Textile Artist Marcos Kueh Talks Expectations, Grief, and Beyoncé

Sarawak-born textile artist Marcos Kueh, whose works blend Bornean influences with modern techniques, is quickly becoming a name to watch. Thanks to his familiar yet fresh perspective, Kueh has set himself apart from his contemporaries and is now steadily making his move to penetrate the international scene. His works, to date, have been displayed in several prestigious spaces, including the Stedelijk Museum and Museum Voorlinden.

Next, he is flying off to Singapore for the prestigious Art SG 2025 where he will be presenting tapestries from his ‘Expecting’ series. “I wonder if there were no expectations lingering over me, if I would be a freer man,” he captioned his Instagram post. A contemplation on unfulfilled expectations, these intricately woven fabrics are an invitation to pause. It is a plea to recognise the futility of constant striving in pursuit of answers that may never come.

We caught up with the artist ahead of the art fair, which is set to take place at the Sands Expo and Convention Centre from 17 to 19 January, to hear about the experiences that have shaped his latest oeuvre.

Can you tell us about your background and what led you to become a textile artist?

My background is in graphic design and advertising. During my studies in Kuala Lumpur, I was challenged to define what it means to be a local designer, which naturally led to many attempts to study the visual language and culture of local craftwork.

I was particularly captivated by the storytelling capabilities of the Ikat fabrics of Sarawak but only involved as an academic trying to understand the practice from a distance. It would have been hard to justify to my Chinese family if I were to pick up weaving back then—I think it has to do with the stereotypical idea that craftwork is reserved for the underprivileged.

When did you actually start to practice it?

My first hands-on experience on the loom was when I was studying in the Netherlands in the textile workshop of the academy. Weaving gave me the intimate opportunity to share the same wavelength and thought processes as the weavers back home and the many more generations of weavers before me—humans have been weaving since the beginning of civilisation.

It made me realise the sophistication of what it means to be able to comprehend complexity; even in the deepest rural villages of Sarawak, intricate forms of creativity exist. It is a mindset that is emotional and hard to describe with the logic of academia. Almost half a decade later I am still weaving.

Are there any other art forms or practices that influence your textile work?

I have always been very inspired by American pop music artists like Lady Gaga and Beyoncé. There are so many layers in how you manufacture a successful pop career in America, from music making to deciding on the song sequences in the presentation of the album to larger productions like logistics for world tours, lighting design, stage choreography and so on. I think they are parallels in how we try to get our messages across to the public, and the career is always more than just the textile work or the song track itself.

Can you walk us through your creative process from the concept to the finished piece?

The vision of this work appeared while I was lazing on the couch watching TV two years ago in my childhood home in Kuching. My mom was scrolling Facebook and saw an advertisement for cremation services and approached my dad to discuss whether they should start making arrangements for the end of their lives. As their eldest son, it was a very jarring conversation to overhear as there was still so much that we hadn’t had the time to discuss.

How did that affect you?

The image of my mom’s urn on a yellow background stayed with me for a few months before I was given a proposal for a commission work on the theme of grandmothers. One of the discussions we haven’t really had with my family is that I don’t plan to have children of my own, which automatically denies my mother from having a chance to be a grandmother. I thought it was a very interesting way of approaching this subject and decided to give birth to this project for the show.

What was your headspace like when you started working on it?

For this project, I spent a lot of time considering how much of my own personal life I wanted to memorialise in this work. Initially, the details would entail more specific situations about my own story, but in the end, I decided to open up the work to be more vague and have spaces for people to wonder and also project their own stories onto. The whole project took roughly three months to complete.

What challenges did you encounter while working on ‘Expecting’?

Honestly, the production of the project went quite smoothly. I think the most challenging part of the work was finding the right way to verbalise it. This is one of the most personal projects I have done so far, so explaining the work takes up a lot of emotional energy. I think that is something that I am looking forward to navigating at Art SG.

‘Expecting’ debuted in December 2023. Has your view on things in any way changed since then? Or has time reaffirmed your position?

When I first started the work, I thought that it was going to be very controversial as I was doing a project contemplating my mom’s death. But in reality, it feels like a good practice and a privilege to think and ponder on the end of things once in a while, while everyone is still alive.

How do you interpret the theme of filial piety in this artwork? Do you see it as a way to challenge traditional ways of life or more of a means for you to reconcile with them?

I would like to think that the work is pretty open-ended. It is an installation where the public can enter the work. The interior of the work is filled with the word “Sorry” in Chinese. People often ask if I am saying sorry to my mom or if it is the other way around. I think that there are situations in life where we are just sorry about the situation we are in. Having that space to grieve about expectations is also a way to reconcile with it.

There’s also a sense of dread and regret here. Are there any personal regrets that have influenced your work?

I think you can only feel regret if a situation has passed and it didn’t meet your expectations of what could have been. So, regret might not be the right description. I think the work speaks more along the lines of grief over dreams I wish I could have fulfilled for my parents. I always think I can do more for them.

Regarding your commentary on the government’s policies on elderly welfare and how they may affect younger generations—what has been your experience with this?

I open up this subject usually with the audience who sees the work from the perspective that my mom is apologising to me for putting so many expectations onto her son. It is a valid perspective, which is sometimes hard to comprehend for the public that lives in a culture where the elderly are still dependent on the welfare and support of their children.

In countries where the elderly have more independence because of supportive government policies, it just makes more sense that the kinder route is to allow freedom for their children. Coming from a lower middle-income family heading towards upper-income, I think I can understand both perspectives to a certain degree.

What’s next for you?

I have many projects lined up for the upcoming year in Europe and some potential ones in Asia. The one I am most excited about is my research residency on intergenerational Chinese immigrants in the textile industry in the United Kingdom. Hopefully, great things can come out of that and I can share the results with everyone here in Southeast Asia next year.

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