It was the new graphic next to the ticketing counter at National Gallery Singapore that did it.
I stood there staring at it for a full minute trying to decipher its cryptic minimalism.
Laid out in a horizontal grid were letters and numbers indicating the different levels of the National Gallery. Listed above and below the grid were the names of different galleries in the museum, as well as images of the various exhibitions.
For me as a user, the map failed on two fronts. First, it was counter-intuitive to have the different levels of the museum, from Basement One to Level 6, laid out horizontally from left to right. Wouldn't a vertical grid be a better representation and one that was easier for a visitor to grasp?
The images were not accompanied by the names of the exhibitions, but labelled with the names of the galleries. I understand the urge to highlight the many generous sponsors who have contributed substantial sums to the museum. But from a visitor's standpoint, that graphic is useless as it does not tell me where to go if, say, I am interested in the Siapa Nama Kamu? exhibition. For that bit of information, I have to refer to the paper map handed out at the ticketing counter.
The graphic looks prettily eye-catching against the dark olive wall. But as an aid for navigating the Byzantine sprawl that is the National Gallery, it was pretty much a #fail.
That was when it dawned on me. Much as I wanted to love the National Gallery, maybe it's time I gave up the fight and admit that I really don't like the place at all.
One of the main reasons is that it is an unwieldy maze of a building, not helped by the initial dire lack of signage which the institution has tried to remedy through patchy, cosmetic means such as the aforementioned graphic.
Beautiful as the buildings are, yoked together in an unholy matrimony thanks to the dictates of reuse and conservation, they have become almost hostile to visitors. I initially blamed the navigational issues on teething problems. After more than two years, however, that is not a valid excuse anymore.
Despite the fact that I have been to the museum more than a dozen times, I still get lost in the maze of stairs and galleries and, worse still, have problems locating exhibits.
I also have more fundamental concerns. There are irreconcilable differences in the expectations that I, as an avid artsgoer, have for the space, and the vision that the curators hold for the institution.
Personally, I think a National Gallery (there's a reason why the name is in caps) should put Singapore's art front and centre. One of its central purposes should be educating the public about Singapore's art history.
If the blockbuster exhibitions in the past two years are any indications, the curators seem to prioritise regional and international ambitions for the space. I have no objections to an institution that seeks to build a regional and international reputation. I enjoyed the museum's blockbuster shows such as the Yayoi Kusama exhibition last year, and the current Between Worlds: Raden Saleh And Juan Luna is an eye-opening introduction to two very different regional artists.
But after four visits to Siapa Nama Kamu?: Art In Singapore Since The 19th Century, I have come to the sad conclusion that it feels desultory next to the big bang of the international and regional shows.
My first impression of Siapa Nama Kamu? was that it was hastily cobbled together. Perhaps the curators were tripped up by ambition. A chronological survey of Singapore art from the 19th century may sound like a good idea, but the need to tell a coherent story through multiple generations of artists, several art movements and a range of media means that the show feels patchy and shallow.
This impression also comes from the fact that captions (a perennial bugbear with museums here, not just the National Gallery) are inconsistent, ricocheting from compact contextualising to bare bones non-statements.
Chinese painter Xu Beihong's portrait of Lim Loh, businessman and father of war hero Lim Bo Seng, gets a detailed caption as well as a substantial highlight in the National Gallery app.
A portrait of Tan Jiak Kim by G.R. Lambert & Co, on the other hand, merely names the work, the artist and medium, with no contextual information about the subject, a Peranakan businessman and co-founder of the Straits British Chinese Association, after whom Jiak Kim Street was named.
The striking cluster of woodblock prints by Choo Keng Kwang suffers from similarly parsimonious captioning, with no explanation for one particular print, Incident 513, which referred to the student protest against compulsory national service in Singapore on May 13, 1954.
These are just two examples out of many. Beyond brief panels at the start of each section, there is barely any attempt to link works in this meandering exhibit to one another.
On subsequent visits to this show, I have struggled to figure out who it is targeted at. If it is the foreign visitor, then the show probably presents a bewildering buffet of unknown works. If it is a Singaporean, then younger visitors are likely to be equally bemused by the paucity of context. Either visitor is unlikely to come away with anything but the barest impression of Singapore's art history.
What has worked for the National Gallery are the smaller shows dedicated to a single artist, such as Chua Ek Kay: After The Rain, and the ongoing Chen Chong Swee: Strokes Of Life. These shows feature much better curation and captioning, thanks to the editorial discipline of having to focus solely on one artist and his trajectory.
Perhaps this should be my approach to the National Gallery's embarrassment of riches too. A small casual date now and then with certain favourite artists and works, but no expectations of a more meaningful relationship that will offer better intellectual and spiritual engagement.
Correction note: An earlier version of this story said Incident 513 referred to the race riots in Malaysia after election results in 1969. The print actually refers to the student protest against compulsory national service on May 13, 1954. We are sorry for the error.
