1) We Hold These Truths….
14.5"W x 10" H x 2.5"D. 2010.
Wood, cloth, paper, barbed wire, cigarbox, polymer clay, acrylic medium, copper dust.
Traditional materials: family photo, Japanese writing, origami paper, rice paper.
Contemporary issue: immigrants’ rights, civil liberties, community collaboration, Japanese/ American/Californian identity, national security, racial profiling.
My Issei grandparents immigrated from Japan in the 1910s. Like all Asian immigrants of the time, they were denied citizenship and property rights. Nevertheless, by the 1920s, they managed to lease a 140-acre farm north of Pismo Beach. Every year, the local Japanese American community demonstrated loyalty to their adopted country by participating in the local Independence Day parade. In this late 1920s photo, my mother and uncle stand in front of a flag- and flower-decked float (bearing kimono-clad dancers, out of frame).
Less than ten years later, anti-Japanese growers seized on World War II as an excuse to force Japanese Americans off the West Coast. 120,000 Japanese Americans were incarcerated in American concentration camps. My family was exiled to the Arizona desert and did not resettle in Pismo Beach because of lingering postwar prejudice. The scars of their pea fields are still visible on the hills north of Pismo Beach.
I tell these stories to teach new immigrants that the forces of prejudice and exploitation have long roots, and we all have rights and responsibilities to to use the democratic process for positive change.
2) What They Could Carry….
Installation. 36"W x 82"H x 15"D. Mixed media: Buddhist shrine, evacuation basket, barbed wire, family photographs. 2010.
Traditional materials: Buddhist shrine, barbed wire, family photographs.
Contemporary issue: civil liberties, Japanese American identity, national security, racial profiling, historical presence of Asians in California.
Prior to WWII, two-thirds of Japanese Americans were Buddhist, but many hid their Buddhist ties after Pearl Harbor, and never fully reclaimed them. In the panicky days after the outbreak of WWII, frightened families hid or destroyed precious items connected with Japan, including shrines, photos, letters, and phonograph records.
My grandparents lost almost everything in the "Evacuation" from the West Coast—the lease on their farm, the property they owned in town, even their house, which was burned to the ground. But they were devout Buddhists whose faith deepened in hard times. They were forced to destroy their shrine, but kept the Nembutsu prayer firmly in their hearts, along with memories of their lost land and community. Those values sustained them in the searing Arizona desert; in post-war migrant labor camps, and for the rest of their lives. Unlike many incarcerated families, my relatives talked openly about hard times, including the injustice of the concentration camps. They taught their children and grandchildren the importance of shinjin, deep faith, in using life’s challenges as growth opportunities.
If tradition is defined as meaningful cultural objects handed down from generation, barbed wire and luggage tags have, sadly, become traditional symbols for Japanese Americans. Many of us are four or five generations removed from Japan, and yet we still sometimes are told to “go back to where we came from.” We have been here for more than a century, yet period photographs are not part of the mainstream conception of Asians in America. My grandfather with horse-and-plow, my uncle playing baseball, my mother in kimono, dancing at Obon. Prior to the incarceration, we were proud to be American and proud to be Japanese. We did seem it as a choice between either-or, but both-and—two faces of a single whole.
Larger installation with the “American Dream” series and “We the People” series. (Concept sketch: actual installation would include 3 D installation “What They Carried” with three 12x12" canvas panels hung on aeither side. For larger images and commentary on the six panels, see http://www.flickr.com/photos/8517595@N05/sets/72157624099775623/
3) Know Your Place, mixed media installation, 32"w x 46"h x 22"d, acrylic on canvas with traditional silk malong, rice, sampaguita flower petals, spices, and found objects. 2010.
I am not Filipina American, but I grew up grew up in communities where Chinese, Japanese, Filipino, Latinos, blacks, and marginalized white migrants were layered on the same terrain. Although particulars of culture, language and custom varied, many of the same issues resonated for successive groups consigned to the margins—inner cities, single room occupancy hotels, and the seasonal migration trails of agricultural workers.
I grew up looking and listening to stories of commonality and difference. Filipinos face particular challenges around the impact of colonialism, Catholicism, and stereotyping as happy, laid-back service workers. They are rarely recognized for their intelligence and organizational and communication skills.
Every young adult undergoes a journey to discover their place in the world. For immigrants or the children of immigrants, the odyssey can be complicated by forced assimilation and cultural dislocation. “Know Your Place” explores the struggle of a young Filipina to find balance amid conflicting messages and stereotypes about sexual orientation, gender, religion, culture, tradition and work. The work raises questions for the viewer of what it means to know and respect one’s true place in the world.
3B) Know Your Place as a larger installation with “The Gross Domestic Product” series and “The Nanny Question” series about Filipina overseas workers. 2008. However, this might push the balance too far away from traditional elements. (Actual installation would consist of “Know Your Place” 3D installation in a corner or against a flat wall with a set of 14"W x 11"H photocollages hung on either side.) For larger images and commentary on “The Gross Domestic Product” series and “The Nanny Question,” see http://www.flickr.com/photos/8517595@N05/sets/72157624099775623/
4) A Well-Made Life.
Photocollage. 17"W x 11"H. 2008
Traditional elements: Karuta cards, Japanese scissors, kimono fabrics.
Contemporary issues: aging, end of life, loss of family farms, the value of sustainable agriculture.
At ninety, Jiichan was still feeding us new dishes learned from Japanese TV
—elaborately fussy concoctions you’d expect from a Tokyo housewife—
not from a callous-palmed old man in mud-caked workboots.
Not long after we found him on the roof—patching a leak with tarpaper—
He decided he was ready for a change.
He had a bad hip, fading sight and “water on his heart.” And he didn’t want to
keep calling Uncle Ray when he felt sick during the night
So he said good-bye to his ten-acre farm,
his cactus garden,
his fruit trees grown from cuttings
traded with long-dead friends.
He would miss fixing water pumps,
tightening door hinges,
and walking the muddy fields
amid the ghosts of
strawberry fields and orchards....
In spite of the twinkling trees and tasteful furniture
the rest home was as impersonal
as a hotel lobby, and just as transitory.
It was not long before Jiichan checked out—
He moved on to another dimension.
Additional images from UC Santa Barbara show at Flickr: Double Vision
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