like Cambodia, given its recent past. "They have potential," Linda emphasises. Dana Langlois agrees. "They have the talent, they have the will…it's all there."

Like ingénues in so many fields, the young artists of Cambodia are rushing to play catch up. Heang Thy already had a degree from the Institute of Foreign Languages at the Royal University of Phnom Penh in English, but, as her ultimate goal is to become a photographer, she enrolled in the Department of Media and Communications at the same university. Between her studies and her part-time job, she managed to attend Stéphane Janin's workshop for young photographers and to attend workshops at the Angkor Photo Festival.

When asked if she is busy as she rushes in between school, her part-time job and her extracurricular activities, she responds breathlessly "a little." Pursuing her chosen career path as a journalistic and artistic photographer is a challenge. "In Cambodia, we have very few photographers, especially women," she says. "The most important problem is money," she is optimistic and hardly greedy. "As long as you have one camera. It is enough." Neither does she envy painters. "They spend a lot of effort to finish one work," she says. Despite their hard work, "the income from that it is still low, it is really difficult to be famous," she laments.

Renowned Cambodian artists are still so rare and under-publicised that even art students find it difficult to name well-known Khmer artists. Heang is clear about how art students can progress, though. "We need to spend so much time to improve our ability in this field," she says. She also believes that it will take both a concerted effort by Khmer artists and cooperation from international artists to boost artistic efforts. "If you don't have help from a famous photographer - both national and international you maybe don't have a chance to be involved in that field," she says.

Being a Female Artist

As a female in a male dominated field, Heang feels extra pressure. She has seen women fall by the wayside because of other pressures. "Taking photos is time-consuming if you don't have time, you can't do it," she says. There are also long-held beliefs about what a woman should be permitted to do and not do that are a challenge to contravene. "In Cambodian culture we cannot go far from our home. We can get work only in Phnom Penh." She admits that she is doing work that many consider, "a little bit dangerous for a lady."

Ouer Sokuntevy, known as Tevy, also understands about the challenges faced by young Khmer female artists. Battambang-born and educated at Phare Ponleu Seplak, Tevy struggled to continue her studies. When she met Dana Langlois, who invited her to have an exhibition at Java, it was a way to pursue her dream.

Her first show was a nerve-racking experience. "I didn't know anything, like a girl from the village," she says. Dana was instrumental in finding her customers and in arranging for her to meet Nico at the Meta House, who set her up with an artist's residency there. Tevy says that if it were not for Nico, she might not have been able to stay in Phnom Penh.

This kind of support is not something to which Tevy is accustomed. She was forced to attend art school in secret. Later, when her parents insisted she stay indoors, she took to painting at home and getting out to go to school when she could. She credits her current success to chance. "I'm lucky, very lucky, " she says before adding that some people aren't so lucky with a shake of her head.

According to her artists in Cambodia are neither accepted nor understood. "I want the Cambodian to understand what an artist is," she says. The exigencies of the average Cambodian do not include the fine arts. "They haven't money to buy a painting," she explains. "Everybody is poor. Can they eat a painting? They think about eating first before painting."

Not only is the money a struggle, as many subjects are taboo, she says. She brings up a recent show of hers at Salt Lounge dealing with homosexuality in Cambodia that featured men in various passionate embraces with other men. "I didn't show my family," she laughs. "Maybe they'd say I'm crazy." But her insidious energy is intoxicating, "I don't care if everybody accepts or not."

Modern Art Is Old

Sokorn Leang has a similar contagious energy as he describes his own struggle for an artistic voice. "I learned a lot at school, but one day I want to be my own, but I cannot," he says referred to the confining nature of the typical fine arts education. He is constantly searching for ways to incorporate pieces of his own history into his artwork. As a child he once tried to use a sewing machine left by a relative at his house. He accidentally pierced his finger with the needle and bleed everywhere. Now he incorporates sewing throughout his work.

Sokorn was one of the first Khmer artists shown at Java Café. One of his more controversial works featured beer girls with an Apsara background, likening the mythical epitome of Khmer womanhood to modern day barmaids. This work elicited varied responses.

To Sokorn the main issue in arts today is autonomy. "How to get our own independent art," he says. Even for students trying to explore different modes of expression, it is difficult because access to information is limited. He laments that paintings today can be in the modern style, "but modern is old," he says.

Even these "modern" ideas are ideas are from mid-century France. What is required, he advises throwing up his hands dramatically, is artists who are willing to work not one day or two days, but ten years perfecting their art. He draws a parallel between artists finding their style and Buddha's search for enlightenment. He admits, that like Buddha, suffering is inevitable, as should be perseverance. Artists have to try and fail and get up and try again until they have a strong sense of themselves. This self-awareness is what he feels separates artists from the masses.

"I know me more than other people know me," he waxes philosophically. "When the work is finished. The work can tell," he says echoing an artist's mantra that artworks should speak for themselves. "The end will tell us what this is," he motions towards his heart.