Edison Chen 「Demystifying gay Asian dating」

Posted on May 26, 2015 commentaires
If you’re a gay Asian male, there’s a good chance you’ve wondered about the “panda in the room” — the theory of people treating you differently just because of your appearance. With this question in mind, Edison Chen sets out to ask fellow gay Asian-Australians about their dating experiences in order to understand the stereotypes and commonalities that impact us all.

“IF you’re going to look for a husband, go to America or Europe.”

Those words were from a well-travelled Asian who I met at a speed-dating event one night. Upon hearing them, I felt like this bleak cynicism about the Australian dating scene pierced open a sleeping concern. Between the usual fuzziness of Lana Del Rey music and judgements of people’s clothing, an ever-hungry thought — “Am I single because I’m Asian?” continuously plagues my mind. Does being a gay Asian, or “Gaysian” for those who like combining words, affect your dating experiences because of the way people perceive you romantically?

I set out to try and find what common stories were shared among gay Asian-Australians, and what to expect from just being born into this body. What terms and conditions have I involuntarily signed up to? What kind of separate eco-system do I participate in? And more importantly, what should I expect on my personal journey in finding the perfect puppy-rearing partner.

“ARE you familiar with the term sexual racism?” asks Min Fuh, the project lead of『A-men』magazine and a community health officer at ACON.

Min refers me to the sexualracismsux.com website after our interview starts but the term itself seems pretty self-explanatory: basically negating people out of your dating radar based on their race.

I follow up on this idea briefly with Dr Gilbert Caluya, a research fellow at the University of South Australia, who traces its potential origins in the 15th century. He also tells me a combination of “a whitewashed mainstream media”, “historical racial division of beauty” and Australia’s “Yellow Panic” led to this climate of “racially homogenous desire” — which we call sexual racism now.

Min enlightens me with the common concerns he’s heard from Asian men as a result of sexual racism, such as “I think I’m being discriminated against but I’m not sure. I just feel like I’m left out or unwanted”. The creators of sexualracismsux.com wanted to acknowledge such shared experiences, to give it a name and to identify the consequences of it. Issues such as detriment to self-esteem and identity came up frequently, especially when people came to feel like they were only being seen for their ethnicity.

Min affirms these experiences are definitely linked to racism. He also believes Asian gay men collectively experience exclusion and negative exchanges in the wider gay community.

“Some people respond to this by sticking with their own communities which result in the Asian corners in clubs or group stereotypes,” Min says.

“They are essentially creating safe spaces where they don’t feel awkward.”

I also ask about “rice queens”, non-Asian men who specifically pursue Asian men. Min says it often comes off as fetishising, which “can sometimes be a negative thing because people come in with an idea or stereotype of you. It’s like you’re not being seen as an individual, which is similar to the other side of the spectrum”.

However, Min highlights that “the problem with stereotypes is not that they’re not true. It’s that they’re incomplete”.

I feel like this pearl of wisdom held a lot of validity and truth behind it. What were the incomplete perceptions of gay Asians that were floating around, and how did other gay guys negotiate their world?


Joe, 24
WHEN I asked a friend in Melbourne, Joe (24), about the topic of fetishisation of Asians he agreed that it existed. But at what point did fetishisation and attraction differentiate?

“Am I fetishising the Greek race if I like their men because of their physical features, their culture and food?” Joe responds.

“Does it make my current relationship any less valid given [my boyfriend] Simon is Greek/Italian?”

He adds that just because you desire a certain race, doesn’t mean the feelings you have for a person aren’t real.

“I don’t care whether someone likes me for my race or for my achievements as they’re both a part of me,” Joe says.

However, he admits that some people have been cynical about his relationship.

“I’ve had people tell me that because Simon’s type is tall and Asian, that he’d just trade up to someone younger and hotter when I age in a few years — or even a hot white guy,” Joe says.

“For me, that’s a huge insult given it completely throws out anything else I have to offer in a relationship: watering me down to just my physical features.”

When I asked him about his experiences on sexual racism, he quoted the obvious “no Asians” on hookup apps or people not replying after a sent face pic. People’s stereotypes of Asians also came up, and there had even been times when people had scoffed at him because he refused to take the “bottom” position in sex.

Joe throws back to the concept of a “whitewashed media” as he specifies an ideal that gay men worship: basically a white guy with abs. He thinks this fosters sexual racism from others and from within.

“There have been many times in my life where I’d consider chatting with a guy only to stop myself because I thought he might not be into Asians,” he explains.

“There’ve been times when I imagine how easier it’d be if I were born white and looked down on my culture as weaker and subservient.

“Luckily, I’ve grown out of this phase and I now look at my Chinese heritage as one of my greatest assets.”

Joe suggests that after accepting themselves as gay, there is a second coming of age where one comes to accept and embrace their Asian heritage — just as he has.


Peter, 26
PETER (26) from Sydney was another guy I met who also spoke of a similar coming of age experience.

“When I was young I felt that I wasn’t worthy,” he recalls.

“I was being rejected by a lot of people and I didn’t know why.”

However, most of it changed for him when he went to live in the US.

“A lot of Americans specifically want to date Asians,” he says.

When Peter returned, he felt more proud of his cultural identity and started to see that discrimination was the problem, not him.

“I see a lot of young Asian dudes who aren’t confident, and sometimes I just want to say to them, ‘don’t settle, you’re better than this’,” he says.

When I ask about his other experiences, he tells me that about half of the people he’s slept with say things such as “I’m not usually into Asian people”. Even though Peter doesn’t feel like he’s a stereotype, he resents these comments because he’s still a part of the culture. As we talk further, he speaks about a hypothetical power imbalance.

“Some of that has to do with stability, and some has to do with the ratio of Asians to guys who would pursue Asians,” he says.

He suggests that there seems to be something like one “rice queen” to every 10 Asian guys, but there are also Asian guys who don’t want to date other Asians which doesn’t help. This unbalanced power dynamic contributes to some of the reasons Peter decides not to date “rice queens”. He wants people to be attracted to him independent of his race.

And when it comes to discrimination, he doesn’t feel like it has decreased but believes it has become more subtle.

Interestingly though, he has started to become attracted to other Asian guys after he gained respect and acceptance in his cultural heritage. Perhaps this is because when he didn’t value it, he didn’t want to date other Asians — and I think that’s indicative of something.


Jae, 31
THE third Asian guy I pried into was someone I found at The Beresford Hotel in Sydney. I could tell he was confident and also a bit older before I approached him.

“I don’t really experience discrimination,” Jae (31) says nonchalantly. He admits that some of his friends who are considered “potato queens” — Asian men who only date Caucasian men — have to put up with a lot more rejection than other people. He has also told them why he thinks this rejection pattern occurs: “They only want white guys and if you’re closed minded in that retrospect, other people will be just as close-minded.”

It takes a while to understand but it starts to dawn on me that this topic is a lot more complicated than I anticipated.

“If you’re more broad minded with it [in terms of] who you pursue, the world is your oyster,” Jae says.

“I can see why [sexual racism] would be perceived as discrimination but it’s just the way of life.”

Jae appears easy-going about this topic and brushes it off as being open-minded. He says he also gets the “you’re not like other Asians” sort of comment a lot but believes people mean it as a compliment.

“I don’t take offence to it,” he says.

When I ask him about “rice queens”, he feels there are definitely stereotypes and that in general, they have a particular type they go after: the stereotypical Gaysian — someone who is reserved, slim, meek.

“[But] there’s definitely exceptions,” Jae says.

“I’ve met some that are into buff Asian guys, some chub chasers, some who are into masculine guys.”

Once upon a time this would blow my mind but I feel like I’m mature enough to believe it. Jae, like a sweet aunt, then tells me that there are going to be ones out there “who are after you just because of your black hair and eyes, but there are diamonds in the rough”.


Ben, 24
BEN (24) is a Caucasian guy from Sydney who is predominantly attracted to Asians. I wanted to see what was inside the mind of a “rice queen”.

He says his attraction to Asians is similar to asking why people were attracted to men in general. For him, it’s just natural, although he speculates it may have something to do with the large number of Asian boys at his high school.

However, unlike the “rice queen” stereotype Ben isn’t interested in the cultural side of the person. He says his attraction is “purely physical”.

“When people normally say they’re into Asian guys, you don’t usually mean just physically,” he says.

“I think insinuating that there’s an all-encompassing Asian culture is pretty offensive, anyways.”

When I brought up the imbalance of Caucasian guys who would date Asian guys, Ben agreed that Asians probably have trouble finding white guys than the other way around, and that “no one will bat an eye-lid”. I never thought to question this but I think that in itself speaks more about the problem.


IN writing this under the guise of justifying my lack of a love life, I learnt that sexual racism is a reality and fellow Asians were not alone in when it came to their experiences.

There also seemed to be many assumptions made about people regardless of who they were, and this proved to be counter-productive.

In the end, I feel like people should know that there are more diamonds in the world than what we assume. We just need to be open to finding them.

**This story was first published in the June edition of the『Star Observer』, which is available to read in digital flip-book format. To obtain a physical copy, click here to find out where you can grab one in Melbourne, Sydney, Brisbane, Adelaide, Canberra and select regional/coastal areas.

© Star Observer 2015 | For the latest in lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans* and intersex (LGBTI) news in Australia, be sure to visit starobserver.com.au daily. You can also read our latest magazines or Join us on our Facebook page and Twitter feed.

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SHINee 샤이니 「View」

Posted on May 18, 2015 commentaires

SHINee 「View」 - from『Odd』released on May 18, 2015.

Une petite chorégraphie toute pourrite pour un morceau aux sonorités de boy group 90, sympathique sans plus, les garçons sont en petite forme, heureusement ils compensent avec des débardeurs de teupu tout ce qu'il y a de plus seyant.

Ouh je fais l'avion !

On apprécie davantage le remix de Nugu Who?, qui apporte juste ce qu'il faut pour rendre le titre plus punchy.

SHINee 「View」 (Nugu Who? Remix) - posted on September 08, 2015.

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Sam Nathapong 「Reluctant gay icon Ben Chalatit: ‘I don’t want to play the sassy homo’」

Posted on May 08, 2015 commentaires

Ben Chalatit, 33, is a veteran of Thailand’s pop music scene. From his early days singing the hit 「Celebration」 (2002) as the frontman of Monotone, he crooned his wa to the top of the charts again with 「Klai」 and 「Yue」 – and even appeared on stage in 「Miss Saigon」. The openly gay artist is now back, as a judge on 「Thailand’s Got Talent」 and in cinemas in 「Miss Happy」 (out May 21), and is also gearing up for his latest concert, 「Come Into My World」 (Jul 25 at Impact Arena). Here, he tells us the secret to his longevity in Thailand’s notoriously fast-paced entertainment industry.

I’ve been singing ever since I can remember. My parents, just like a lot of parents, encouraged their kids to sing for family get togethers, to show off. That’s how I picked up singing.

I’d perform in front of our house. My family would host parties for all kinds of occasions like birthdays or the New Year. The neighbors in our soi would join and all the kids would be urged to perform on stage. At the time, I had no idea I’d keep doing this as a grown up, in front of thousands of people.

I started to write songs as a kid, too. In elementary school, 「Khu Kam」, the soap opera starring Bird Thongchai, was huge. I went crazy for it and wrote a song based on it.

In my sophomore year at Mahidol College, I joined the band Monotone as the lead singer. It was the high point of Fat Radio, before 「The Star」, 「AF」 [「Academy Fantasia」], which rewrote the definition of working in the music industry, how to break in and so on. As a band, we didn’t even think about breaking into the music industry. We just enjoyed ourselves performing and creating music.

Most of the songs I wrote back then, the songs I’m still writing now, are about love, love in every aspect; puppy love, unfulfilled love, disappointed love, unrequited love. Ninety- nine percent of all songs are about love. What else would we want to sing, or hear, if not love?

I tap into my beliefs, my past, and express them in the form of lyrics and music. But I’m not a guru, neither on songwriting nor on love. I rely solely on honesty. If I’m true to my feelings, that’s the best way I can come up with an authentic Ben Chalatit song about love.

A good love song has to be emotional enough to impact every listener out there. We can’t predict what’s on his or her mind but the essence of an honest love song is that it carries some kind of universal substance that is meaningful to everybody.

I’ve made it. Yes. But I still feel stage fright every time I get out there. I use it as a fuel to give my best to my audience. If one day I get out there in front of thousands of people and feel nothing, that will be the end of my career. I wouldn’t have the power or the excitement to deliver something new. Stage fright is, somehow, a good thing.

I never denied that I am gay. No one asked me. A news reporter didn’t put a microphone to my mouth and ask what’s my sexual orientation when I entered the music industry ten years ago.

I hung out with my boyfriend in public a lot. But news didn’t circulate the way it does now. You had to actually see me with him to know I was gay. Now people just read about it on social media.

I don’t want everybody to see me as this fabulous gay icon. I want everyone to treat me as a normal person. You don’t necessarily have to put a crown on my head and regard me as an icon.

The media has made it easier for well-known people to come out. But I hope that it’ll get to the point where everybody’s equal. We don’t need to celebrate someone just because they finally came out as a homosexual. That’s another form of inequality.

As an actor, I don’t want to play the sassy homo anymore. I’ve had enough. I hope I get to play something else so people will see me in a new light.

I never considered myself special. That’s a lie we keep telling ourselves. If you follow my Instagram you’ll see my lifestyle is pretty simple. I like staying home in my boxer shorts.

I do think love is about being happy with what you’ve got.

Author: Sam Nathapong/Date: May 08, 2015/Source: http://bk.asia-city.com/city-living/news/reluctant-gay-icon-ben-chalatit

Ben Chalatit เบน ชลาทิศ ตันติวุฒิ
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/benchalatit/

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BESTie 베스티 「Excuse Me」


BESTie 「Excuse Me」 - from『Love Emotion』released on May 08, 2015.

On aime pas tellement les BESTie, on aime à peine ce morceau (quelconque), mais ce clip bénéficie d'un scénario hyper-engagé. Les filles ont zappé leurs futals, ce qui ne les empêche pas de se dandiner dans un diner 50's. C'est là, qu'elles trouvent une paire de lunettes magiques (et moches) leur permettant de voir le vrai visage des bogosses qu'elles tentent de pécho. Et les meufs, elles sont trop dèg, car les mecs s'avèrent être : soit de gros relous vicelards, soit des tapettes ! Excuse me?! Est-ce un constat sur la gent masculine dans le milieu de la K-pop ? Ou dans la société sud-coréenne ?!

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Mark Tseng Putterman 「When Asian Emasculation Meets Misogyny: On Eddie Huang’s Black Feminist Problem」

Posted on May 07, 2015 commentaires
I was an awkward and impressionable pre-pubescent Asian American boy when America’s imagination was captured by a certain William Hung and his off-key 2004 rendition of Ricky Martin’s 「She Bangs」 on 「American Idol」. That the most visible Asian male mainstream representation of the moment (other than, perhaps, the cartoonified Jackie Chan of the beloved 「Jackie Chan Adventures」) was the butt of a crude national joke, and heir to a long history of Asian male pop culture buffoonery, is indicative of the messages that I and other Asian American young men received, and continue to receive, about our own sexuality and desirability. In the context of romance and sex, we exist for comic relief alone.

Even as Asian American actors like Steven Yeun and John Cho begin to break down barriers for Asian American men as romantic leads, characters such as Han in CBS’ 「2 Broke Girls」 continue the portrayal of Asian men as sexually inept punchlines.

The racial emasculation of Asian men in the American imagination is real, it is pervasive, and it is historically-rooted (dating back at least to the 19th century when Chinese migrant men took on “feminized” labor roles in the laundry industry). From pop culture to playground taunts, I doubt that any Asian American man can fully escape the psychological implications of this socialization in undesirability. For me, it remains a personal trope that requires constant unlearning, lest creeping doubts begin to resurface to cloud the way I see myself and my role in romantic and sexual relationships. I speak from personal experience when I say that it has real material and psychological impacts.

Cut to: the rise of celebrity chef and memoirist Eddie Huang, whose swagger, wit, and taste for controversy has made him one of Asian America’s most visible figures. The unofficial leader and visionary of the “movement of big dick Asians,” Huang’s persona has resonated with Asian Americans tired of being an “invisible” minority, and especially with Asian American men seeking to reclaim and reassert their own masculinity. But when reclaimed masculinity comes in such normative, ultra-hetero packaging, are we doing more harm than help?

For many, Huang’s snarl and swagger have been a refreshing break from mainstream model minority representations.

Last year, Jenn Fang of Reappropriate.co coined the term “misogynlinity” (masculinity plus misogyny) to explain how, in working to counter their racial emasculation, some Asian American men may seek to reaffirm their own masculinity in problematic ways – namely, by conflating masculinity with misogyny, and practicing “manhood” through the objectification, violation, and conquest of women. Fang points to the popularity of pickup artist/dating coaches amongst Asian American men and the unfortunate tendency for some Asian American men to shame Asian American women who choose to date non-Asian partners as examples of how attempts to counter Asian emasculation can become oppressive forces themselves.

Thus, the trouble with Huang’s “big dick Asian movement,” or with any concerted attempt to address the widespread emasculation of Asian men in American pop culture, is in the framing. Are we critically redefining masculinity? Or are we simply seeking to claim a patriarchal and heterosexist version of American manhood for ourselves?

I have long feared that Eddie Huang falls into the latter camp. His Big Dick Asian Movement is legitimately grounded in the frustration of Asian men in America who have been emasculated, ridiculed, and mocked on movie screens, in classrooms, and on dating sites. But its framing and points of action are centered on a fundamentally misogynist notion of sexual entitlement, encapsulated in Huang’s oft-repeated statement of purpose that “Jet Li gets no pussy” in 「Romeo Must Die」. That Huang grounds his project of Asian American manhood in the attempted subversion of stereotypes of Black male hyper-masculinity and the adoption of hip hop culture cements his project as one that reinscribes, rather than challenges, systems of racial and gendered oppression.

Which is why Huang’s recent and bizarre Twitter tirade against queer Black feminist blogger Mia McKenzie (creator of the blog Black Girl Dangerous) was upsetting, but not particularly surprising. McKenzie asked Huang to clarify a recent statement he had made on Bill Maher’s Real Time that “Asian men have been emasculated so much in America that we’re basically treated like Black women,” with Huang going on to reference OkCupid ratings, in which Asian men and Black women consistently score the lowest.

See @NakedArtichokes’ Storify to see the exchange in full.

Though the statistics are well-documented, Huang’s phrasing was poor, and he could easily have been interpreted as using Black women as some sort of inanimate barometer for social oppression. Yet when McKenzie and other Twitter users (primarily women of color) asked Huang to admit that his comments could have been damagingly misinterpreted by his audience, Huang reacted aggressively, calling McKenzie an “idiot,” “wildin,” and, in a telling display of male privilege, attempted to silence McKenzie by calling her “boo” and mockingly asking her out on a date.

Like McKenzie, I would have liked to give Huang the benefit of the doubt and assumed that the Maher segment was simply a matter of poor phrasing and the pressure of appearing on live television (rather than another instance of using Black oppression to render the experiences of non-black communities of color more visible). But Huang’s response is indicative of the fact that his philosophy of manhood is grounded in sexism, and leverages anti-blackness as a tool for subverting anti-Asian stereotypes. The fact that the success of ABC’s family sitcom 「Fresh Off The Boat」, based on Huang’s memoir of the same name, has rendered Huang one of Asian America’s most visible figures, only compounds my disgust at this recent Twitter exchange.

I understand the pain and frustration that stems from America’s racist emasculation of Asian men. But if, as in Huang’s practice, reclaiming Asian American masculinity means claiming all the ills of white American manhood – it’s patriarchy, entitlement, heterosexism, and racism – I want nothing to do with it.

To my fellow Asian American men: can we re-envision Asian American masculinity to be anti-racist, womanist, queer, and liberational beyond our own identities? Can we make space for the criticisms of our women of color peers, and confront the certain privileges and powers that come with being Asian men in America, rather than attempting to use those same privileges to silence and shame those who raise critical questions? Huang’s violent exchange with McKenzie is a reminder that if a movement towards reclaiming Asian masculinity has any place in radical – rather than reactionary – political spaces, we can and must do better.

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Ryan Wong 「How a Queer Asian Artist Infiltrated the New York Scene Through Dress-Up and Self-Portraiture」

Posted on May 05, 2015 commentaires
Tseng Kwong Chi, 「New York, New York (World Trade Center)」 (1979), from the 「East Meets West」 series (all images courtesy Grey Art Gallery)

As an Asian boy growing up middle-class in America, I was taught assimilation was key. With the right dress and verbal codes, I could be a part of the the healthy, wealthy, and white lifestyle of magazines and sitcoms. Of course, I learned later this was false, and encountering the work of Tseng Kwong Chi helped me bury those aspirations for good. In his best-known series, 「East Meets West」, Tseng photographed himself as the ultimate outsider: wearing reflective sunglasses and a “Mao” jacket, chin tilted up and unsmiling as he posed by the great monuments of the West — Disneyland, Notre Dame, the World Trade Center. He doesn’t hide the shutter release cable in his hand, reminding us that he is in control of the image. By simultaneously inhabiting every possible stereotype of an Asian person in 1980s America — tourist, communist, inscrutable, other, loner — he transcended all of them, creating an icon of himself.

Read alongside Tseng’s biography, the layers to this persona become Gordian: his parents fled mainland China for Hong Kong, where he was born in 1950, the year after China’s Communist Revolution. After living in Vancouver and studying in Paris, Tseng moved to New York in 1978 and lived the ten wild, experimental years out of which his art grew. His performance of the stoic communist, then, takes on two more ironies: he was, in real life, not a tourist but a cosmopolitan skilled at acclimating to new cultures, and a part of the diaspora fleeing Communist rule.

The exhibition 「Tseng Kwong Chi: Performing for the Camera」, organized by Amy Brandt of the Chrysler Museum of Art and starting its national tour at New York University’s Grey Art Gallery, offers us more scenes in the great drama that was Tseng’s life. The eighty-some photographs are organized around the different modes of his brief, vibrant career: besides the famous 「East Meets West」 series, we see his sarcastic photos of the right-wing Moral Majority in front of a crumpled American flag, the frenzy of the ’80s downtown art scene, and his portrait and vox populi work for magazines and periodicals. Most of the images are square-format, the rich range of tones on full display in large 36″ x 36″ prints.

We learn very quickly that Tseng was not exactly an outsider. Here he is, mugging with Yves Saint Laurent, chatting with Andy Warhol, smiling nervously next to a checked-out Fran Lebowitz. Then there are his lush, intimate portraits of Keith Haring and Basquiat in their studios, and the iconic series of Haring painting dancer Bill T. Jones’s body in white stripes.

Tseng cashed in his alien persona to great effect. Like the odd child in the family portrait, he looks just as comfortable wearing his suit in Jacob Riis Park with smiling beach-goers as he does with the glammed up crews that hung out at Palladium, a concert hall in the downtown scene. In his most infamous stunt, he crashed the Met’s Party of the Year in 1980, posing as a Chinese dignitary. With this role, he snagged lots of photos with celebrities, banking on no one knowing enough about China or its government officials to call him out.

Tseng furthered Warhol’s idea of making fame famous, predicted the selfie, and infused all of it with his wry reading of America’s racial politics. He mined his own history to become an exaggerated version of what Americans thought he was, in his words, an “ambiguous ambassador.”

What we don’t find in this massive visual archive is any clue to Tseng’s internal life. His artwork was far ahead of his time, and his identity as a queer, immigrant, Asian artist in America in the ’80s informed that edge, living a reality that had yet to be accepted, socially or politically, in this country (we are still waiting to see if they will be). One has to wonder at the painful self-exploration behind the tinted sunglasses, the smiling scenester. We have evidence of a life well-performed, but almost nothing about the life that went on when the party winds down and the cameras are put away.

Maybe Tseng didn’t want us to know that other life, but wanted to be remembered by the images more than the emotional and quotidian life that strung them together. Tseng’s death, at age 39, of AIDS-related illness, leaves that question unanswered.

One image in the exhibition gives us some idea of Tseng outside of his most famous persona. Tseng, wearing makeup, a shoulder-length blonde wig, and white dress, blows a kiss to the camera. His arm is wrapped around the artist Kenny Scharf, in a coiffed wig and leopard-print dress, at a party at Scharf’s loft. I had to blink to remember that this was the same body hidden by the sunglasses and stiff suit. Surely Tseng inhabited many more personae than this, and would have lived thousands more had he lived past his fortieth birthday.

At the exhibition’s opening, I heard someone say it was like a funeral — all these people she hadn’t seen in thirty years. Throughout the gallery, there was a lot of pointing and comparing, reminiscing about the clubs and lofts where people spent their twenties, where every outsider was an insider, and the more difference you brought, the better. You could almost see Tseng there in the middle of it, his camera ready.

「Tseng Kwong Chi: Performing for the Camera」 continues at the Grey Art Gallery (100 Washington Square E, Greenwich Village, Manhattan) through July 11.

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Posted on May 01, 2015 commentaires

OHYUNG 「ALL UNIQLO」 - posted on May 01, 2015.

In partnership with Uniqlo, artist OHYUNG has created a collection of faces for Spring of 2015. He has been commissioned to create a music video which will be released today at 1pm.

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