Ken ✶ Syakira
UNIT 1
UNIT 2
✶ info
syakiraken@gmail.com
Open Ended Boundaries (2025) -
mixed media installation, metal and chiffon.
Dimensions variable (54x44, 300 x 100, 250x100 cm)
(credit: Iris Zhang)
For the ★Summer show, I expressed my evolving idea of ‘inbetweenness’ through the material dialogue between metal and fabric. By weaving together these contrasting mediums: the solidity and toughness of metal against the softness and translucency of the fabric, I established a paradox of the liminal threshold. The resulting boundary is one that simultaneously invites in and maintains a protective distance.
Moving from the prototype to fabricating the actual window grills with metal rods presented significant challenges. While the initial prototype process was straightforward, constructing the final piece required a huge amount of precision and strength. The entire emphasis shifted: using heavy and complicated machinery, I had to ensure every small cut was exact and every intersection aligned to maintain structural integrity.
I began by constructing the outer window frames. At this early stage, I was working under the premise that my drawing would be presented behind the metalwork. I experimented with scale and ultimately chose a size that would accommodate my drawing comfortably while ensuring sufficient visual breathing room, preventing the drawn element from appearing cramped inside the metal boundary.
The construction of the grill lines introduced the next hurdle. I intended to use a flat bar, but quickly found it too difficult and structurally unsound for the welding due to the flat surface. I adapted by switching to the square bar for the line designs. While my inspiration came from the full flat-bar window grills of my home, my goal was not to create a one-to-one copy. I quickly learned the beauty of this development phase: embracing trial and error while remaining open to new possibilities.
Fabricating the grills became a continuous test of my strength and control. I needed to ensure the square bars were cut and meticulously sanded to the exact size for a snug fit. Similarly, welding two 7mm thick square bars together at the intersection demanded huge precision; welding the area too long would melt and deform the metal.
A further physical barrier arose while making the lattice design: the actual metal rods were significantly stiffer than the prototype material, and I lacked the necessary physical strength to execute a consistent, accurate bending. George (our metal work technician) recommended using the CNC machine to cut the design on a metal sheet instead of manual bending. This was tremendously effective, granting the precision and intricate designs that had been impossible to achieve by hand. I experimented with thickness and lattice design before finalizing my choice with the 6mm design thickness and a more detailed loop.
Autonomy and focus
Early in the process, I was flooded with external input, leading me to accumulate materials and ideas that risked overwhelming my artwork. This reflected as a learning process: unlearning my fixation that absorbing all feedback would guarantee a final piece that everyone would universally like. I realized the true point of my practice is not mass appeal, but having a handful of people to relate deeply. The motivation for my practice must come from me, not solely dictated by external voices.
The turning point was when Sarah and Pete discussed our progress as well as the curation of the show while looking at the available exhibition space during a tutorial. With their help I decided on a fixed window grill size instead of playing around with different sizes of window grills. Decreasing the quantity of the window frames I would make was also essential, as it will ensure that the labor and detail I invested is not undermined.
Ultimately, this act of refinement taught me the necessity of artistic control. The strength of my practice doesn’t lie in its complexity, but in its focus. By skimming the excess fat, I intend to preserve my personal intimacy with my practice.
Finally, in deciding the window composition, I focused on fragmentation, playing with the composition by reconstructing and deconstructing the lattice pattern. This systemic breaking of the structure allowed me to reflect on challenging the simulacrum of the window: Is my metalwork a direct reconstruction of a window, or is it conceptually functioning as a fragmented, three-dimensional drawing?
The sight of the gallery’s exceptionally tall ceiling acted as a catalyst for a critical conceptual shift in the use of fabric. I had planned to wrap the fabric tightly around the metal grills as a visual maneuver intended to show tension I previously associated with the concept of inbetweenness. However, responding to the scale of the wall, I shifted focus and decided to drape a long fabric downward. This physical decision corresponded with my evolving theoretical view. I had stopped seeing the pairing of fabric and metal as tension but instead as a dialogue between two distinct materials. The fluid veil now serves to highlight the contrast against the rigid metal.
Achieving the desired scale presented significant material challenges.To utilize the three-meter height of the wall, and given that textiles are sold in shorter lengths, I explored different methods to seamlessly join multiple pieces. Since it was summer degree show season, I utilized these exhibitions as an external research opportunity to draw direct inspiration on how other artists hang and drape large-scale textile elements in their own installations.
My initial instinct was to use calico, a familiar material that I have confidence in using. Sarah then challenged this choice, noting that the rougher texture of the calico would interfere with the metalwork's clean lines. I agreed, realizing that a smoother, more translucent, and less heavy fabric would sit better and with the metal structure. This led me to explore chiffon, which immediately established a compelling dialogue with the metal. However, I couldn’t find the precise color I had initially relied on with the calico. The chiffon, being a synthetic material, has an uninviting, unnatural white color. It feels synthetic and impersonal, which was a stark contrast to the organic tone I had initially envisioned for the drapes.
Transitioning to this synthetic material required me to explore methods of dyeing, a process fundamentally different from working with natural fibers. This led to a series of trials and errors to achieve the right shade. At first the dyeing process worked well on the smaller scraps, but as I applied them to the main fabric, it became unexpectedly too dark and vibrant. This made me realize that the recommended recipe failed to account for crucial variables, such as water temperature and salt proportion.
In an effort to salvage the fabric, I used a color remover to return the color back to white. Instead, the synthetic material reacted differently and resulted in a neon, turmeric yellow. I ended up scraping the piece and acquired a new material.
I abandoned the rigid formula and relied on intuition, eyeballing the dye proportions. Once dry, the final construction required another detail-oriented labor: meticulously pinning and hemming the multiple lengths together to manage the chiffon’s tendency to fray.
Tension
I previously conceived of inbetweenness as a pure visual expression of tension residing in the finished work. Upon completing my piece, I realized that rather than expressing tension visually, I found it residing in the physical practice of doing. The making process became a cycle of opposing extremes, creating whiplash from engaging two inherently conflicting materials back-to-back. My mornings were spent in the metal workshop, where the large tools and hard materials demanded a lot of strength. By evening, I had to transition immediately to the precise, delicate work of fabric, slowly running the meticulously dyed chiffon through the sewing machine, carefully preventing the needle from snagging or tearing the material.
I had to be extra careful to not damage the delicate fabrics after a long day of physical labor in the workshop, yet summon the same strength back the next day after a full night of fine, gentle, and detailed work. The constant recalibration to balance my strength and meticulousness created a cycle of opposing end that became the true, internal tension of the work.
Control
Despite the physical whiplash from doing metalwork and fabric work back to back, the entire process is unified by control. Making my own windows from scratch granted agency over the final outcome, including its scale, and visual appearance. From meticulously sanding the metal to ensure every piece is snug perfectly, to going through a complex process of dyeing the chiffon to an exact shade.
This sense of control in my material practice mirrors how I managed my own internal space. The fabricated window, acting as a portal, becomes a controlled opening. The individual with authority over the inside space also holds the agency to invite or shut people out. This sense of agency is something I hold dearly, not just in art-making but in my personal life. The meticulous nature of my labor is the physical demonstration of this.
It became a physical demonstration of the enforcement of my work’s inherent rigid and authoritative specificity which were necessary to create an exact shape, shade, and translucency
Conclusion
Despite the significant challenges and tight time constraints, Open Ended Boundaries stands as my most ambitious and successful work to date. It challenged me to attempt and engage with things and concepts that I had never considered while also reinforcing the familiar aspects of my practice. Crucially, the isolation of constantly aiming for a perfect artistic outcome was challenged and was slowly overcome through this process. The labor-intensive nature of this project occupied most of my time and energy. But this relentless demand, forced me into a deeply close and intimate relationship with my practice.