Solo show: Ephemeral Allure at UC Santa Barbara Women's Center

Ephemeral Allure; Eternal Struggle

UCSB Women's Center, Nov. 2, 2011 - Feb. 3, 2012

Forty years ago, when Ms. magazine was founded and the Equal Rights Amendment sought ratification, women knew they were oppressed. The external barriers were well-defined: they were expected to be wives and mothers, discouraged from going to college, denied advancement in the workplace and reproductive control over their own bodies. The list goes on and on.  

Gains have been made, but true equality remains elusive. Today's barriers are much less obvious, and consumerist distractions are insidiously seductive.

These 39 artworks contrast my paintings from the early 1980s with recent photographs to ask "How much progress has been made? Can women really have it all? Or do we need to choose carefully what we buy into? The fight for true freedom begins within." 

Ephmeral Allure opening

When I was their age, sensible shoes and natural fibers were not a fashion statement; they were a  move towards healthy and affordable lifestyles. Today's young women may be liberated from corsets and pantyhose but are tooth whiteners and nail spas an improvement?

Distillations: Meditations on the Japanese American Experience

An Exhibition by Four Japanese American Women Artists:

Reiko Fujii, Lucien Kubo, Shizue Seigel, Judy Shintani

Exhibition: August 17 - September 18

Mon. - Fri. 11 am - 5 pm, Sat. Noon - 5 pm

Reception: August 21, Saturday, 6 - 9 pm

Arts & Consciousness Gallery, John F. Kennedy University 

2956 San Pablo Avenue, Second Floor, Berkeley, California

510.647.2041

Over seventy artworks by Reiko Fujii, Lucien Kubo, Shizue Seigel and Judy Shintani. Over seventy artworks by Reiko Fujii, Lucien Kubo, Shizue Seigel and Judy Shintani. Fujii’s intricate glass kimonos, Kubo’s richly textural shadowboxes, Seigel’s vibrant paintings and photocollages, and Shintani’s resonant found-object installations reflect deeply upon the Japanese American experience. The art arises from the strength of the immigrant Issei, the incarceration experiences of the Nisei, and the artists’ personal journeys of discovery and identity as third generation Sansei.

The exhibition is accompanied by a 74-page, four-color catalog with a preface by art historian Margo Machida and introduction by Betty Kano, co-sponsored by the Asian American Women Artists Association.

Events  (free and open to the public except where noted):

Saturday, August 21

Artists’ Panel Discussion, 4 - 6 pm

RECEPTION, 6 - 9 pm

August 28, Saturday, 2 - 4 pm.   Intergenerational Legacies - Hybridity in an Evolving California. Interactive slide talk by artist and author Shizue Seigel. What are the mythologies and the untold secrets in our family histories? How have our stories been shaped by larger socio-political forces? What values or attitudes do we consciously (or unconsciously) carry?  With minorities now the majority in California, how can our diverse stories enlarge the dominant perspective?

August 29, Sunday, 1 - 4:30 pm.  Art Making Workshop: Honoring Ancestors through Art

Tell your family stories through writing, painting, and collage. Facilitated by Judy Shintani, JFKU Arts & Consciousness Alumna.  Fee: $25. RSVP: judyshintani@yahoo.com

September 18, Sunday, 3 - 4:30 pm. Multi-Media Performance: 

Grandmothers from Far Away Lands, Stories about Internment, The Egg House Wall, The Farm, and The Glass Kimono

Performed by Reiko Fujii, Judy Shintani, and Lisa Petrides. Following the performance, there will be an opportunity to meet the artists and ask questions.

Directions to the Arts & Consciousness Gallery from I-80, take Ashby exit and turn left into the parking lot at Ashby Plaza Clock Tower (just west of San Pablo Ave). Drive towards the water tower and look to right for signs to JFKU Arts Annex (loading dock B). The gallery is located on the 2nd floor. For special assistance with disabilities, call 925-969-3362.

About the Artists

Reiko Fujii documents and preserves everyday memories of the past and present.  Through her art, ordinary people symbolize universal heroes and everyday activities are perceived as rituals that contribute to the wholeness of peoples’ lives. She expresses her personal, political and historical views about the Japanese American experience by intermingling short performances, video, installations, fused glass sculptures, and handmade books.   

Lucien Kubo thinks of her art as philosophical narratives.  She is sorting out how she feels about humanity and the world around her and is inspired by her life experiences and involvement with community and global issues.  Lucien takes found objects, recycled materials, photographs, paintings and various art mediumsto create assemblages and mixed-media art pieces. These evoke memories of past experiences, current events and a sense of shared history, all presented in a contemporary manner.

Shizue Seigel is a writer and artist who seeks to inspire compassion and connection by illuminating the overlooked and unseen within ourselves and in others—particularly how we are shaped by race, gender, religion, culture and history. She is the author of In Good Conscience: Supporting Japanese Americans during the Internment.

Judy Shintani focuses on remembrance, connection, and storytelling. Her family’s stories and Japanese heritage are important areas of richness. She creates installations and sculptures with assembled found and natural materials to explore social, historical, and cultural issues. Often her work h

as an interactive component allowing viewers to discover and respond.

For more information: Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/JAArtists

shiz1@mindspring.com or call (415) 221-0487

Distillations: Meditations on the Japanese American Experience

Arts & Consciousness Gallery, John F. Kennedy University
August 17-September 18. Reception: August 21, 6-9pm
Last fall, after meeting other Japanese American Sansei artists through the Asian American Women's Artists’ Association, I suggested that we join forces for a group show. Reiko Fujii, Lucien Kubo, Judy Shintani and I share the same heritage from different vantage points. We work in a variety of media and techniques to express the rich complexities of past and present, legacy and duty, history and secrets. Here's what I wrote for our catalog:

The on-going legacy of the Japanese American experience has rarely been examined through a Sansei lens. Art by first-generation Issei and second-generation Nisei who were incarcerated in American concentration camps during World War II has been well-documented, as has the heavily assimilated and media-centric landscape of younger API artists.  But the Sansei have remained a shadow or sandwich generation subsumed between survivor guilt and filial piety on the one hand and kodomo no tame ni (sacrifice for our children) on the other.

The Issei identity was defined by immigration, the Nisei by the mass incarceration. The Sansei children of the incarcerated have a foot in two, maybe three worlds, struggling to find balance along the continuum of Japanese>American. The  four of us, now in our 50s and 60s, were born too late to be incarcerated ourselves, but we are old enough to have been influenced by our grandparents’ Issei lifestyles and values, by our Nisei parents’ responses to incarceration and by our own pressures to function in the mainstream rather than in the sheltered backwaters of ethnic enclaves.

We are distinct from the Yonsei, Gosei and Hapa (fourth and fifth generation and mixed heritage) who often express a sense of anger, confusion or loss. The younger generations seek reflections of themselves in the media because they did not grow up seeing themselves reflected in the eyes of a close-knit community. Their childhoods were sanitized of the mud and weeds and sidewalk interactions of traditional lifestyles and cultures.  But many Sansei still remember our grandparents' egg farms, strawberry ranches, and single-room occupancy hotels. Our responses to our heritage are diverse, yet remarkably similar, expressing themselves in family ties, community service, political awareness, and a hyper-sensitivity to equal justice for other marginalized peoples. We are Americanized and yet oblique, liberated yet bound by deeply felt obligation.

Why is our perspective important? Our nation is groping for ways to back out of  the evolutionary dead-end of of a fossil-fuel economy. At a time when traditional cultures around the globe are dying faster than endangered species, we can no longer look back "home" to replenish traditional values; Japan's salarymen and AsiaPop dollies are almost as far removed from the ancient peasant ways as Japanese Americans are.  Perhaps because of the inherited weight of the incarceration, Sansei still embody traces of 19th-century Meiji-era values preserved in amber, as we sift through the gifts and pitfalls of our traditional culture and of our families’ multigenerational American journeys. What do we treasure and what can we lay to rest? How can we add to the multi-faceted and resilience wisdom America needs to meet the challenges of the 21st century?

Diaspora: Tradition, Locality and Identity

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 

from upcoming Distillations show (JFK university) at:

Flickr: Distillations

Double Vision: A Celebration of Hybridity

Double Vision: A Celebration of Hybridity

Digital Photography by Shizue Seigel, UC Santa Barbara Multicultraul Center, April 13-June 13

Artist’s Statement: Japanese American artist and writer Shizue Seigel blurs the boundaries between photography, painting, found objects and poetry to explore the shifting planes of multicultural identity. In today's evolving world, where minorities are the majority, the complexity of our stories is our American

story.

Through little-known narratives from many cultures, she illuminates the common humanity that transcends divisions of race, gender, class or national origin. We are a nation in transition in a world in flux, backing our way out of the evolutionary dead-end of a fossil fuel economy. It’s an exciting time to be alive, and to contribute to the on-going national conversation. But to do so effectively, we must be well-informed and open-minded. Who are the givers and the takers, the informed and the oblivious?  Who is American? What is progress? What gives us strength and how can we move forward together?

Bio:

Shizue Seigel was born in 1946, too late to be incarcerated in American concentration camps like her parents and 120,000 other Japanese Americans. But she earned her first dollar picking strawberries in a migrant labor camp for former incarcerees. As a child, she shuttled from segregated Baltimore to Occupied Japan to skid-row Stockton. Arriving in San Francisco in the late 50s, she flowed with the zeitgeist to the Haight Ashbury in the 60s, Indian ashrams in the 70s, the Financial District in the 80s, the AIDS epidemic in the 90s and today’s vibrant mix of arts and activism.

These experiences engendered an awareness of many cultures, and deep compassion for the disadvantaged.  After some arts training in painting and printmaking in the late 1970s, she became an art director at major advertising agencies with clients like Chevron, Kaiser Permanente and Wells Fargo.

In the early 90s, she developed a reality-based HIV-prevention campaign for African American women for the Centers for Disease Control.  It was a life-changing experience which sparked a passion for furthering social change through narratives about ordinary people.

After several years working with the poor, homeless and addicted, she began working with the Japanese American community as the editor of the Japanese American Historical Society’s Nikkei Heritage magazine, and the author of the book, In Good Conscience: Supporting Japanese Americans During the Internment (AACP, Inc. 2006).

Her paintings, photography and mixed media have been exhibited locally, nationally and internationally by the Women’s Caucus for Art, Asian American Women Artists’ Association, Manilatown Center, Kearny Street Workshop, Greenlining Institute, University of San Francisco, UC Santa Barbara, Women Made Gallery, the United Nations NGO Conference, Mexico City and others. Her poetry and other writing have been published in numerous anthologies and journals, including Cheers to Muses: Contemporary Works by Asian American Women and InvAsian: Growing Up Asian and Female in the United States.

Many thanks to Julianne Gavino and Viviana Marsano for making the exhibition possible. See all 29 images from the show at my Flickr site: www.flickr.com/  Screen Name: ShizueS. Album: Double Vision.

Art and Poetry: Collaborations with Genny Lim and Nellie Wong

AAWAA's 20th Anniversary Show, SOMArts, San Francisco, September 2009

Cynthia Tom has been encouraing visual/verbal collaborations between member artists and writers, so I asked Genny Lim and Nellie Wong to work with me to create pieces for this show.

My artist statement: One or two lifetimes ago, when I was an art director working on major corporate accounts, I used to sit around in a glossy office in the Embarcadero Center tossing ideas around with my copywriter. Sometimes he thought of a headline and I came up with a visual; sometimes it was the other way around.  Brainstorming and teamwork were my favorite parts of the job. It was so much fun I could almost forget that we were selling people products they didn't need.

What an honor to be collaborating today with two gifted poets of conscience: Genny Lim and Nellie Wong. We are selling nothing—except the notion that it is vitally important to keep seeing and feeling and thinking.

A closet photographer with a good eye and a shaky hand can find redemption of sorts in digital photography. Cropping and adjusting images is no substitute for technical expertise, but I love to carry my point-and-shoot and squeeze off random shots on my daily walks. And I am lucky enough to have a partner that actually sees when I say, “Lookit, lookit!”

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Aung San Suu Kyi,  2009. 14" x 20". Mixed media-poem by Genny Lim, etching by Shizue Seigel, paper, thread, nails on foamcore. 

Genny Lim's poem, “Aung San Suu Kyi,” captures both the beauty and tragedy of the eternal struggle for justice.  Suu Kyi endures with a clear-eyed serenity that gives her nation—indeed the world—hope. The image of the lady who “disappears behind the clouds” reminded me of my etching “The Moon Remembers.” I love the dark, yet luminous quality of mezzotints. My moon was originally a masculine moon with a Roman nose in a European landscape; now it peeks from behind Genny’s verbal Asian imagery, suspended by thin red threads. Is it still the man in the moon or the rabbit they see in Japan? The same moon hangs in everyone's sky, by turns pensive and accusatory, yearning and yet complete, imbued with meaning as personal as a night secret and as universal as the turning of the earth.

AUNG SAN SUU KYI

The Lady in the house

disappears like the moon behind clouds

No one has seen her in many years

except in photographs or dreams

Who knows if she’s real anymore or just a ghost?

Like all the ones vanished along the Irrawaddy?

The sad-eyed Lady with the flower in her hair

whose name, Suu Kyi, is whispered

on the lips of school children

now floating on the river like dropped petals

The Lady of the house who drifts through

the fetid rice crops washed up for the gods

prays among the wounded 

who wear the clothes of the dead 

She digs in the mud of imperfection

and weeps among graves like Llorona

Daughter of Aung San, the Liberator

who sleeps inside the cage of her captors’ fears

She waits for the long night to end so that morning

may open the petals of forgiveness in her heart

May 9, 2008

by Genny Lim

poem@2008 by Genny Lim/mixed media piece&etching ©2009 by Shizue Seigel

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Making Music, 2009. 8" x 10". Photograph with poem by Nellie Wong, visual by Shizue Seigel.

Nellie's poem “Making Music” reminded me of a window on Clement Street. The family that lives behind it blocks the glances of the curious by pasting up cheap frosted vinyl—bamboo to remind them of home and of a softer landscape than the stucco, concrete and parking meters outside. I snuck a peek inside one evening. I glimpsed a barely furnished room, a Formica dining table, a young mother serving soup.

MAKING MUSIC

The wind smacks its lips against the window pane

Cold air seeps through the cracks

Fingers dance across the keyboard

As tires screech on the street in early spring

Whoosh whoosh whoooosh!

Cries the wind colliding

Against the fertile plains of your heart

Your mouth salivates at oil sizzling in the wok,

Garlic, baby dragons, snap and crackle in heat

Whistling snakes through the walls,

Footsteps tap-dance above your head.

Your consciousness hangs

Out to dry on the laundry line

Snap snap whoosh whoosh snap whoosh snap

Then rumba to Begin the Beguine in La Habana

Songs of exile, songs of home echo

Through clusters of villages

Millions of migrants return from Beijing and Shanghai

To find work, scour the countryside for hope

Human voices rise from the street outside your window

The heater hesitates, silences the stardust hiding

In the crescent of a white moon

Now your fingers rest

Now your fingers listen

In the galaxy of reverie

Nellie Wong

poem © 2009 Nellie Wong/photo © 2009 Shizue Seigel

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Rivulets into Rivers” called to mind a favorite shot of Ocean Beach, early on a grey morning, the receding tide leaving behind hard-packed sand marked only the tracks of the beach patrol and a few early risers “revolving in joy away from machines.” The westerly wind blows in three-week old soot from China and the sea lions are returning to Seal Rocks.

Rivulets to Rivers

Rivulets into rivers, memories noisy

As the wind blowing through the garden

Calling me, soft and tender as a newborn

Hail the storms, the sand dunes, the torrents

Evolving and shaping love,

Love uncontained

Somnambulant, when energy sleeps, when it rises

Tall as the pyramids of Teotihuacan

Eve’s existence debated

In the distillery of the galaxy

Nimbus clouds, those that form dragons or tadpoles

Burrowing furiously through the mind as

Education, even research or physical contact,

Intimacy, the smile of a girl showing her first tooth

Sleekness of young greyhounds on Chenery Street

Summer in the city as I round the corner from Diamond

Ever present this day in my neighborhood Glen Park

Revolving in joy away from machines

                                                                                                                                                                                                                    Nellie Wong

June 6, 2009

Poem ©2009 Nellie Wong/photo ©2009  Shizue Seigel

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“I Also Sing of Myself.” Sing through the night, Nellie! Halfway ’round the world in Bali, I greet the dawn in silence from the white tile verandah of Genny Lim’s Saraswati Retreat. But in my heart I sing to Ganesha and Rama and Krishna, I sing of the wheeling stars and the gardener who loves his trees by cutting off their limbs, just so.

I Also Sing of Myself

I celebrate myself, I sing        

            Walt Whitman

I sing deep into the night

After midnight I awake a hummingbird,

Sometimes a toucan or a nightingale.

The skies enter my ears.

The moon hides behind the curtain

Of a star-strewn sky.

The voice.  I cannot command it.

I cannot censor it.

I sing, sing of myself

The self is a thief,

A reveler, a student,

A jester, a fly, a dancer of tango.

Voices of the self gather

In fields of sunflowers.

My selves merge, then split

As atoms.

Particles of silver adorn

My body.

Slivers of light shower

The universe of aloneness,

The gratitude of breath.

Nellie Wong

poem © 2009 Nellie Wong/photo ©2009 Shizue Seigel

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“Consumed.” Will somebody tell me who started the fad for stuffed animals stuck on workmen's trucks? Jammed under roof racks, lashed to radiator grills, Tweeties and Donald Ducks turn dingy, then grimy, then moldy. Like the hearts of men too tough to ask for a hug? Too cool to show that their hearts are quietly bleeding?

Consumed

Long Island, New York

Wal-Mart employee

34 years old, an African American man

A temporary worker

Stampeded to death at 5:00 A.M.

By 200 shoppers on Black

Friday, day after Thanksgiving.

Who’s to blame?

Wal-Mart’s lack of security?

Many waiting all night

For doors to open

At the crack of dawn?

Wal-Mart’s statement

Through unseen suits

Sends their prayers

Who’s to blame?

The economic crisis?

People whose homes are

being foreclosed?

People who don’t know

 if their next paycheck

may be the last?

People in frenzy to buy

That flat-screen TV

That Nintendo game

That I-Pod, that Blackberry

That barbeque that will cook for hundreds

That Northface jacket

That rocking horse

That Armani knock-off

That pair of Nikes priced

At inflated dollars?

Who’s to blame?

Who’s to blame?

Who’s to blame?

The Dow down 680 points

The official U.S. in recession

The terrorists in Mumbai

The stores opening up at 5:00 AM

Thanksgiving?

Nellie Wong

                                                                                   

Poem ©2009 Nellie Wong/photo ©2009  Shizue Seigel

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“Breakfast  Lunch  Dinner” sings of green chopsticks and pho and the spirit of the food goddess glistening through the grease on a cheap plastic platter. We wolf down chow fun with green pepper and black beans and stare out of the hard fluorescent light into the neon stream of traffic at closing time on a Saturday night. 

BREAKFAST   LUNCH   DINNER

Breakfast

The night before, I place the turkey carcass

in the huge pot, turn the water to boiling

I fill a rice bowl with raw rice,

sprinkle a pinch of salt and dip two teaspoons of

vegetable oil to prepare the rice

Two hours later, the turkey meat falls

off the bones,

the work of the carcass completed

Next I pour the rice into the pot, let it

boil, then simmer

Now for breakfast, I ladle faw gai jook

into a bowl impressed with the shape

of kernels of rice,

with chopped scallion and shreds of turkey meat

Before I eat, I inhale the fragrance

of love, then begin to swallow

the faw gai jook

as if it’s my last meal

Lunch

The waitress places a square white plate

before me.  I hold my green chopsticks, ready.

My eyes take in a pyramid

of green papaya, match-stick thin,

with slivered carrots in a dressing

of lime juice, fish sauce and bird’s eye pepper

Coins of daikon and carrot decorate

the four corners of the plate,

white and orange moons convening the four seasons

Picking up the soy-sauce dish of chopped peanuts,

I shower the salad, my eyes flirting

with the next customer’s bowl of pho

Intoxicated now with the deep-fried onion strips,

mint and basil leaves crowning my lunch,

I guide the salad into my mouth.

Dinner

Bah Bah steams the gee ngook beng

topped with hom ngui

Salted fish preserved for the soul

Ma tosses slices of fuzzy squash

into the wok as they dance in concert

with garlic and onion

Bowls of steamed eggs and ow fu

grace the table.  And, yes, the bowl of soup

with sliced lotus root, a knob of ginger root

and fresh green onions floating on top.

The soup, translucent and fragrant, steaming,

heralds the sit-down dinner

the family has once a week

on our Wednesday night off

from six days of work at The Great China Restaurant

Nellie Wong

Poem ©2009 Nellie Wong/photo ©2009  Shizue Seigel