I had never heard of Sio Ieng Cindy Ng before her portfolio arrived at the Seattle Art Museum. Like many others that are submitted, Ng’s portfolio included an artist’s statement, a CV and a review by a critic. As usual, I skipped the credentials and looked for the art.

I played her video art, titled No Limit, on my computer. The moment I saw the ink flowing slowly across my computer screen, I was captivated by its simplicity and rhythmic power. The movement of the ink is gentle yet persistent, holding the viewer in suspense, in anticipation of the inevitable blackening of the screen—only to be relieved by a spurt of water that momentarily disperses the ink like smoke. When water is introduced slowly, it mixes with ink, tones it down, and creates multiple layers in various degrees of viscosity. This mixture of ink and water show both their tension and harmony, which visually correlates to the interdependence in yin-yang cosmology. By the end of the video, what began as a routine curatorial process was transformed into an aesthetic experience that led to my decision to present Cindy Ng’s work at the Seattle Art Museum. 

Since then, I have learned more about the artist and the conceptual source of this creation. Years ago the routine of washing brushes became an illuminating moment when she observed the beauty of ink draining into the sink. It was the desire to capture ink in motion that inspired her video series, in which ink was given a life of its own, unrestrained by the brush. Through the pulsating flow and mixing with water that altered its tonality, shapes and patterns emerged from the formlessness of ink, best captured in her photographs and works on paper or canvas that are inspired by the video series. The Tree photo series is particularly compelling. In contrast to the video series, the still photos convey a sense of timelessness. Moreover, the contrast is not only between white and black, but also between light and darkness. 

Gloss is an important element of ink with which Cindy experimented in her works of ink on canvas. She found that, in addition to traditional rice paper, ink wash could be applied on canvases, a feat that many thought was impossible. Having tried various canvases, she discovered a particular type made in Taiwan that produced the best results. When asked about the difference between ink on canvas and ink on paper, she explained, “Canvas can show the gloss of ink. When rice paper absorbs the ink, the gloss disappears into the fiber of the paper. In sum, ink on paper showcases ink beneath the paper, whereas ink on canvas expresses ink on the fabric.” The manipulation of light and shadow on canvas facilitates the depiction of three-dimensional forms, which may explain why the ink-on-canvas series appears more representational than the ink-on-paper series. Some canvases show contours of mountain ridges, rendering the work akin to a landscape painting.

From an art historical viewpoint, the artist has liberated ink from its subordination to the brush and from its longstanding obligation to render words and images. To some, Ng may have breached the age-old indivisible combination of ink and brush, because she has shown that ink can be expressive on its own terms. Nevertheless, her work on video, photography, rice paper and canvas suggests a trans-cultural approach to ink that ultimately reveals the inherent beauty of this fundamental medium in art.

Josh Yiu
Seattle Art Museum