The Art of Rediscovery: Why Asia-Pacific’s Creative Voice is Finally Echoing in Britain
There’s something profoundly symbolic about a Māori bouncer sculpture standing guard at the entrance of London’s Victoria and Albert Museum (V&A). It’s not just a piece of art; it’s a statement. Kapa Haka (Whero) by Michael Parekōwhai isn’t merely welcoming visitors—it’s challenging them. What makes this particularly fascinating is how it sets the tone for Rising Voices: Contemporary Art from Asia, Australia, and the Pacific, an exhibition that feels less like a showcase and more like a reckoning.
Personally, I think this exhibition is long overdue. For too long, the global art world has treated Asia-Pacific creativity as a footnote, a peripheral story rather than a central narrative. The fact that this is the first major survey of the Asia Pacific Triennial (APT) to travel beyond Santiago, Chile, is both shocking and revealing. It raises a deeper question: Why has it taken so long for institutions like the V&A to recognize the urgency of this art?
One thing that immediately stands out is the sheer diversity of the works on display. From Montien Boonma’s Lotus Sound, a wall of terracotta bells that hum with history, to Takahiro Iwasaki’s suspended wooden model of Kyoto’s Phoenix Pavilion, the exhibition is a masterclass in materiality and storytelling. But what many people don’t realize is that these pieces aren’t just aesthetically stunning—they’re politically charged, spiritually layered, and deeply personal.
Take Judy Watson’s Memory Bones, for example. On the surface, it’s a painting of white, rib-like shapes over a splash of red. But dig deeper, and you’ll find it’s a haunting reflection on colonial violence and the ongoing crisis of Indigenous incarceration in Australia. Watson calls it a ‘grieving process,’ and that’s exactly what it feels like—a quiet, unrelenting lament. What this really suggests is that art from the Asia-Pacific isn’t just about beauty; it’s about resistance, memory, and survival.
From my perspective, the most compelling aspect of Rising Voices is its deliberate juxtaposition with the V&A’s existing collection. Here you have Tasmanian Aboriginal artist Lola Greeno’s shell necklaces, flecked with blue, displayed in the same museum that houses Queen Victoria’s sapphire-studded coronet. It’s a subtle but powerful commentary on colonialism, wealth, and cultural erasure. If you take a step back and think about it, this exhibition isn’t just showcasing art—it’s dismantling hierarchies.
What’s also striking is the curatorial approach. Daniel Slater and Tarun Nagesh didn’t just throw together a greatest hits collection; they crafted a narrative that moves from the personal to the political, from materiality to spirituality. This isn’t just an exhibition; it’s an education. A detail that I find especially interesting is how they’ve managed to condense three decades of APT history into a cohesive experience without losing the essence of each artist’s voice.
But here’s the thing: while Rising Voices is a triumph, it’s also a reminder of how much work still needs to be done. Why did it take Slater’s ‘absolute discovery’ moment at APT 9 in 2018 to spark this collaboration? Why weren’t Western institutions falling over themselves to bring this art to global audiences decades ago? In my opinion, it’s a symptom of a larger problem—the West’s tendency to view non-Western art through a lens of exoticism rather than equality.
This raises a deeper question: What does it mean for former British colonies to have their art displayed in the heart of London? Is it a form of cultural reclamation, or does it inadvertently reinforce the very power dynamics it seeks to challenge? I think it’s both, and that tension is what makes Rising Voices so compelling.
Looking ahead, I can’t help but wonder if this exhibition marks a turning point. Will it inspire other institutions to rethink their approach to global art? Or will it remain an isolated moment of brilliance? Personally, I’m hopeful but cautious. The art world has a habit of tokenism, and I’d hate to see this become just another checkbox in the diversity agenda.
In the end, Rising Voices isn’t just an exhibition—it’s a conversation starter, a challenge, and a celebration. It’s a reminder that the story of Asia-Pacific art isn’t on the periphery; it’s at the core of global creativity. And if you ask me, it’s about time the world started listening.
