Bye Bye Kitty: Between Heaven and Hell in Contemporary Japanese Art

The exhibition “Bye Bye Kitty: Between Heaven and Hell in Contemporary Japanese Art,” hosted by the Japan Society, starts on a defiant note, steadfastly rejecting cultural mores and challenging tradition in a manner that could be construed simultaneously as both violent and passive. Reviewer Brian Fee, for NY Art Beat, describes the exhibition, in an admittedly vague manner, as a display of “systematic removal and genuine reemergence,” lamenting the inefficiency and impreciseness of the English language in aptly conveying the true nature of the pieces and intentions of the artists. I am inclined to agree with him, being unaware of the proper Japanese term to describe this exhibit, but confident in its existence.

Upon entering the building, a mood is set that perfectly complements and contrasts the displayed pieces. The Japanese modern-traditional vibe of the lobby follows the visitor, adding context to the show that might not be achieved in an alternate setting. Fighting against the current international call for all things kawaii, the Japanese term for “cute,” this collection of works from fifteen young artists, and concluded by a piece from Yoshitomo Nara, addresses several aspects of Japanese culture that have become contentious in contemporary society.

Beginning the exhibition are several eye-catching pieces not only opposing the kawaii culture, but also fighting against traditional views and stereotypes. Makoto Aida’s “Harakiri School Girls” welcomes the visitor with a brightly colored, holographic image of lithe teenage girls in stylized school uniforms. This piece, at first glance, would seem to negate the exhibit’s argument against cuteness, however upon further examination a sense of caricature is apparent. In the piece the girls practice ritual suicide from the ancient bushidô honor code, covered in Day-Glo^© innards and shimmering pink blood, focusing on Japan’s stereotyped culture of shame and the extreme measures exercised to counteract societal repercussions, while simultaneously satirizing the highly sexualized and perfection-driven world of the high school girl.

Comparably, another of Aida’s pieces, “Ash Color Mountains,” deals with another familiar sub-culture, that of the “salary man,” featuring looming mountains composed of grey-suited, male office workers, interspersed by various common office supplies. The way of life for the salary man is one of societal duty and the suppression of personal desires for the advancement of the group. Aida expresses his apparent distaste for this life in his featureless, monotone figures piled haphazardly and stretching back into the distance; baring the expendable nature of the position, the facelessness, the lack of individuality.

Displayed opposite Aida’s tradition-contending paintings are four modified photographs by artist Miwa Yanagi, exploring a more modern, contemporary vision of young girls’ dreams. The pieces – composites of interview, photograph and stage make-up – explore the individual desires of four real Japanese women. Interestingly, not one of the imagined futures includes the traditional female ideals of family and children. The women’s dreams range from a desire for fame to what might be interpreted as a fear, or possibly a secret hope, of solitude and anonymity in death. Continuing on, the more traditional art forms of ukiyo-e and yamato-e are employed in several paintings to further confront conventional ideals of Japanese culture. Artists Yamaguchi Akira and Hisashi Tenmyouya address militarism and religion, respectively, expressing distaste and a distrust through non-traditional subject matter and mockingly arranged figures.

Entering the fourth room the visitor encounters a particularly enchanting collection by Motohiko Odani, “Malformed Noh-Mask Series,” in which the artist breaks from the traditional, ethereal perfection of the Noh theatre mask by revealing the musculature and bones, showing the humanity underneath. This piece also serves to transition from the satirical, rebellious feel of the first half of the exhibit to a more hopeful one, inspired by nature and the cycle of life. It is here that the artists’ themes begin to feel celebratory, optimistic.

“AILA,” by Rinko Kawauchi, scrutinizes the cycle of life in a mesmerizing collection of close-up photographs, presenting a “flow of consciousness and imagery modulated through a fragile but self-aware sense of beauty,” as described by curator David Elliott. Kawauchi is consistently aware in her work of both the robustness and fragility of life, of beauty in mortality. Also sharing the space is a piece by Tomoko Shioyasu, “Breathing Wall, Blessing Wall,” which echoes Kawauchi’s idea of opposition within a single entity. A large sheet of paper, cut in traditional style, hangs with a single light projecting its shadow on the facing wall. The thousands of tiny holes convey the paper’s impermanence, while the projection allows for the visitor to physically interact with and walk through the piece, proving its stability.

It seems only fitting that the exhibit concluded with an untitled photograph, by well-known artist Yoshitomo Nara, of a grave flanked by two Hello Kitty statues in the style of Buddhist shishi lions. Although not considered amongst the ranks of “young, contemporary” artists, Nara’s continual undermining of kawaii culture, through his employment of those same images utilized in a subversive and mocking fashion, has challenged the Japanese dô, or “way,” for decades. “Bye Bye Kitty” is an exhibit that likewise challenges the stereotypes of Japanese culture that many gaikokujin – non-Japanese – might view as complete truths, and leaves the visitor hopeful for the future, but nostalgic for a culture and a history not their own.

“Bye Bye Kitty: Between Heaven and Hell in Contemporary Japanese Art” is being held at the Japan Society, at 333 East 47^th Street, New York, New York, from March 18^th through June 12^th. For more information, check out their website at www.japansociety.org/upcoming, or call (212) 832-1155.

Review: “Bye Bye Kitty!!! Between Heaven and Hell in Contemporary Japanese Art” by Brian Fee, reviewed in the NY Art Beat. Available online via the NY Art Beat blog at www.nyartbeat.com/nyablog/2011/03/bye-bye-kitty-between-heaven-and-hell-in-contemporary-japanese-art/

"The World Came to St. Louis" Exhibition Opening, April 15th

We've added a new section to our blog dedicated to the opening of our exhibition. Check it out!

Norman Rockwell: Behind the Camera

Norman Rockwell painted American culture with a remarkable realism.  Renowned for his ability to capture the nuances of everyday life, his body of work includes such iconic images as “Rosie the Riveter” and “The Four Freedoms.”  The exhibition “Norman Rockwell: Behind the Camera” at the Brooklyn Museum, organized by the Norman Rockwell Museum and guest curator, Ken Shick, delves unapologetically into the mind of one of America’s most celebrated artists. 

Beginning in the 1930s, Rockwell employed photography as a logical aid to bring his imagination to life. Acting not as the photographer but artistic director, he meticulously staged every aspect of his illustration. Amateur models, props, and makeshift sets all became an integral part of his artistic vision. Sometimes taking as many as 100 pictures for one painting, Rockwell would borrow a leg from one photograph, a facial expression from another, and arrange the pieces like a jigsaw puzzle to realize his final composition. “Norman Rockwell: Behind the Camera” explores the photographs that inspired his characteristic hypperealistic style. In the process, the exhibition illuminates Rockwell's distinguished gift for narrative and character, providing a new understanding of his artistic process and ultimately, his popular appeal.

Throughout the exhibition, there are number of media that catch the eye. Black and white photographs, magazine covers, sketches, paintings, and even a re-sized Colorama adorn the warm crimson walls of the exhibition’s five rectangular chambers. These small, darkly-hued chambers are equipped with over 100 photographs, imparting a sense of claustrophobia that takes some getting used to. To offset the spatial and visual confinement, a stark ice blue atrium sits at the central chamber of the rectilinear space for seemingly the sole purpose of providing some much needed brightness. As one enters the vestibule, the four major players –photographers Gene Pelham, Bill Scovill, Louie Lamone and Norman Rockwell himself—are introduced, perhaps, to remind the visitor that the images to follow are intended not to spotlight Rockwell's final, perfected product but rather, his uniquely collaborative artistic process.

Once the eye has adjusted to the seemingly controlled chaos of the space, the eye must be re-trained once more. In “Norman Rockwell: Behind the Camera” the visitor is meant to view every photograph or series of photographs in conjunction with the final work. The photographs, never intended to be displayed, are typically unpolished and spartan. Yet, the simple white backdrops and rudimentary props contained within the frames offer a quiet and penetrating beauty. Rockwell’s pragmatic photos can actually be viewed as art in themselves: the collisions of function and form, at its best. While viewing each photograph and its corresponding final work, it becomes abundantly clear how careful—borderline obsessive—Rockwell was in capturing the perfect expressions of American life.

            Viewing the exhibition quickly becomes an exercise in determining what was gained and lost in the translation from photograph to painting. In some instances, the photographs evoke a depth of feeling that is caricatured and stifled in the actual illustrations.  As Ken Johnson opines in the New York Times exhibition review “His Path From Shutter to Paintbrush,” “The photographs have a chilly psychological subtlety that is muffled in the paintings.” Take Rockwell’s piece “The River Pilot,” for example, which was originally the cover of the Saturday Evening Post in September of 1940. The illustration depicts a Herculean man, tall and broad with jet-black hair, fiercely gazing into in the horizon as he heroically steers the wheel of a boat. In the adjoining studio photograph, this Herculean man appears to be anything but. The amateur model is gazing out the window of a dimly lit set. His jet-black hair is, in reality, gray and balding. The handle of his steering wheel is but a piece of plywood. His determined stare into the horizon is replaced by a look of vulnerable introspection.  The photograph suggests a deep emotion that is clearly, lost in the translation. While the photograph conveys the quiet vulnerability of one gazing out into the horizon and by extension, the future, the final illustration is idealized and heroic, lacking this humanity.

Viewing “The River Pilot” along with the many of other spectacular studio photographs brings into focus the ethical questions that come along with displaying such a collection—questions which are only faintly addressed in the labels and by art critic Ken Johnson.  Those curating the exhibition do not hide the fact that Norman Rockwell was embarrassed by his use of photography and believed it to be a betrayal of his artistic principles. There is a sense of guilt that accompanies viewing this collection. One cannot help but wonder if the curators and the Brooklyn Museum are committing a disservice to the legacy of Norman Rockwell by showing images, which remove the illusion of realism and ultimately compete with the aesthetic beauty of his paintings.

Ken Johnson wryly quips that “Norman Rockwell must be rolling in his grave.” In his review he skirts the ethical issues that come with this type of display and lauds the exhibition “as a revelation” and ignores its greater implications. There were a number of areas where Johnson could have looked more critically at the exhibition, yet fails to do so. For instance, he largely avoids addressing the exhibition’s often confusing narrative thread.

To the curator’s credit, the final chamber truly concludes the exhibition on a high note.  The guilt, the unwarranted comparisons, and questioning all but disappear. Within this small room they exhibit two of Rockwell’s most evocative, provocative, and refined works: “The Problem We All Live With” and “The Final Impossibility.” Here, the juxtaposition of the studio photographs with their respective final products sums up the way the exhibition as a whole should be viewed and understood. The labels aptly contextualize the historical moment, which the paintings depict.  The media complement each other and seamlessly illustrate the evolution of Rockwell’s process from imagination to visual arrangement to the glorious final product.  

“Norman Rockwell: Behind the Camera” may not have fully delivered, but nonetheless presents a wealth of information about Norman Rockwell and his ingenuity in translating American culture to canvas.

How Can Museum Professionals Redefine the Field?

Take a look at this article posted on the website for the American Association of Museums:
http://www.aam-us.org/pubs/mn/a-well-balanced-field.cfm

It's an interesting look at how graduate students in the museum field can prepare themselves for the future...

You Can't Find it on a Map: The Museum of Arts and Design’s Global Africa Project

The words “African Art” are often thrown around as convenient catch all for what is actually a complex topic. However underlying those words are some rather large issues and one big question – what is African Art? Is African Art a cultural or historical designation? Is it geographical, as the most literal reading would imply? Or, due to the melanin in a person’s skin, is the art he or she makes always going to be designated as “African”? This is the hefty mountain which the Museum of Arts and Design attempts to climb with its exhibit, The Global Africa Project. The Museum of Arts and Design takes a new approach by inviting its visitors to ask “Where is Africa?”

Occupying three of the Museum’s five floors, The Global Africa Project covers a broad range of art and design media, including sculpture, installation pieces, posters, photography, fashion, furniture, textile work, basketry, lamps, architecture, two cars and even a book. These are organized, not by geographical region or artist but instead are loosely sectioned off into themes such as Transforming Traditions, Sourcing Locally, or Branding Content–where the art moves from a display of the Wu-Wear gear by the Wu Tang Clan to Keith Harring’s 1985 print Free South Africa.

It quickly becomes obvious that it is through the creation of their works that these artists explore the questions of what and where African Art is as well as what it means to be an African Artist. By juxtaposing different styles of art and t artists from around the world, the exhibit shows us just how many answers there are to the question of where Africa is. For instance, about his artistic journey Heath Nash has this to say, “I was informed that [my art] didn’t look African or South African enough. This led me to try and figure out what a South African product is and how to represent my feelings for South Africa through design.” The result is a set of four hanging lamps, vibrantly colored and covered in flowers made from recycled detergent bottles. His lights are featured in the Sourcing Locally section which explores contemporary African Art and its grounding in “amalgamation and recycling,” and although it is supposed to be the prominent theme of the section, this kind of creation process can be seen in art from other sections as well.

The only downside to the Global Africa Project is that its size really does live up to the vast implications of its name. The exhibit sets out to tackle what it considers a large amount of “psychic and physical space.” Due to the amount of art there is to see, the exhibit can very quickly become overwhelming. Luckily there is always a different piece of artwork to rescue the viewer from his or her fatigue and recapture interest every time the whole threatens to overpower its parts. Occasionally, this part is played by pieces not placed in the center stage of the gallery.

On the fourth floor, after a slightly redundant parade of furniture falling under the theme Competing Globally, Fred Wilson’s two pieces are a breath of fresh air. My particular favorite, tucked away in a corner and not immediately noticeable, is titled Iago’s mirror. Produced in a glass studio on the island of Murano near Venice, the mirror is multi-layered, ornately done – referencing the 18^th century style of Venetian design – and completely black. About the piece Wilson says, “I am interested in all the western cultural meaning of the color black. Be it race or mourning, the complexity of the semantics reach back to Shakespeare’s time and are still relevant today.” Suddenly, with these pieces in the exhibit, our question of “where is Africa?” expands to include “when?” “African Art” can reference a fixed point in time, such as 18^th century Venice, or it can be transcendent in time as Shakespeare’s characters of Othello and Iago evoke modern day issues of race.

Around the corner, Sheila Bridges plays with the concept of time and history as well with her textile, glass and plate designs. Here she takes the French Toile de Jouy pastoral fabric from the 1700’s and creates Harlem Toile de Jouy in which the white gentry are replaced with Africans as a satire on the African American experience.

The third floor is perhaps the weakest aspect of the exhibit, where the problem of exhibit fatigue is highlighted . Though it has stand out pieces such as a large Aunt Jemima bottle made entirely of beads, it shares half of the gallery with another exhibit; therefore, the space does not have the feeling of completeness found on the fourth and fifth floors. In fact, it feels slightly superfluous - which is dangerous considering the exhibit’s tendency to overwhelm. Unfortunately, the exhibit brochure only emphasizes this problem as it instructs the visitor that the exhibit can be found on the 4^th and 5^th floors and neglects to mention the 3^rd floor. Because the exhibit has no clear ending or beginning and has an introductory panel on every floor, there is a risk that the third floor either becomes a not so spectacular end to what was a great exhibit or a slow beginning that doesn’t quite do justice to what is to follow.

And it is ironic that for the amount of material in the exhibit that it does just as Roberta Smith points out in her review of the show, leave out much of what is north of the Sahara. What she neglects to address is that by ignoring the countries which are largely influenced by the Muslim religion, in affect the exhibit explores more the concept of blackness as equating the concept of being African. Is not a Muslim woman in Egypt African too? Where I do agree with her is that the project should be ongoing, or recurring. Smith suggests that every four or five year the exhibit should be re-done to take a trans-media look at Africa. This would allow the chance to constantly reassess the change in what African Art and African influence on art and design is, and of course to work out the kinks and improve the exhibit.

In spite of these issues, the exhibit is a good one and definitely worth the time it takes to see it. With The Global Africa Project, the Museum of Arts and Design asks its viewers and participating artists a question which has no definitive answer and, as one explores the exhibit, only gets more complicated. Yet it seems to this viewer that this was their point: to remind us that, there is so much more in African Art, Horatio, than is dreamt of in your art history textbook.

The Global Africa Project, is on display at the Museum of Arts and Design in Columbus Circle until May 15, 2011. Lowery Stokes Sims, curator of the Museum of Arts and Design, and Leslie King Hammond of the Center for Race and Culture at the Maryland Institute College of Art are the Curators. The exhibit is sponsored by Robert Sterling Clark Foundation as a part of its International Cultural Engagement Initiative. For tickets and other information call the MAD at 212.299.777 or go online at www.madmuseum.org

Review: The Emperor’s Private Paradise: Treasures from the Forbidden City

Adorning the dimly-lit, vitrine-lined, gray-walled gallery spaces for Chinese Painting and Calligraphy at the Metropolitan Museum of Art are approximately ninety stunningly preserved objects from the garden sanctuary constructed by Emperor Qianlong (1711-1799) of China’s Qing Dynasty (1644-1911). The traveling exhibition, “The Emperor’s Private Paradise: Treasures from the Forbidden City,” organized by the Peabody Essex Museum (PEM) in Salem, Massachusetts in partnership with the Palace Museum in Beijing, presents museum-goers with a visual feast. The confining, rectilinear gallery spaces at the Met are figuratively bursting with impressive items inspired by materials found in nature, many objects which abruptly halt the viewer and inspire awe – in many cases, due to the sheer size of the items. Massive carved cabinetry, beautifully lacquered panels and jade inlaid screens, and gnarled rootwood furniture, in particular, an eye-catching throne with root-like tendrils that sprawl organically across the floor – as if the throne is alive – fill the interconnecting gallery spaces surrounding, quite fittingly, the Met’s own constructed indoor garden sanctuary, Astor Court.

The art objects on display at the Met once filled the Palace of Tranquility and Longevity in the northwest corner of the Forbidden City, a potential retirement home for Emperor Qianlong. Qianlong designed the interior of the sanctuary to reflect his adventurous and unconventional tastes – now sometimes compared to modern-day perceptions of Victoriana. The walls of Qianlong’s sanctuary were covered with trompe l’oeil paintings (or illusion paintings), European clocks and other Western novelties adorned the walls, and false doors and see-through partitions separated each room. These Western-influenced items were directly contrasted by more traditional items, such as miniature Buddhist shrines and elaborate mandalas, as well as naturalistic works inspired by Daoism.

Qianlong never retired to his garden sanctuary. In fact, despite dedicating time and effort to prepare his retirement quarters, he spent little time there. For many years after his death, the sanctuary remained empty, unused, and eventually fell into disrepair. The Chinese government did not have the funds – or the desire – to conserve Qing culture. The Forbidden City has since become a tourist destination, and the building exteriors have been maintained to uphold the outward appearance of historic preservation. The interior of the sanctuary, however, has been left untouched – providing a time capsule of past curiosities, if you will.

Rather than attempting to mimetically recreate the palace architecture with the items in situ, as the PEM had previously attempted, the Met uses its existing gallery vitrines and places objects in close proximity to one another in effort to pose tensions between the traditional and non-traditional, the man-made and the natural, the real and surreal. Such a decision honors the sanctity of the Forbidden City and creates an entirely new experience for the viewer, one that is starkly different in comparison to an excursion to the authentic site in Beijing. And, this is precisely the beauty of an exhibition such as this one. The display at the Met does not attempt to simulate the authentic place or genuine use of these objects, but rather the exhibition presents a new narrative – one of contradictions, contrasts, and visual play.

The New York Times art critic, Holland Cotter, explicates the possible intentions for developing a traveling exhibition with objects from Qinglong’s garden sanctuary in the Forbidden City in his raving art review (February 3, 2011), “A Man of Contradictions, With a Collection to Match.” According to Cotter, through the development and display of this fantastic, previously unseen collection, the organizers of the exhibition aim to bolster international partnerships, enhance conservation efforts, and increase tourism to mainland China. Visitors are enticed to witness the massiveness of Forbidden City and the restoration projects that are currently underway on site, such as the work on the Qianlong Garden Sanctuary, which will open to the public in 2019.

The conservation efforts have indeed been affected, and in many ways prompted, by the development and momentum of this exhibition. To provide an example, positioned in the center of one of the gallery enclaves is a case with conservation images and narratives explaining the painstaking efforts involved in preparing these objects for view. In some ways, this information detracts from the awe one feels while viewing these “authentic” objects – a nagging feeling prods the viewer suggesting that these objects have been tampered with. Yet, in other ways, the inclusion of these images provides the visitor with a greater appreciation for the work that is being conducted at the Palace Museum and garners support for the larger nationalist project. Cotter is correct in this regard. Like most museum exhibitions, the intentions for developing “The Emperor’s Private Paradise” are much more complex than simply appreciating the aesthetic value of these eighteenth century objects.

Throughout his review, Cotter expresses his appreciation of the visual illusions and posed contrasts present throughout the exhibition. Many of the murals in Qianlong’s garden sanctuary trick the eye and present three-dimensionality. The play between objects and illusion animate the gallery space. The Met has set one of the gallery enclaves aside for a large screen projection a digital tour of a Qianlong Garden building that was fully restored in 2008. Although Cotter values this addition to the exhibition, one must question the necessity of such an intrusion of twenty-first century technology, which detracts from the stimulating interplay between authentic objects and images, as well as trivializes the experience of traveling to the Forbidden City by creating unnecessary simulacra. One must question: are the authentic objects not enough in the modern-day world?

In addition to promoting tourism and conservation efforts, Cotter contends that the exhibition additionally provides China with “an agreeable self-image to sell.” Although he states the need for “an agreeable self-image,” the content of the exhibition is anything but agreeable, coherent, or comprehensive – in the best possible way. Cotter himself concurs that the exhibition’s strengths are in the surprising contrasts, opposites, and contradictions. He states “contradiction is also the animating dynamic of the art in the Met show created to adorn the various buildings – reception halls, studios, libraries, Buddhist shrines – in the Qianlong Garden.” And, later in his review, Cotter further argues that “this kind of interplay between opposites – the unnatural and the natural, the grotesque and the spiritual – powers the show.” Proposing, then, an agreeable self-image to sell to the world has not been accomplished by this exhibition; rather, this show has effectively nuanced Western perceptions of Chinese art and culture prompting further curiosity and wonder.

WHAT: “The Emperor’s Private Paradise: Treasures from the Forbidden City.”

WHEN: February 1 - May 1, 2011

WHERE: Metropolitan Museum of Art; (212) 535-7710, www.metmuseum.org

Cotter, Holland. “A Man of Contradictions, With a Collection to Match.” The New York Times 3 Feb. 2011.