Showing posts with label Modern Art. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Modern Art. Show all posts

Tuesday, June 16, 2015

What Does Liberation Look Like? Yanagi Miwa's Elevator Girls and Cross-Cultural Feminist Iconography

Among Japanese photographers today, one of the most well-known and controversial artists is Yanagi Miwa. Regarded as a feminist photographer, Yanagi’s work provokes questions around the status of women in Japan. Her work is recognized domestically and internationally, with her first photo series, Elevator Girls, receiving critical acclaim.

A crucial dynamic to note in the series’ international popularity is that of Orientalism and Western looking. The basic tenets of Orientalism define Eastern cultures broadly, in ways that are aligned with colonial power paradigms, placing the Eastern other in a position of cultural inferiority to the West. The art world is not divorced from Orientalist perspectives, just the opposite. The international art world is criticized for seeking out Japanese art that reinforces Western preconceived notions of Japanese aesthetic (leaving little room for modern Japanese artists to thrive). Miwa Yanagi’s global popularity, therefore, must also be considered critically, for it is very often that Asian artists find international accolades only through supporting Western expectations of Eastern art.

In her art and design thesis, Rachel Chamberlain notes that Elevator Girls is criticized by some for being self-orientalizing.[1] Here the concerns around Western looking are two-fold; first, there is the concern around Western art critics disproportionately valuing Asian artwork that criticizes an Asian society, artwork that reinforces the perceived cultural and sociopolitical inferiority of the Orient. This concern applies to readings of the Elevator Girls as a critique of gender roles in Japanese society. The second concern is around the iconography of Yanagi’s landscapes in Elevator Girls. She creates futuristic landscapes with bright lights and a strong sense of technological development. An example is one of Yanagi’s photographs in which elevator girls are in a glass display case under bright lights. 

 
Techno-orientalism fetishizes technological development in the East, continuing Western objectification of Eastern cultures. Iconography that resonates with bubbling, (often) subconscious techno-orientalist readings become more apparent in some critics referring to the elevator girls as appearing "robotic", looking more "cyborg" than human.

I will not belabor this point any further, but do wish to contextualize Yanagi’s work in an art world and global audience that remains entangled in Eastern othering. With so many interpreting Yanagi’s work as being laced with sociopolitical critique, we must observe these interpretations as not existing in a vacuum. Yanagi’s artistic aesthetic, and international audiences’ responses to her work, are never entirely divorced from the Western Gaze.

Feminist Iconography

Interrogating what creates images of female disempowerment or liberation is central to reading Elevator Girls. Western readings often find the photo subjects’ homogeneity as a negative illustration, one that proves they are unable to exercise agency through expressing themselves individually. This argument comes into conflict with the common idea in feminist theory, that narrow expectations and expressions of femininity are inherently oppressive. Conforming to societal standards of femininity is, often in the United States, viewed as a symptom of societal pressure that reduces control over self-representation. In this way we must recognize that if you subscribe to such views of femininity, you are predisposed to view Yanagi’s depiction of femininity as a critique of societal pressure. Whether we should regard subscription to narrow standards of femininity as devoid of agency is a complicated question. Although there is not time enough to explore this question deeper, we must recognize that in reading Yanagi’s images we quickly approach a fork in the road. One in which we are asked to read the elevator girls as exercising or being denied agency, in the context of conventional expressions of femininity.

If we broaden our understanding of female agency some of the feminist readings of Elevator Girls weakens. Another complication is the historical background on the elevator girl position in Japan, one of the first jobs that offered single University graduates the opportunity to support themselves. Although the elevator girl profession demanded that young women showcase their beauty and “guide” shoppers at different places in department stores, it also inadvertently exhibited young Japanese women supporting themselves in a developing Japanese economy. A job that demanded women subject themselves to, and profit from the gaze, became a visible mode by which young women gained socioeconomic independence (Chamberlain 2010).
 
And yet, even with this broader understanding of female agency, there are those images within Yanagi’s series that, I would argue, are palpably negative. The most obvious example of this being the image of four women on the ground, shot from the ceiling. The images show a progression of the elevator girls, wearing red, dissolving into a pool of blood. The elevator girls in Yanagi’s series are frequently captured lying on the ground, appearing lifeless.


Discerning those instances where we assume a woman has no agency, versus discovering it through visual cues, is challenging. While Yanagi’s series certainly finds its footing in some degree of sociopolitical critique, its most interesting offering may not speak to gender dynamics in Japan, so much as cross-cultural formations of feminist thought. Through looking at the Elevator Girls, viewers are encouraged to reflect on the parameters of feminist images and depictions of female liberation. The questions introduced in a bell hooks panel on representations of women may best summarize the questions Yanagi provokes:  “… who actually has ownership? Who is making the decisions and is it more powerful for us to make those decisions and put our body on display, or not? Was it more powerful for us to be shamed into thinking our bodies shouldn’t be displayed, or not? Are we free because we are displaying? Are we free because of who we are displaying for? What liberates us in the process” (New School panel 2014)?
 

[1] Definitions of self-orientalism are often coupled with rising concerns around techno-orientalism. “Those perceived cultural traits are turned into cultural assets, and merchandised as such. What the techno-orientalist deformative lens perceives as robotic, gregarious, and self-emasculated way of life is presented as a considerate, balanced and reliable behavior. Paradoxically, the culture, tourism and entertainment insures from Japan have been exporting products that undergo symbolic negotiation in Western markets and, all too often, become techno-orientalist avatars” (Lozano-Mendez 186, 2010).

Saturday, April 11, 2015

Inside PARASOPHIA

A film is screened through a microscope in the Kyoto Municipal Museum of Art
Anyone who knows me is likely familiar with one of my traveling flaws, my impatience for art museums. It was with this in mind I prepared my museum-going partners, Aaron and Sofia. I told them there was the chance I would charge ahead, be completely disconnected, or worthy of abandonment. Art--as museums make it--I find terribly inaccessible.

With this in mind, we descended on the PARASOPHIA exhibition in the Kyoto Municipal Museum of Art. I should state that it wasn’t our idea to go, it was an assigned excursion by our professor. After buying our ticket and taking off my coat I braced myself for a modern art marathon.

We stepped inside the first exhibit, a room called Café Little Boy. Placards on the left side of the room provided an artist statement.
Café Little Boy is a space for reflection, communication, and exchange. Its title is inspired by ‘Little Boy,’ or the codename for the atomic bomb that was dropped on the city of Hiroshima on August 6, 1945. Your participation is an integral part of the installation. You are invited to express yourselves on the painted surfaces of this room. Using the chalk and erasers that are provided for this purpose. Your interventions will follow one another and intermingle as time goes by, helping to give shape to the pluralist and collective spirit of this evolving work.”

“After the explosion of the atomic bomb on Hiroshima, there was nothing left of the elementary school in Fukoromachi apart from a wall with a large blackboard on which people left messages for loved ones.”


Inside Jean-Luc Vilmouth's Cafe Little Boy
The room was full of dreamy, pastel colors, words from people all over the world. Some parts almost looked smoky, others more like street art. The color palette highlighted a childish playfulness in the exhibit, a reminder of the roots from which the project came to being.

 
Going into the museum, I had all these ideas of my day at PARASOPHIA. Bursting with modern, abstract art, I imagined speed walking through the museum all raised eyebrows and folded arms. I’ve been to the Ufizzi in Florence, the d’Orsay in Paris. I consistently felt aware of my unfeeling. Seeing a Degas earnestly hanging on a white wall, the spectacle of artgoers clustering around the Mona Lisa, it was interesting and exciting. But it always was an experience removed from me. Walking into Café Little Boy, this melted away. I was being accessed. I could run my fingers against the walls, I could write things, take pictures of people and the words they leave behind. So I did.
 
Looking at what people wrote I found that so much of it wasn’t what I would expect. People wrote their names, drew pictures, there were many languages. Soon I found myself turning to my museum partners and saying the words I never expected to say in a museum. “You guys go ahead, I’ll catch up later.”
 
I stayed for what felt like a long time. I cried. I got chalk under my fingernails. I took pictures of a couple kind strangers.
 

Before leaving I did something weird. I rubbed my hands against the chalkier parts of the space. I rubbed chalk into my arms, my pants, my fingers, my shirt. I was purple and dazed when I came out. The museum workers didn’t look surprised.
 
 I would be lying if I said the other elements of the museum came close to evoking what Café Little Boy had. Even so, there were many elements of the PARASOPHIA exploding with creativity and color. There was a mixture of short films, sculpture, light and sound exhibits, paintings, and much more.


Arin Rungjang's Golden Teardrop
One room was back-lit hallway with a mirror at the end. I spent ten or fifteen minutes jumping around, taking photos. If you are ever looking for a photography challenge, try jumping around in a dark room, not able to look through the viewfinder, and hold the camera still while your body is in motion.



Leaving the museum, it felt like I finally understood what all the fuss was about. PARASOPHIA was like no other art exhibit I've ever seen.