Miwa Yanagi, "Yuka," 2000- Yanagi's photograph of Yuka is part of a series called My Grandmothers for which the artist asked young Japanese women to describe how they imagined their ideal old age. Each work includes both the text of the fantasy as well as a photograph representing it. Here is the text that accompanies the photo in the subject's own words:
"I used to think that as I got on in years, it would be right nice to spend my remainin' days relaxin' at some hot-spring resort without a care in the world. Sure enough, as soon as I turned seventy, I up and moved to Yufuin [a famous hot-springs resort in Kyushu, known for its remarkably beautiful scenery situated around a natural basin] where I proceeded to spend several years in exactly the kind of comfort that I was looking for.
"However, smack in the middle of that daily routine of soakin' in all that beautiful scenery, I started to think that it might be nice to leave that tiny world behind, and soon enough, I decided that I wanted to go somewhere far, far away. And so, after collectin' my wits--and without so much as a word to my relatives--I went and got on a plane bound for L.A. Lookin' back I guess you could say that I died there in Yufuin. As a result, well, I guess I came back here--back here to the 'here and now.' Anyway right in the midst of all that darn' monotony of my idlin' away the days all by my lonesome there on that trip, I met my current boyfriend (a bit of a 'playboy,' if you know what I mean!), and before I knew it I was whisked away on an unbelievable romance replete with a cross-country search for 'black gold.' And, as you can probably imagine, although I've turned down his repeated offers of marriage, that little devil just won't give up! As for the kids and grandkids back in Japan, well, I just don't see them anymore. I bet my own grandchildren wouldn't even recognize me--or me, them, for that matter. But, not too awful long ago, I told one of my grandkids over the phone that I've been zapped off into some other universe--I guess they call it 'transmigration' in those know-it-all books--and with that, she started to cry and told me that I've already kicked the bucket!
"Oh--my tooth? Well, let me just say that it's a little 'reminder' of my big payoff in Vegas last year! Anyhow, he's always makin' me laugh with his non-stop jokes. Accordin' to him, my big ol' laugh-attacks bring about a good luck smile worthy of a goddess herself!"
The curator of this exhibit, Lawrence Rinder, in his essay "The American Effect," says of Yuka, "In this image we see a mature woman, teeth gleaming and hair flying as she rides ecstatically in the sidecar of a motorcycle driven by a handsome young man across the Golden Gate Bridge. Here, the fantasy of American exuberance and unlimited opportunity is expressed with unabashed idealism."
For Yuka, senior citizenship holds the promise of a high-spirited American adventure on the open road, not totally independent, but with a hunk by her side. In this image America is identified with the expectation of sexual freedom, easy money, and eternal youth.
The photograph was created in a way that parallels Yuka's vision; she did not, in fact, come to California for the shoot but had it taken in a Tokyo studio with an ordinary high-powered fan blowing her dyed red hair. Her picture with aging make-up was then digitally set onto a found image of the Golden Gate Bridge. The backdrop is intentinoally left looking constructed, a myth, just out of reach, like her dream.
In an interview Yanagi is asked why she created grandmothers. She answered, "I really respect elderly women or men in their 80s or 90s who care for others, and have opinions about the society and beyond until they die." She says for this series that she rejected applications from those who wished for a future consisting of family-based settings.
Giles Barbier, "Nursing Home," 2002- In this tableau of hyper-realistic, life-size wax sculptures of America's comic-book superheroes, Captain America, Wonder Woman, Superman, the Incredible Hulk, Catwoman, and Mr. Fantastic (the old Marvel Comics hero) are depicted in a nursing home as they might look had they aged normally following their comic-book debuts. The pot-bellied Man of Steel sports shocking white hair, wears thick spectacles, and drags his slippered feet while holding onto a walker to move. Captain America lies nearly comatose on a gurney with his arteries hooked up to an IV, checked by an emaciated, varicose-veined, somber Wonder Woman. The flabby Incredible Hulk, green hair combed over, dozes in his wheelchair, while a napping Catwoman sits next to him with one fluffy slipper fallen off. Completing this jarring and hilarious old-age-home scene, Mr. Elastic stares listlessly. He is sprawled dejectedly across a table, his once-elastic limbs are permanently extended.
What is this French satirist telling his viewers by presenting these once heroic American icons, now elderly and decrepit? Why do we laugh? Will America's superhuman powers also succumb to the inevitable aging process? Could we the people be mortal too?
These superheroes of youth-oriented popular culture are here no longer powerful. They too are mortal. Barbier has the Platters "Twilight Time" playing in the background. Perhaps these comic-book characters, who did good and protected us from evil, are simply to be understood as a problematic commentary on America's leadership role today.
Alfredo Esquillo, Jr., "Ma McKinley," 2001- This oil "portrait" first appears to be a nineteenth-century American matron holding on her knee an innocent looking Philippino baby wearing a dress patterned with white-on-white faint stars and stripes. A closer inspection reveals that the face peeking through the mother's bonnet is actually that of U. S. President William McKinley, who annexed the Philippines in a bloody war lasting from 1899-1901. McKinley looks menacing. The hands holding the baby end in an eagle's talons; a gun barrel peeks out of his dress sleeve; and a tiny, bejeweled cross hangs from the child's ear. It makes a political point--how American imperialism betrayed the Philippino people. McKinley issued a "Proclamation on Benevolent Assimilation," declared his intentioin to "educate the Philippinos, and uplift and civilize and Christianize them." (The paternalistic mother [sic] in the painting has been identified as an American Christian Teacher.) What was expected to be a quick, relatively bloodless pacification of a backward people escalated into a prolonged war. Philippinos employed the tactics of guerilla warfare that confounded the American forces. The U. S. victory required 70,000 troops; over 5,000 were killed; and more than 8,000 Philippinos died in the conflict. Despite the vocal objections of those who deplored such imperalistic enterprises as counter to the tenets of American democracy, President McKinley ended up siding with those who felt that the Philippines were too strategically important to the United States to be governed by the Philippino people.
("Ma McKinley" is one of three in a series on the history of colonialism in the Philippines and the current topic of globalization.[?] "Carabao Goes global" stages a scene where the water-buffalo's horns turn into the McDonald's logo. This apparently pastoral scene was turned into an image of globalization by the bar codes woven into the painting.
Here the perspective is of Americans as "corrupting capitalists, warring militaritsts and marauding imperialists." (Columbia Spectator Online)
Esquillo was influenced by the "magic realist" movement, specifically by Andrew Wyeth during his early years of art training. (Asia Pacific V, 22.) [Was Wyeth a "magic realist"?]
Saira Wasim, "History till 11 September," from the series Bush, 2002.- This Moghul miniature, according to Wasim, reinterprets Raphael's School of Athens. Here Socrates, with Alcibiades (a military leader) at his side, welcomes President Bush, who is draped in the American flag, while other Greek philosophers--Pythagoras, Anaximander, and Epicurus--write in giant books. In Raphael's painting, they are writing works of philosophy; here, according to the artist, they are designing weapon systems. In this mixture of historical and contemporary figures, Preisdent Musharraf, saluting and wearing a mask, "an ally in the war against terrorism," stands behind President Bush who holds a gun. (Wasim)
Mughal miniatures were a blend of Indian, Persian, and Islamic styles that flourished in India during the reign of the Mughal emperors from the 16th to the 18th centuries. Traditional subjects were battles, court scenes, receptions, and legendary stories realistically painted using a fine brush with a water-based paint, a gouache, on paper coated with a plaster-like substance. Saira Wasim learned her art in Lahore, Pakistan, where she was born, at the National College of Arts, the only school in the world where authentic miniature painting is taught. According to curator Virginia Whiles, Wasim's work "combines the traditional medium with modernist techniques in ways which appear to reject any totalizing synthesis. The paintings demonstrate how convergences between a "traditional" cultural heritage and postmodern transcultural appropriation, can go beyond the trap of the copy to reclaim the original function of the miniatures: as chronicles of contemporary social issues"
"Instead of making alterations in the western images to cater to local demands,the painter juxtaposes the contradictory imagery on a single surface and seeks to link these on a conceptual level. . . . In some of Saira's paintings, the photographic imagery is reproduced in detail. Figures are painted in western style but in miniature size and inside a rectangular frame within the miniature. . . . Along with these portraits and figure compositions, Saira tries to comment on the social and political situation in a comical manner." (While)
"In my political paintings," says Wasim, "I mostly paint ironical political paintings. Inspiration is taken from court scenes of Mughal miniature paintings and from drama, theatre or circus, where the idea is to entertain. So in my compositions, I depict political figures, emperors, and celebrities with a background of cupids, animal portraits. And there is always satire and humour with royal majesty and grandeur which reveal that our government is a mere entertainment and fun making for us." (Wasim)
Saira Wasim, "Friendship After 11 September," from the series Bush, 2002. - The paintings in this series focus on contemporary global politics and specifically on the relationship of Pakistan to America as embodied in the figures of President Musharraf and President George W. bush. On the Op-Ed page of the New York Times, she writes with sincerity about the greatness of this relationship, that Pakistan now has this wonderful friend that happens to be the world's superpower, and that the partnership is an example of the spirit of friendship, the kind needed to defeat terrorism. The painting, despite the artist's intention, communicates to the viewer, at the very least, ambivalence. In "Friendship 1" Bush and Musharraf embrace under a baroque pergola. Pakistiani and American flags are held on either side, and below them parade American and Pakistani characters and icons. Mullahs, generals, many characters with masked identities prance on a ground made of kitsch cut-out stars. Just below the embracing presidents is the Statue of Liberty holding up the Pakistani crescent moon and the star. A red theater curtain is drawn behind the actors. It seems to be a wedding celebration, but more light entertainment than a serious union.
Hisahi Tenmyouya, "Tattoo Man's Battle," 1996 sketch for Legendary Warriors, 2000-2002- Tenmyouya here evokes a traditional art form--the mush-e or "warrior picture" prints of nineteenth-century Japan--to do battle. "A self-taught artist with an early career as a graffiti tagger, Tenmyouya mixes contemporary and traditional designs and motifs" (Rinder) In almost cartoon-like images, "Tattoo Man's Battle" depicts a giant monster, the United states, shooting fire simultaneously from several toothed mouths at a small warrior (David and Goliath?) on a white steed carrying a luminescent sword. (Another print in this series, "Bush vs. Bin Laden" shows Bush tearing Bin Laden apart as the World Trade Center in an eye-for-an-eye morality.) In both, nonetheless, America appears as the aggressor; here Japan looks like a shining knight on a white horse fighting evil. Once more the image of America as a militaristic superpower is pictured as might without right.
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