First Day of Summer

Today is the first day of summer, aka Summer Solstice. Historically we should celebrate with a ritual or ceremony, but now, individual like me would go outside the studio building, inhale some sunlight and then head to a museum to finish the huge exhibit that takes more than a day to see.

I spent 4 hours finished 86% of the Wack! show from MOCA LA. I wish I had the world of time to sit thru each video screening. For quite some time, I think my past life was in the 60's or 70's. I become so moved when I see feminist art that address relationship issues and/or utilizes craft materials. It probably came from the happy memory of my childhood, when mom was sewing, sisters doing quilt and knitting. A hobby meant braiding and drawing to the little me. An image of a woman working on a sewing machine directly associates to the female relatives in my brain... this is when art swarms up strong emotions, the public expression experienced on a personal level.


If you are a sensitive person having relationships with other human, this is a good show for you. It is an enriched and well-researched show which has a lot to offer. In 2003, when I was working in Judy Chicago's Envisioning The Future program, Judy told us to get familiar with the feminist art so we don't repeat what have been done already. I don't think I can read enough to stop myself from repeating without this show.

Indeed, a lot of contemporary artists benefit well from feminist artists. Neto's use of materials reminds me of Nengudi's works. Artists documenting themselves have forerunners like Hannah Wilke and Suzanne Lacy. Eleanor Antin's Domestic Peace opens the conversation between artists and their families/friends. Monica Mayer's "El Tendedero" broke down the barrier between authors and readers, giving us courage to invite audience to interact with our creation and become part of the work.

I can't leave here without mentioning two pieces. Carolee Schneemann's Interior Scroll was the first piece of art by female artists that was introduced to me by my sister. At the age of 19, I first felt that she's strange, then I grew to admire her, like her. Now as an artist, I can't help applauding every single time I see this piece! Faith Wilding's Crocheted Environment is the spot in show where I had hard time leaving. This piece looks absolutely gorgeous in a black low-lit room~

Lots of people have negative impression towards feminist art. I have to say that some strong pieces might have been picked up to generate the story. The whole movement was manipulated in the same way as other cultural misunderstandings, like a lot of world citizens assuming African Americans must play basketball and sing well, whites must be well educated and wealthy, Latinos only do labour jobs, Chinese women are submissive, Americans recycle, artists starve... Media posses powerful force when it comes to brainwash, or some called, educating the public. It is time we reintroduce the movement that redefines the definition of contemporary art and forgivingly embraces all genres which provide freedom for all artists nowadays.

Genuine Interest - Are you hitting on me?

The book that broke my reluctance to social with people is The Book of Luck. While I was translating it last year, it showed me tremendous amount of dead corners which I was not able to see in myself.

One of the principle is to network with people from all walks of like. Not because I will need them in the future, but because they are my lenses to see the world. When I'm in the extroverted mode, I hold genuine interests in people. By talking to a scientist, I can dissect the society from another point of view; by talking to a writer, I get to see how dots are connected.

But I find an interesting phenomena. In this lonely society, lots of people translate genuine interests into romantic interests. I have to say that romantic interests are not genuine at all; they are more adrenaline tinted. People in urban lifestyles so seldom receive genuine interests that they run away from it, avoiding the possible commitment to a new relationship, avoiding being acknowledged as worthy attention, avoiding looking at oneself seriously......

You see, if you travel to tropical countries or places where apathy does not exist, you will find people warm and passionate about each other. That is genuine interest from one human to the other, not your typical sniffing tail instinct.

Are people afraid of others' care? Are people mistreated most of their lives that they don't believe one can be cared about by strangers? What are we afraid of?

Do we see an injured person merely another one at struggle? Do we see a dead human as usual as a dead animal to be slaughtered?

Apathy, creates lonely people who struggle inside. Apathy, creates war fought on innocent lives.

Perhaps, this apathy was created by stress to pursue everything the society expects from us, an established career, a large bank annount holdings, a big house, a good-looking family, a count-down watch, a waking bumb, a cancer tumor, a safe border, a convenient life style with no time out, a lake with water drained and a pair of shoes that can walk on and on and on, forever...

geo dance reverberates

went to see Merce Cunningham's dance in Orange County last Saturday night. three repertoires in a night; to be honest, I didn't know what to think after the dance. I merely felt muscle in my legs twitching from wanting to move, in squares, in rigid turns and kicking.



I am the chosen lucky one who has paid for the cheapest seat yet earned the biggest rewards. I sat toward the back of the stage, straight facing Merce who's behind the curtains on his wheelchair. I watched him watching his dancers. He is so much more beautiful than the waves of limber young dancers, because of the history and the whole lot more movement in him . This is an artist who has been faithful to his art for more than 7 decades and still is in action. The bond, the trust, the freedom and the fluid, between an artist and his art.

One night passed, I long for dancing, starting to relive what I saw in my body. Two days passed, I get a glimpse of it. The art that you don't know how to interpret because it was not meant to be interpreted, but it lived in you for ever and deeper than you realized. It is in there, but one can not organize it, touch it or implement it. This is what I call "masterpiece." At the moment when you let go, it all come out of you from underneath the limbs.

I may not see Merce again, but I've got a piece of him. And it's still alive and growing, for ever.

Hawkinson trip II: What have I done to you, my husband?

Continued...
I met this book in the booth: Installation Art in the New Millennium: The Empire of the Senses" by Nicolas De Oliveira, Nicola Oxley and Michael Petry. This is a book I've read few times but still waiting for the price to come down, or until the day I meet a friend who specializes in stealing art books:)

Husband swung his head into my view field, saying: "this book looks interesting." He stayed for few more seconds as I flipped thru the pages. He saw some images that caught his eyes, pointing fingers: "look! what is this?" and "wow, look at that." I nodded as we went along, pretending nothing special is happening.

In my mind: "What happened to him? What have I done to you, my husband? Have I turned you into an artist? oh, I don't want you to be an artist... I just want you to be the you who supports art but doesn't make art. I can't stand marrying an artist..." on and on, the controlling me ignored the fact that Tim Howkinson's works often excite the artists out of everybody.

I looked at this man who understands me and my art more than anybody else, whose direct response to a piece weighs the confidence I have on the work, I wonder how much I know him. Sometimes I analyze his subconsciousness in a way that he didn't even feel the existence. I saw the artist in him who was caged in by the social expectation on men; I feel sorry for the incarcerated soul yet afraid of his power to consume me, not the physical me, but my little soul who is already consumed by my destructed mind and memory.

Family is a group of strange power struggle. I wish Mom and Dad and sisters were all here so I can tell them about Howkinson's Bat, but I am suddenly reminded of a segment from the movie "Pollock" when Pollock was exhilarated by the review on his show and the critic comparing him to Picasso. He was vigorously reading the article while families are talking, drinking and children running around; when seeking approval, they simply replied: "Is Picasso more important than your family?"

This scene pumps my tears, the tears of struggle, loneliness and inseparable bond of life and art, as if our hair grows so long that we often step on it. Fortunately for me who lives far away from home, I don't have to know what happened to the article clippings of my review that I vigorously sent to my family.

Hawkinson trip I

LAAA and the Getty offered us a free trip to see Tim Hawkinson's Zoopsia. The lovely knowledgeable Jamie spent a whole hour giving us a tour on the five new pieces by Hawkinson. I felt tremendously heavenly to be on this side of the country to be able to see Hawkinson often, so much that I would trade Chelsea for Hawkinson.

Outside the exhibition space, Getty set up the usual museum book-booth to help familiarize people with installation art, while they failed to inform viewers of the content of "Bat." As much as I appreciate Getty's offer and enjoy their new adventure on contemporary art, I still can't help bitching about this "educating the public" hypocrisy.

This is a very common phenomenon in museums. I mean, how difficult or unglamorous would it be for a museum to include a small description next to the piece? Why does it have to be people-who-paid-for-audio-tour's or people-who-did-online-research's privilege to understand the process behind the piece. Given most people in Getty are tourists or biblical-art-admirers, education or introduction to the appreciation of contemporary art must be especially emphasized.
I can see how excited people will be if they learned of the process it takes to make Hawkinson a Hawkinson. People are generally excited about art involving everyday materials, yet the listing of media is simply not enough in a museum setting.
I was so tortured that I wanted to stand by the piece and explain detailed process to everybody who was marveled by "wow, it's made of plastic bags" but still felt some missing links as to "how."
ugh... it's like having an apricot stuck in my throat but was forced to swallow down. Perhaps it is time for me to change my personal definition of "education institutes."