"WHERE'S house No. 24?" I'm frustrated, a little annoyed and perplexed as I gaze at the address on my phone screen again. I've circled the housing estate at least three times. But the house I'm looking for seems to be nowhere in sight.
After narrowly swerving to avoid a Foodpanda bike and ignoring the baleful glare of the rider as he passes me, I'm so ready to give up. I have a 12pm appointment but it's now 12.20pm.
"I'm waiting for you, dear," the voice replies as I call him again. "I can't find your house!" I tell him pointedly. His directions are of no use. Yes, you're on the right road. Yes, there's a petrol station at one end of the road. Just go along right to the end and turn right. "It's a dead end at the end of the road!" I explain. I've ran the course of that road already. Thrice. Rain clouds are quickly gathering overhead and the threat of rain is further fraying my patience.
"I'm waiting for you outside the house. I don't see your car!" he says, half-exasperatedly. I stifle a sigh. This isn't a good start. I drive slowly, and then suddenly… I spot a lone figure standing along another road across from where I've been driving back and forth.
Ah. The address wasn't accurate. I stifle a sigh again. The address he'd given me wasn't complete. Feeling slightly annoyed, I make my way to the road where I spotted the lone man waiting. As my car approaches, he waves. Just behind him is the elusive house — No. 24.
The wiry figure in black crosses to where I'm parked and greets me as I swing open my car door. Despite the overcast day, he's wearing a pair of dark sunglasses. Clad in a pair of snug black jeans and black T-shirt, 69-year-old Jermane Thirumani Krshnan looks more like an ageing rock star than the benign older artist I'd been expecting.
"I'm sorry," he sheepishly apologises, breaking the silence. This is his mother's house, he explains, as he leads me into the nondescript single storey house. "She's 98 and is suffering from dementia," he explains contritely. "I'm here to take care of her."
He pads silently into the quiet house, beckoning me to follow. In the sparsely furnished home and curled up in a couch against the wall, his aged mother lies sleeping. Outside, thunder rumbles ominously, the darkened clouds casting the hall in a dim pallor.
But the walls! On almost every wall, paintings are hung or taped roughly. Against the dull concrete, the brightness of his artworks is startling. Everywhere you turn, Jermane's handiwork lights up the sombre house like a brilliant skein piercing through all that greyness.
These paintings should startle. They're elegant, gritty works, alive with spontaneous splashes, pours and rivulets of paint, intricate markings, patterns and colours. With their complex textures, weathering and randomness, they bring out a deeper emotional resonance than I realise.
"Do you like it?" he asks me anxiously as I pause in front one of his paintings. "Yes!" I answer, and he breaks into a smile. Jermane has been hard at work during the nationwide lockdown. Even though he works alone, the pandemic has taken a heavy toll financially and creatively, he admits.
"Artists are finding it very difficult to work. It's partly financial but it's also difficult to know what to work for because everything has closed down and you're not quite sure what's happening with shows and galleries and anything that's happening in the future," he explains.
Yet, he's remains a prolific artist. A hundred pieces of his artwork created during the Movement Control Order (MCO) are currently being exhibited at the Ampang Community Gallery. One hundred per cent of the proceeds from the sale of his works will be channelled to 'Art N Exploration', an art studio that provides creative workshops for the underprivileged.
"Two of the paintings have been sold just before the latest Movement Control Order," he says. There's no pride in his tone. Just a shrug of his shoulders again. "It's a beautiful cause… giving children a chance to realise their artistic potential. Art is really for everyone."
He confides that he's produced over 900 pieces of artwork, and another 100 of them are going to be channelled towards another cause close to his heart — elderly care. He looks over my shoulder and gazes at his sleeping mother in silence.
"People could do with a little cheer during this crisis," he says quietly. "I just want to help where I can."
OVERLOOKED ARTIST
I'd tried researching on Jermane before meeting him today. But he remains an enigma, despite having had several exhibitions featuring his abstract artworks. His name appears amidst many other artists' names, but there isn't much mentioned about the artist behind the bold paintings showcased.
Who has heard of him? Who hasn't? Art curators are aware of his extensive oeuvre; buyers have commissioned his art. But Jermane still very much remains under the radar for most parts.
In today's art world, a lack of distinctiveness hasn't won him applause. Artists are usually under pressure to develop a characteristic language that's recognisable, particularly to buyers. Yet selling his art doesn't seem to be a driving motivation for Jermane. He seems content just to create.
And judging by the drawings pinned on the walls of his mother's home, and the stacks of papers, canvas boards and scrapbooks he keeps of his artworks, he's not running out of creativity any time soon. He's not burdened by the weight of expectations.
There's much to learn about this artist. For example, he's been commissioned by Pos Malaysia to design stamps. "I've done 27 of them!" he shares. Again, without pride. Just a statement of fact.
"Would you like to see them?" he asks eagerly, as he leads me to a cluttered table scattered with papers filled with his scribbled designs, scrapbooks full of his ideas, books and other memorabilia that lay testament to an artist with an extensive body of work over decades.
Art lovers may have stumbled across his paintings and philatelists may have some of these beautifully designed stamps in their collections; but today, he's content with his audience of one — me.
The artist has been involved in designing many of Pos Malaysia-commissioned stamps featuring the Kuala Lumpur Tower, Malaysian corals, the Orang Asli community and even commemorative stamps for the centennial celebration of Taman Negara.
He was one of the first designers to introduce se-tenant stamps (stamps that are printed from the same plate and sheet and adjoin one another, unsevered in a strip) in this country.
Many people would have seen these stamps (some are collector items now), but few would recognise his imprint on them. Jermane accepts his role as an unsung hero of the art world.
"What illustrators do today isn't all that different from painters like Rembrandt from that period of history," he explains.
"He was commissioned to do a specific job. The merchant class wanted something to hang over their mantle and that's how he made his living. It also happened to be great art, but it was an assignment."
He pulls out the first day cover of the KL Tower (issued in 1996) and shows me. "See this one? Back then, this stamp's computer-renditioned design was the first of its kind." He took a helicopter ride over the tower to view its architecture closely. "We had to fly over the tower to get a closer view of the design elements," he recalls, smiling.
Memories fog his alert eyes for a moment. Those were good times, he tells me quietly.
LONG JOURNEY
Flipping through the pages of his book, he continues to show me scores of designs and ideas he has meticulously drawn. "Abstract art is one of the hardest things to accomplish," he declares.
There are two kinds of artists, he schools me. One sits in front of a canvas, meditates and then proceeds to paint. "I can't do that," he says, pointedly. He has to compose and do a lot of research. Research? I repeat. "Yes, researchlah!" he replies impatiently.
Abstract art is considered by some to be the most challenging due to the lack of rules and definitions. To me, abstract art is defined by the overall feel achieved by the painting and I certainly appreciate the talent of those able to create great abstract art. While most would associate abstract art with spontaneity, improvisation and free-wheeling gestures, Jermane's method involves meticulous planning and thought.
"It takes time to bring different elements together onto one canvas…" he says, adding that it's akin to bringing an orchestra of musicians together to create beautiful music. He takes various pieces of design and arranges them into one cohesive piece.
"A lot of thought and planning goes into composing a particular artwork. So, yes, a lot of research is put into each of my work!" His love for creating is evident judging by the sheer volume of work he's produced. "I can produce up to four works in a day," he shares, matter-of-factly.
Abstract art is a kind of miracle. How can a painting that's just a white surface, or a swirl of colour, mean something? But it can and it does, and the unlikely greatness of abstraction is one of the most moving achievements of modern times.
Jermane's paintings intuit a complex reality that can't be put into words. This makes him one of the most interesting artists I know.
He spins out some delicate weft of insight, at once mystical, scientific and psychological.
Scouring through the pages of his books, designs, splashes of colour, collages of images and patterns leap from the pages, giving a hint of his background in advertising and design.
A graduate of Applied Art and Design, Jermane worked his way through various advertising agency settings, but ultimately decided to make his own art a priority. "I found it to be extremely important to carve out a space for myself that would allow me to create the work I wanted to make," he says.
His love for art, he shares, comes from his father. "My father was a painter." An artist? "No! He painted railway coaches back in the days, but he did have a healthy appreciation for art… something he passed on to me," replies Jermane, chuckling.
Has he passed his artistic talent onto his daughter? I ask. The father-of-one grows wistful. "No. She's going on her own path," he replies quietly. The first hint of pride emerges when he tells me that she'll be graduating soon as a medical doctor.
We sit out in the porch chatting like old friends while his mother continues to sleep inside. The rain subsiding, I rise to leave and Jermane quickly presses a small original painting and a book on bird art in my hands.
I'd let slip during our conversation earlier that I loved birdwatching. And he remembered. "Thank you for coming," he says, smiling. He's grateful for company. It can be lonely quarantining at home with his elderly mother. But he's not complaining.
After all, Jermane seems content to have his art and his still-burgeoning creativity for company. Artistry can thrive in unexpected places. And house No. 24 is testament to that.