The entrance to “Volcanic Passion: Desire in Southeast Asian Art” is covered in bright red tape, playfully warning viewers of its explicit content. Entering the museum’s first ever exhibition to receive an R18 rating, those crossing this dramatic threshold might expect to encounter works that force them to avert their eyes. Instead, what they found calls for them to look more closely. With approximately 70 works spread over three chapters, the exhibition is modest in scale but highly ambitious in its physical, geographical and historical scope, with paintings, sculptures, installations and works on paper by artists from across Southeast Asia. Pre-modern objects are also displayed alongside modern and contemporary works, allowing visitors to trace how artistic expressions of desire have evolved over the centuries.
In the first act, viewers encounter… Vajradhara and Prajnaparamita (c. 14th to 15th century), a sculpture that reveals the long relationship between the erotic and the cosmic within the visual culture of the region. close, Halia bathroom (1983) by Agnes Arellano reinterprets Filipino mythology, highlighting the connections between motherhood, femininity, and the divine. Together, these works demonstrate the importance of narrative in understanding eroticism. “We are motivated by these stories, whether they are high history or common folklore,” Adele Tan, co-curator of the exhibition, told the Observer. She explained that myths, folklore and religious stories are the “bedrock of desire,” providing the cultural frameworks through which bodies and relationships gain meaning.
Chapter 2 turns to representations of the body, exploring how artists have reimagined the figure in postcolonial Southeast Asia. Rather than treating the body as a static subject, the exhibition interrogates familiar visual elements, encouraging visitors to reconsider them through a closer look. This leads into the final chapter, in which bodies move through private and public spaces, revealing how social and political forces shaped the expression of desire. in Television for everyoneFor example, Tan Ping – one of the first gay artists in Singapore – depicts a gay couple hiding their intimate relationship inside their home. In front of them is a television screen broadcasting a passionate kiss between a man and a woman. Commenting on the work, Tan said: “I think it is important for us to remember what the 90s were like in Singapore. There were pockets of possibility, even 30 years ago. We must not forget that.”
The invitation to look carefully extends beyond individual works and to the exhibition itself. “We play with the way people encounter the works, how they see them, and how the works see each other,” said Tan, who while researching the museum’s collection became fascinated with objects with descriptions that failed to capture what was actually depicted. “Being a Freudian, I love looking at these twists and turns,” she added, laughing. The process of constant research proved to be productive and fruitful, and it was those moments that became the starting point for an exhibition that allows the public to do the same. “There’s not always a lot of space for that in our community, because of the extent of our cyber training through technology and the social media environment that we occupy,” added co-coordinator Kathleen Dietzig.
One notable group of works in the show that deserves fresh eyes is the work of Singaporean artist Grace Kwek, known internationally as Annabelle Chong. Active in Los Angeles during the 1990s, Quick became infamous after appearing on… The biggest gang bang in the worldA porn movie in which you have sex with hundreds of men. The exhibition’s inclusion of her artistic archive not only reclaims her work as performance art, but also invites viewers to reflect on the cultural values and stigmas surrounding sexuality, particularly in the digital realm. Speaking about Quick’s practice, Dietzig said: “It anticipates some of the widespread media criticism we’re already making about digital culture.”
Despite Southeast Asia’s largely conservative views regarding sexuality, the show was surprisingly well received. This success lies in part in the way it attracts curiosity rather than focusing on provocation or shock. “I would just say it’s a very exciting and relaxing exhibition,” Tan said. “We really went to great lengths to make the exhibition as accessible as possible. We tried not to play with the usual conventional assumptions about what eroticism and desire should look like.”
The curators also prioritized making the gallery an accessible and comfortable place for the artists themselves. They collaborated closely, for example, with conceptual photographer Lavender Zhang, who revisited a body of work she originally created for a Viagra advertising campaign in Shanghai. Since direct pharmaceutical marketing is banned in China, the campaign relied on inclusion rather than overt product placement. Using long exposures, Zhang photographed three couples over the course of several hours of intercourse, producing blurred images that focused on intimacy rather than explicit sexuality. For the show, one of these photographs was translated onto a long roll of rice paper, simulating the effect of a streamlined box and replicating how the composition shows figures in front of a window. As Tan explains, “We play around a lot with visual styles here,” adding that inviting artists to think about the exhibition design alongside the staff was crucial to the success of the project.
For an exhibition ostensibly about sex, “Volcanic Passion” is ultimately concerned with changing the public’s perception of art rather than testing the limits of what they can see. “You’re starting to see what people expect from the way we write our history,” Dietzig said. “And you can see people starting to think about the way they look and talk about art…and that’s one of the beautiful things that came out of the show.”
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