Kuala Lumpur-based artist Izat Arif is no stranger to Singapore’s art community. But for the rest of the country, our introduction to him is still unfolding before our eyes. For an artist of his calibre, that is a gradual process of acquainting marked by moments of discomfort, stretches of awkward silence, and space for introspection.
At the eighth Singapore Biennale (31 October 2025 to 29 March 2026), Izat’s work drew polarised reactions from both the art community and the wider public. “Soon You Will No Longer Remember This Was A Swamp”, “Jangan Malas Tapi Jangan Lupa Jati Diri”, and “No Need To Feel Poor Anymore” are some of the quotes strewn across various locations in the country as part of a 10-piece installation titled, In Loving Memory.
Some were outraged, others amused, but regardless of where they stood, the work lingered. Discourse — online and offline — surfaced and seeped into everyday conversation. You might hear it sparking heated debates in a swanky hotel bar, or receiving quiet, casual praise in the late hours of a humble kopitiam. Word travels everywhere, and whatever the reaction, that persistent feeling is almost by design. How can such a simple act evoke such an energy-exchanging force? Izat Arif explains.
IZAT: So I found a strategy in making art — sindiran (sarcasm). Sindiran is in my work. In my practice, sindiran is saying one thing, but meaning something else. But then, the actual interpretation can be in multiples. I’m not really going for political satire. Of course, sometimes the work is in that realm, but the starting point of it isn’t just that. It’s the way Malays speak. I grew up with my grandmother and mother; They would speak to you in that same sense.
DHANI: Let’s discuss your work for the Singapore Biennale, In Loving Memory. In your words, could you explain what In Loving Memory means and why these donation Terrazzo benches were specifically used as your medium of message?
IZAT: Previously, I did a piece of artwork of four chairs called Terima Kasih Banyak-Banyak YB (Thank You So Much YB). ‘YB’ means Yang Berhormat (The Honourable), a salutation to address politicians in Malaysia. The work was inspired by a circulated online image of a politician who had donated a pair of marble benches to a mosque, with his name engraved in large Helvetica block capitals to commemorate the contribution. I thought that gesture was fun. You want people to remember your contributions to your neighbours, to the community, society, country, et cetera. In response, I created my own version using banquet chairs wrapped in linoleum, a very cheap flooring material.
Terima Kasih Banyak-Banyak YB (Thank You So Much YB)
IZAT: Each of the four chairs is attributed to a different figure. One chair was from the YB himself, the second from the YB’s children, the third from people who try to curry favour with the YBs, and the fourth is from me. When the [Singapore Biennale] curators contacted me, they referred to this work. In my practice, I’m interested in the figure of the contemporary Malay man — his contradictions, personality and social position. Much
of my work involves role-playing, where I embody different versions of this character.
I often scrutinise these characters as part of my methodology. When [the curators and I] were discussing the Singapore Biennale, one of the themes that came up was the idea of progress. The notion of progress is always tied to acknowledging those responsible for it. Using these styles of benches as a memorial was the response to this notion.
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DHANI: It’s your first time creating and exhibiting artwork in a public setting. Showing art on the street is indeed a different interface as compared to a “white cube” gallery or the walls of a public institution. Did this shift change your usual methodologies, or did you go about your process as you usually would, knowing that your audience wouldn’t necessarily be
from the immediacy of the art community, but rather of everyone?
IZAT: I always have a wider audience in mind. I always want to engage not just the “white cube” space. One of the most accessible tools we have is humour. It can reach everyone. So, wherever my artwork ends up, be it a gallery or a national museum, I’m always working to find a language that can be read by the general public. Instead of a traditional gallery setting, the artwork (In Loving Memory) is located in public spaces without clear distinguishing boundaries.
That changes the context, but the method remains the same: making the work as approachable as possible, and using references that are immediate and recognisable. However, sometimes there are artworks that aren’t accessible, and in the end, they become too complex. I believe that conversations can only begin once you give people access. People can talk among themselves, and even if they disagree with me, what matters is that they’re able to talk.
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I don’t know, nor can I control, whether they have a good conversation about it, but I like the engagement. The next question I get asked is if I purposefully make these works just for discourse. That isn’t the case because I have works in which I put in a lot of effort to create a conversation, but nothing happens. So for In Loving Memory I didn’t really think that this would become whatever it has become. It wasn’t me thinking, “Ok, how do we get under people’s skin?” I’ve definitely done works in which I’m obsessed with…
DHANI: Provocation?
IZAT: Yeah, but nothing happened.
DHANI: And this was not the case?
IZAT: It was not my intention to provoke, but I still wanted something to happen.
DHANI: A reaction.
IZAT: I wanted a reaction.
DHANI: After months of In Loving Memory being shown, it seems that the artworks have built an almost symbiotic relationship between the context that it sits on and the text painted on the benches. Out of the 10 activations around the city, which are the ones you resonate with the most?
IZAT: It’s a strange thing with me that I don’t feel attached to any or to all of my work. I want to make it and see what happens.
DHANI: Were there reasons why you chose these locations specifically? What about “No Need To Feel Poor Anymore”, located at Tanglin Halt?
IZAT: “No Need To Feel Poor Anymore” references Malaysia’s Federal Land Development Authority (FELDA). In 1956, FELDA used the slogan “No Need To Be Poor” — it was about upgrading your life, about progress. Because [Tanglin Halt] is currently being redeveloped, the idea was that once everything is finished, you won’t need to feel poor any more. You might be poor, but you don’t have to feel it. We changed it from “No Need To Feel Poor” to “No Need To Feel Poor Anymore.”
DHANI: A popular publication found your work distasteful. It’s really surprising to see
someone write a full page review in response to your work. Did that level of scrutiny surprise you, or something you expected?
IZAT: [At the beginning of the Singapore Biennale] I was waiting for something to happen, but nothing did. Before this story, I thought my work had failed.
DHANI: You saw this review as a success?
IZAT: Yeah. And a failure on their part to think of what it was. Of course, it’s not the poshest neighbourhood. “No Need To Feel Poor Anymore” is sindiran. What is the cost of progress? Will these people be displaced? Can they afford to live there any more?
DHANI: I believe the Singapore Biennale received mixed reviews among the critics in general. It feels like they’re reluctant participants on an assignment, if you get what I mean.
IZAT: Well, I mean, at the beginning of the review, they wrote, “I am not a fan of contemporary art.” So, I really feel okay with their response. I think this is a genuine response [to my work].
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DHANI: This scrutiny also trickled down to the Internet forums, like Reddit. There were threads of people discussing your work, calling you names like a communist, an elitist, and a bigot. How did you read these reactions?
IZAT: It was entertaining. There were many interpretations [of my work]. It was so fun.
DHANI: They negatively assumed that you were a Singaporean woman.
IZAT: I was like, wow. Why? This is perfect. I mean, it’s so good.
DHANI: Do you think these comments reflect more on your work or do they reflect on the anxieties of the people who are discussing it?
IZAT: They’re projecting. They’re finding a target.
A forum post discussing In Loving Memory.
DHANI: In that same discussion, there was one comment that said, “Real, provocative art will never be in the NGS (National Gallery Singapore)”, yet In Loving Memory became the Singapore Biennale’s most talked about piece. What do you think provocation means in Singapore’s art scene?
IZAT: Sometimes you don’t know what people want or like. So you just do what you do and hope for the best. You swing, swing and swing, until you hit a home run. But I don’t know whether In Loving Memory is considered provocative. To many people, there are many interpretations and ideas of what it could be, and what to make out of it. But at the core of it, it’s just a bench. If people are getting so stressed up about a bench, then it’s time
for them to ask themselves a different question.
IZAT: There’s no scale to determine it. If people-pleasing Instagram art can be seen as “provocative,” then the term loses any real meaning. There’s nothing to measure against. You don’t know what people think now. But I like that, though. Multiple interpretations and different levels of engagement are happening simultaneously. There are so many things you can’t control.
That is what contemporary art is. It involves risk. As a contemporary artist, you have to take risks. You must unsettle something. It’s very important in my work that I’m grounded as much as possible in reality. For example, I too am putting myself in a position where I can be criticised when I make my artworks. I’m not trying to give a solution or an answer to the world’s problems. I think it’s unfair to depend on artists to give answers to all of the world’s problems. There are more powerful people who can do that. But if you’re here making something, a comment, an idea, or an insight, that’s a risk you’re taking.
That’s the spirit of being a contemporary artist, because you have no idea how it’s going to play out. I get a buzz when I don’t know what’s going to happen if I put out something. The uncertainty is addictive to me. It makes you work more.
DHANI: Historically, all of these disruptive art moments, artists and artworks have almost always pushed the canon forward.
IZAT: Yeah, but the art world loves stability. Not disruptive moments.
DHANI: Last question. Many artists, like yourself, move between Kuala Lumpur and Singapore. Do you see them as distinct and separate ecosystems, or as part of a shared regional dialogue?
IZAT: Singapore and Kuala Lumpur share the same regional dialogue. I think regionally, all of the ASEAN countries can work with one another. The ASEAN region is a powerhouse. All the artists in this region are being picked up by a lot of museums from around the world. It’s not just art, it’s also music, architecture, theatre, and film. The number of things
being produced in real time is amazing.
Once you are done with this story, click here to catch up with our April 2026 issue.