As a kid I remembered looking up at the radio that perched on top of our 5 drawer dresser. Each time my dad would put his fingers on one of those big black knobs my breathing would stop for a second. I wanted to catch the magic. The magic of the front glass panel on the radio lighting up. A few minutes later I could hear high pitched whistles rising and ebbing, and then music or voices would be discernible amongst the interference. Turning another black knob left and right brings the program into clear. "Where did the voice come from?" I would ask. "There is a man inside the box!" said my father.
I remembered climbing on a chair, behind the dresser, looking through the perforated backing on the radio, to find that "man". Instead, I found several "light bulbs" inside the box; I could "smell" the heat emanating from these bulbs. As my dad turned the dial knob, I could see a string hooked up to a spring, which was attached to a slider on a track, and a needle moved. The whole thing was so mesmerising.....I can still smell that heat. I can still feel its radiance.
As I grew older, there is a new addition to our family. A much larger cabinet with a tiny gray window in the front. After the black knob was turned, this cabinet gave out a extraterrestrial high frequency hum, and after what seemed like eternity, a gray and white picture appeared. It took a another life time for the picture to get brighter and became "watchable". We had television. Again I somehow managed to get to the back of the cabinet, looking through the perforated backing, to look for the bulbs, and to "smell" the heat. The moments of anticipating an image appearing on the screen, and to have events happening in expected sequences,from the transformers humming, the capacitors charging up, to the flickers, and finally having my senses satisfied, are moments that I still cherish today.
Painting for me is very similar to the experiences I just described. There has to be awe, curiosity and appreciation. I paint because it is not instantaneous, no immediate gratification at play here. There is a process of going from conception to finished work, all the while filled with anticipation.
When we paint on Xuan paper, the overall appearance of the work changes as the work dries. Wetting the finished work restores most of the original saturation, hence mounting Xuan paper on another piece of Xuan paper is mandatory not only to give it stiffness, but to restore the brilliance and color accuracy. After days, sometimes weeks of working on a piece, we then spend hours on affixing it and hanging it up to dry. We really don't know what our work looks like until it is all mounted and dried.
My curiosity led me to explore new ways of mounting. Hence I invented this process/medium I called Xuan-Boo. Along with this new platform comes new challenges and that led to my making my own frames. I kept thinking how turning the knob made the dial move. Perhaps that is why I am not satisfied to just paint, but I want to be involved in as many facets as I can. I enjoy the complete process from laying down the first stroke, to hanging the work up. Today I am presenting you with the first batch of Xuan-Boo.
Of course the end is gratifying too, sometimes. There are some works that I would really hate to part with, because I had invested so much of myself in them.... "Every time you go away, you take a part of me with you!"
Every so often, after the National Anthem has played, and the TV station has signed off, I would still be watching the Station Calibration Wheel. There is nothing to anticipate now,nothing to be awed about, but at least I know the damn set still works.
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