
All or nothing at all. Kin Ting Li at South Parade.
Billy Parker finds infatuation and heartbreak in the mysterious, undulating landscapes of Kin Ting Li’s solo exhibition ‘Pockets of Want and Need’ at South Parade.
​
I spent my morning walk through Romford’s somber brutalism comparing versions of the jazz standard All or Nothing at All, an exercise born from a re-hashed obsession with Frank Sinatra, the outcome of which I already knew: the definitive version is Sarah Vaughan’s 1965 recording [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6s-r7VP1po0]. Vaughan’s vocals have, to me, always felt questioning, as though their purpose isn’t to ornament the orchestra or band, nor to provide narrative assistance. Rather, they act as a tool to reflect, investigate and question the musical landscape they float across. Her vibrato digs into the song's substrate like a dog digging up the garden or a flat fish rifling through sand: an attempt to unearth buried secrets.
​

As I'm standing in the quiet calm of the Farringdon gallery, nestled in an old London city building, I can hear Vaughan’s vocals ringing in the backs of my ears. Across his recent body of work, Kin Ting Li has developed a series of mysterious, smokey, undulating landscapes. Their aesthetic reference pendulums between 20th century painting and glossy contemporaneity, at times echoing Chagall or the Italian futurists. Each canvas is thick with re-working, providing a bolstered, geographical surface for crisp poetic line-like forms to navigate. Using a similar device to Vaughan, these forms wander a questioning plod through a spectral terrain, a required guide that leads us through the works but opposingly, dispels and questions the very surface that supports them. This opposition rings the paintings with a vibration that I visualise as slow-motion, oscillating cymatic patterns reaching across the void space of the gallery, bouncing from painting to painting, escaping through windows. Audibly, they cast shadows of the analogue circus soundscape of Peter Brook’s 1970 production of A Midsummers Night Dream. It feels as though Li has forced this cymatic energy into each canvas and somehow fixed it there, particularly in the exhibition’s white paintings Floaters and Reinvigoration [both 2024], that feel like avalanches frozen in motion, bulging outside of their own remit, becoming almost bodily. They are calmed by Li’s intricate use of colour that glazes across the snow-rock surface, refracting the full colour spectrum like gentle morning sun on ice.
There are moments throughout ‘All or Nothing at All’ where Vaughan abandons her questioning tone and we are led towards possible resolve, particularly when recounting memory. Again, a device mirrored in Li’s works Insinuation 2022-2024 and Safe Space, 2024 where the predominant forms become more recognisable. This tease of recognition gives the more abstracted works their power, heightening the desire to pry into every crevice of the painted texture.
​
​


Whilst the exhibition text, written by Lucy Rose Cunningham, suggests placement in a science fiction context, I can’t help but feel confronted by something totally human. This form of real investigative painting, where all aspects of the medium have been opened, analysed and manipulated, can only be a result of a deeper, self exploratory emotional state. It is now rare for artists to know how to provide such vulnerability, whilst also possessing the skills and tenderness to translate that through paint. This idea is reinstated by the exhibitions title ‘Pockets of Want and Need’ and most evident in the aforementioned white paintings, which in viewing, reactivate the throbbing elation of complete infatuation, the pulsating pain of heartbreak, and/or other adjacent emotional experiences located in the stomach.
My one complaint is the painting hung over a window. It’s not the first time I’ve seen this and I do understand the commercial need to capitalise on space but, on this occasion, it disrupts the active relationships between the works and their environment.
The paintings and their secrets float around my foggy thoughts as I plod back through Romford, passing under the 2007 sci-fi car park ramp, still listening to All or Nothing at All.
​​
​
​
PLASTER MAGAZINE
January 2025​
​
​
​