The Tuba Diary
The Wildcards
November 2025
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The Wildcards
15-25 November 2025
This is where it all started. I was lucky enough to be part of a field workshop organized by the National Art Gallery, led by a group of absolute legends: Azzad Diah, Wong Hoy Cheong, Mark Teh, Sharon Chin and Zikri Rahman.
They didn't just give us lectures; they pushed us to see the land through a different lens. They took us everywhere from the busy streets of Kuah to the quiet shores of Tuba Island. We went mangrove touring at Kilim Geoforest Park, ate way too much local food and soaked up every bit of advice they could throw at us. It was brain-reset for my project.
And we were fortunate anough to watch Jikey, a traditional folk theater. We watched Pak Chahor, Izzat Md Isa and friends perform and it was a humbling reminder of how fragile this heritage is. Out of the last three practitioners, two are now uzur (infirm) leaving Pak Chahor as the final one actively carrying the weight of this tradition. Seeing them perform during workshop showed me that Jikey isn't just art: it’s the island’s laughter.
Fellow friends in Tuba Island.
Photo courtesy of National Art Gallery
From left: Me, Sharon Chin and Siti during her workshop
Masks that are used for jikey performance
And as if the universe wanted to add a familiar face to the mystery, I crossed paths with Rozeree Mohamed (Erry), our former classmate from USM. It is a brilliant, unexpected reunion that made the whole experience feel even more like home.
Mangroves
Here’s Mr. Azzad Diah (Abg Azzad) guiding our group. Breaking down our field findings into a mind map—turning raw textures into a real narrative.
As we dived into Tuba, I wasn't alone in this. I met a bunch of new creative-minded friends who were just as excited as I was to dive into the island's mystery. Together, we spent our days exploring the fisherman’s village, getting lost in the narrow paths and trying to soak up every detail of the coastal life.
My first introduction to Tuba Island wasn't exactly a quiet stroll. It was a week full of wildcards. I found myself holding everything from buffalo skulls to—yes—buffalo dung. I was literally feeling my way through the island, exploring the rough textures of rocks and bark, the sting of seawater and the squelch of the mud.
From Jeti Kuah heading towards Pulau Tuba
I learnt that the island’s very name comes from Pokok Tuba, a plant with a hidden sting. The locals used to pound its roots into a milky sap to tuba ikan—effectively making the fish 'drunk' so they could be caught by hand. It’s a raw, clever piece of survival heritage that perfectly captures the spirit of the land: beautiful, but with a sharp and secret power.
Pokok Tuba
An abandoned paddy field
One of the biggest takeaways from the mentor was a piece of advice from Hoy Cheong that I’ve adopted as my newly learned philosophy: "Jangan takut dengan tahi." It’s a reminder that the best research happens in the trenches, not from a distance.
That was just the beginning. Now, it’s about not being afraid of the bones, the history and the raw reality of the island.
Fishermen's jetty
Fishermen’s jetty made from reclaimed sampan wood.
My new research assistant. Say Hi
Before this, boats were just things I saw from the jetty. But this was the first time I was actually this close—close enough to reach out and touch the wood, the nets and the lamps. It’s one thing to draw a boat, it’s another thing to feel the texture of the salt on it. Just then, the sky turned cloudy, and everything felt different. It wasn't just a view anymore, I was part of the scene.
Me floating also
Pukat installation
Pokok Ru
While I was out there—likely covered in dust and hovering over something strange—a Pak Cik stopped his bike to check on me. He looked at me, looked at what I was doing and simply asked: "Tengah buat apa tu?" (What are you doing there?)
That’s the core of this project. It’s not about me hiding in a studio. it’s about these spontaneous roadside conversations. It’s explaining the art to the people who actually own the stories. He didn't see an artist—he saw a neighbor curious about his land and that’s exactly who I want to be.
Mrs. Salbiah Hamid - Mak Mah , Mohamad Bakri - Pak Uteh (her son, also working as a fisherman). Pak Uteh also assists his mother by harvesting the mengkuang leaves from the wetlands before the weaving process begins
Nak buat tikar mengkuang ni ada cara dia. Kita kena ikut Musim Timur (musim panas). Kenapa Mak Mah? Sebab kalau kita jemur daun mengkuang waktu musim hujan, daun tu akan jadi hitam dan tak cantik.
I honestly thought we could start weaving immediately after harvesting! But I quickly learned that nature has its own schedule. Mak Mah explained that timing is everything.
Mengkuang laut- the source of the traditional tikar mengkuang (mats). Seeing the raw leaves and knowing the hours of weaving that follow makes me appreciate the slow art of the island even more.
And here I am—chasing chicken!
By the end of the week, I realized two things:
1. The island is the best classroom I’ve ever had.
2. Chasing chickens is, in fact, a very valid form of artistic research.
Note: Images shared with the kind permission and blessing of the Tuba Island community.
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