The Politics of Shiny Things: A Dazzling Distraction
Samuel Xun writes Fashion & Art
Samuel Xun. Portrait by Kahying Gan.
I have had the pleasure of using glittering materials as a medium in my practice for quite some time now. Strangely, it has never felt like I own any of these materials in any definitive way. In fact, as dramatic as it may sound, I started viewing my relationship with them as more custodial—a kind of stewardship over their use in my work.
In truth, when I first began working with these materials, my approach was largely superficial. Metallised fabrics, threads, fibres, even rhinestones, all glistening in the light, reflecting all colours imaginable—what’s not to love? They are undeniably fun to work with and highly visible, in every sense of the word. We have also been conditioned to see these textures and surfaces as non-threatening, inviting beacons of what I can only hypothesise are rudimentary ideas about joy, happiness, and fun, and what these feelings should look like.
‘I Wish We Were More Alike’ (2024); Detailed close-up of ‘I Would Have Loved for You to See’ (2024). Images courtesy of the artist and Richard Koh Fine Art.
Over the years, there has been a natural shift in how I engage with these mediums, evolving alongside my artistic journey. Growing both as an artist and as a person, I have become increasingly captivated by the idea of self-perfection—not as in flawless execution, but as an ongoing process of understanding the world and my place within it. Consequently, I am ever so intrigued by the mechanisms through which we forge our beliefs and ideas. I find it fascinating—the choices we make, the objects we attach to, the ideas we cling to.
I remain drawn to the inherent power of shiny things and their ever-evolving states. It is mind-tickling how these textures and surfaces, once opulent symbols reserved for royalty, have transformed to also encompass representations of femininity and frivolity, and are now nearly synonymous with queer culture. Glitter, sequins, and metallics, long dismissed as "fun" but insignificant, are paradoxically powerful because of that very dismissal.
Personal stash of Swarovski rhinestones, and hand-ruched metallised textile ribbons. Images courtesy of the artist.
In my view, the power of these materials lies in their ability to navigate and infiltrate spaces that might otherwise reject overt challenges to social norms. Their perceived lack of seriousness allows them to subtly introduce larger ideas—particularly in conservative, heteronormative settings. For a lack of a better example that is closer to home, glitter bombing in the US during the early 2010s saw such materials used in protests against politicians pedalling anti-LGBTQ+ sentiment. Glitter is non-threatening yet undeniably loud—qualities that make it effective in protest environments where more aggressive acts might provoke violence or legal consequences. It is like screaming without ever needing to raise your voice (how chic, no?).
I would like to think that my work embodies some of these qualities that make these materials such great tools for change and open dialogue. Perhaps they are a silent protest, soft resistance if you will. At the very least, to me, they simply look so damn pretty. Despite how democratised and readily available these textures are today, they still seem to trigger parts of our brains that associate them with the upper echelons of society. This power of association persists, especially when reinforced by popular media—just look at the opening sequences of shows like Real Housewives, where visual effects of sparkles and bling are used in abundance to convey wealth and glamour.
“I would like to think that my work embodies some of these qualities that make these materials such great tools for change and open dialogue. Perhaps they are a silent protest, soft resistance if you will. At the very least, to me, they simply look so damn pretty.”
Historically, sequins and other shiny embellishments were central to showbiz, allowing female and queer performers, as well as drag artists, to reclaim visibility and expression. Characters like Clover from Totally Spies, Gabrielle Solis from Desperate Housewives, and icons like Lady Gaga and Paris Hilton were pivotal in shaping my visual repertoire. These were the figures I grew up with through the television screen, and I have come to realise that remnants of my pop-cultural upbringing still weave through my work today. They are not just nostalgic memories but foundational elements that continue to influence the tone of my work.
Images from the series ‘Who Knew I’d Be the Stable One’: ‘You’re Forgetting to Celebrate’ (2024) and ‘You’re Hiding Yourself Again’ (2023–2024). Images courtesy of the artist and Richard Koh Fine Art.
In my ongoing series, ‘Who Knew I’d Be the Stable One’, I delve into these notions of beauty, visibility, and expression through materiality. There is a fluidity in the work that feels inherently linked to the body, a realisation I have only come to recently. While I attribute much of this to my background in fashion, I have also come to recognise that it is an integral part of my visual language that was shaped by the feminine icons of my childhood.
The works in ‘Who Knew I’d Be the Stable One’ take on an almost optical art quality, with contemporary, abstract geometric forms that do not depict anything specific. Perhaps, this ambiguity stems from my training as a costume designer, where sketching often begins by penning down abstract shapes and silhouettes, then embellishing and extrapolating from there. I apply these same methods in composing my sculptures. The process is partly intuitive but heavily visual; I enjoy playing with tension and balance within each composition. I would like to think this process unintentionally leaves space for the audience’s imagination, allowing them to project themselves and their narratives onto what is before them. The colour schemes, meanwhile, are selected based on personal associations at the time of making, and the patterns often evolve into a repetitive, cathartic exercise that reflects the labour-intensive processes of artmaking. At the centre of it all, of course, a glittering carpet of textures engulfs you.
Detailed close-up images from the series 'Who Knew I’d Be the Stable One': 'You’re Projecting Again' (2022–2023) and 'You’re Spiralling Again' (2022). Images courtesy of the artist and Richard Koh Fine Art.
Much of my time creating these works is equally dedicated to reflecting on my strange afflictions towards shiny materials and the messages I try to convey within them. Through both the act of making and my interactions with audiences, I have come to see shiny materials as tools for soft resistance. While they may initially attract us for their playful or “light” qualities, I try to inject them with deeper meanings that resonate with the alternative communities I belong to. I love that these materials harbour an ability to challenge our perceptions, encouraging audiences to engage in thoughtful discussions about their own relationships with beauty and identity. What I once viewed as purely aesthetic has now become a pleasant and non-intrusive way of sneaking complex conversations about identity and visibility into spaces that might not expect or accept them readily. I am continually excited by the possibilities that remain to be explored and the many spaces left to infiltrate. All in all, I am proud to say that this is my dazzling distraction.
About the writer
Samuel Xun is a multidisciplinary visual artist based in Singapore. His practice centres around the exploration of alternative identity and personal histories through sculpture, context-based installation, and textile composition. His works propose the potential of physical materials as carriers of identity and culture, often merging them with symbols informed by film, philosophy, and lived experiences to encourage self-therapy and introspection. See more of Samuel’s work on his website here.