Dubbed Singapore’s next “master ceramicist”, Jason Lim brings to life clay sculptures of grand proportions, in performances that span several consecutive days.

Ahead of Lim’s performance at Boola Bardip this October, Angela Ho caught up with the artist to find out more about his plans to mould 2.5 tonnes of clay into a standalone ephemeral work.

Angela Ho: Most of us think of ceramic art as something we interact with in its final form at the end of the creation process. What inspired you to combine clay with performance art?

Jason Lim: I love the smell and tactile quality of raw clay. Using clay makes me feel grounded as a human and reminds me that I will go back to the soil after my short lifetime here.

I’m interested in the changing quality of clay as a transitional and organic material, a material that changes its state from soft to hard, from recyclable to permanent, a formless lump of organic material that can be shaped into infinite forms.

I like that clay has its own sense of time. You have to work with it on its own timescale.

AH: Your ceramic performances usually unfold as a live event over several days. How important is the element of time in shaping your pieces?

JL: Real time is one of the fundamental elements of performance. The manner in which a performance unravels is also affected and dependent on the artist’s state of mind. In many performance festivals and events I’ve attended, artists are usually given a standard duration of 30 to 45 minutes to present their work. This is challenging because it means artists edit their performance processes to fit the time slot, which for me, would be a form of rehearsal and self-censoring which limits my ability to take risks.

Creating long-form performance allows my body to sense time and know the material I use better while feeling and fitting into the space.

AH: Can you tell us about the ideas behind your upcoming work When the inside is outside and under is above at Boola Bardip?

JL: I’m interested in nature – not only flora and fauna but the ecology and organisation hidden within it. These last few years, I’ve been studying the small things in nature – invisible and silent things hidden from sight. Underground structures like coral and nests are among the many systems and structures we never pay much attention to.

If I’m not wrong, the amount of earth that makes the mound above ground in a termite nest is equal to the volume of spaces in the tunnels. I find this simple logic very fascinating.

I don’t try to emulate what inspires me, just to capture enough of its essence. Hopefully audiences get a sense of what the forms are referencing.

… the amount of earth that makes the mound above ground in a termite nest is equal to the volume of spaces in the tunnels. I find this simple logic very fascinating.

AH: How do you take an idea from concept to reality?

JL: There’s a lot of logistical planning involved in making and presenting a piece. I have to determine the amount and supply of material, scale, how to protect the space in institutions, duration, and when to start.

The idea of the performance is constantly evolving in my head. I’ve been thinking about this performance mentally for more than two years, since I was invited to perform as part of the Indian Ocean Craft Triennial (IOTA).

Since then, I’ve gone through so many variations of what it could be. What will the final piece be like? I’ll have to see what happens in the five days of working in the space.

AH: Does the sheer size of your installations influence your process?
JL: The larger the work, the more distanced I feel from the audience. But the plan is to enable people to walk around the boundary of the space to allow various options for choosing what to look at from different perspectives, so it’s a three-dimensional viewing.

The scale of work does influence the process. Clay dries and I need to pace myself during certain stages of the performance. As age catches on, working at this scale and duration can take a toll on my body, especially in the first few days. I’ve learnt to set a pace for myself, doing what I can and should. And mostly to be the material — understanding and going with the flow, not forcing the material to do what I want. Clay can be unforgiving when forced.

I believe that what I think and feel can leave emotional and physical traces on the surfaces of the work. The clay is a record of all those thoughts and emotions.

AH: Is the performance experience different for you each time?

JL: One of the main reasons I chose clay as a medium for my practice is because I believe that what I think and feel can leave emotional and physical traces on the surfaces of the work. The clay is a record of all those thoughts and emotions.

Each experience is different because clay comes from different places and the space and site of performance are different, bringing different light qualities, sounds and smells. I learn something new each time.

AH: What’s the best way to experience your work?

JL: There’s no right or wrong way to experience the work – each person will have their own interpretation of what they see. We reason and make meaning based on our individual life experiences: one person might think the work looks like coral, only because they have experienced diving.

In the age of the internet and social media, we’re so used to getting answers quickly that we’ve lost our ability for patience. Life has become so fast paced. I hope to slow down the pace of people’s days: spend time watching, smelling, hearing, and just being in the presence of a performance in the making.

Watching longform performances can be like watching paint dry, but I hope since audiences can choose to see the progression of work at different times or days that they’ll return to see what has changed.

When the inside is outside and under is above will be performed inside WA Museum Boola Bardip from 22 – 26 October 2022.

Jason Lim performing his 2018 exhibition ‘Under the Shadow of the Banyan Tree’ in Singapore. Photo: Jubilee Howe.