Change is the Only Constant

With the recent destruction at Notre Dame cathedral, I’ve been thinking a lot about the notions of ephemera and impermanence in art. As a professor of Buddhist and Asian art history, I often talk about works that are either meant to be fleeting, such as the sand mandalas of Tibet, destroyed as a reminder of the impermanence of being, or, works that have been destroyed or no longer exist for various other reasons, including innumerable temples, paintings, and sculptures throughout Asia. And so, the idea of a work of art as grand as the Notre Dame cathedral succumbing to fire, while sad, seems in line with what so much art around the world appears destined to do: change, transform, disintegrate, etc. It is precisely because of our brief interactions with the art or architecture—think of all of the personal photographs posted on social media in the days following the fire—that we appreciate the moments we have with the work.

I mention this because the artworks now on display at the Walker Fine Art Gallery have a sense of impermanence to them. There is an immediacy to the work, a certain presence that ties these works together for this exhibition of Asian and Asian American artists. The title given to the exhibition—Finding Place—predicted the effortlessness with which these creations work together: the artworks truly find their places as they engage in conversations with the works surrounding them. One can only imagine the further dialogues these artworks will have once they continue their journeys, possibly traveling to other exhibitions or new places where they will engage with different surroundings and other objects. But this will be the only moment to see these canvases, sculptures, and photographs together, and the exhibition itself is a work of ephemeral art.

Kazu Oba’s sculptures are created in mahogany, maple, aluminum, or bronze; they are all part of his Utsuwa series. As an utsuwa (a vessel or container in Japanese), his sculptures end up “containing” the works surrounding them. The circular form of the wood appears like a brushstroke in midair; it is as though Oba has placed a somewhat modified enso—the circular mark of enlightenment—right in the middle of the gallery. The dramatic sculpture frames the molded paper works by Sammy Lee, or perhaps the plant in the front of the gallery, if one is standing in the right place. And by moving around it, new experiences are framed for the viewer, each one marking a moment, nothing more. When one moves to walk behind the sculpture, or when the light in the gallery changes, Oba’s work changes. That experience cannot be replicated.

Sammy Lee’s mulberry paper works appear so fragile, and so tempting to touch. More than one person expressed a desire to run their fingers over the work, to feel the texture of the paper that looks wet and pliable, though logic tells us it mustn’t be wet to hang on the wall in such a manner. It is again deceiving: the viewer feels they have this moment, this place to view the work before the paper changes. And Lee’s process likewise is an exercise in constant change: “I nearly destroy papers—I soak, beat, crumple, throw and wring sheets, then felt them into a new substrate in order to create an object from personal memories.” For her Water and Wind series, Lee expressed her desire to capture a moment: it is as though the artist was able to stand above a lake and create molds of the lilies as she looked from above. And thus her memories, once on the wall, transfer to our memories in the moment. The paper looks like it could keep shifting form as it accompanies the nearby canvases a few feet away: a gentle breeze might blow the iron powder off the canvases directly onto Lee’s (seemingly) wet paper.

The canvases are the works of artist JongKu Kim. They also appear delicate, especially White Sun and Over the Landscape; surely if one were to blow on the canvas the iron powder would drift away. And yet, the fact that these “paintings” are created with iron, certainly not an ephemeral material, makes this juxtaposition all the more appealing. I’m reminded of an Etch-A-Sketch, that (ironically) long-standing toy that demands art be created and then removed repeatedly…perhaps the best toy-as-metaphor for Buddhism. Kim described the impetus for these iron shaving paintings as having been a recovery process after one of his sculptures was stolen. The artist, returning to his studio, literally “picked up the pieces” (the iron remnants from the sculpture) and turned them into art. As he states on his website link to ExSculptor, “Perhaps the only things we can be sure of is the change in this work.” After viewing Kim and Lee’s works together, I learned from the artists that JongKu Kim has been a mentor to Sammy Lee for decades, beginning with Lee’s time as an art student in Korea. Their paths crossed multiple times along the way, and now, their artworks have that same opportunity.

Joo Yeon Woo’s work speaks directly to the “fluidity of identity” in a literal way; her photographs include moments in time captured in a photograph and then submerged in a glass of water—the same glass Woo uses throughout her journeys (the series is aptly titled Traveler’s Cup and is ongoing). Woo describes feeling a sense of place and placeless-ness; this in-between feeling is evident in her “portraits” of place where the viewer is not quite sure which image is “real” and which is a reflection, or a transposed image; the result is a dreamlike quality to the photographs. They remind us of our own memories of travel, memories which are often more dreamlike than reality-based. We also wonder if we have been to these places. Woo does not give us the place photographed in the title, and so we are left to wonder, have I been here? What are my memories of this place? Woo’s artist statement makes clear that these uncertainties are part of her process: “These portraits of place embody her desire to come to terms with her origins and to create an artistic archive of displacement, attendant sense of instability, and sense of alienation.” The perfect accompaniment to these images, then, and located on the adjacent wall, are prints appropriately about transition and “the fluidity and ambiguity of memory,” as artist Chinn Wang writes in her artist statement.

Chinn Wang’s prints and her print process are about transitions and mortality. Wang “seeks to create a non-passive viewing experience that compels a constant questioning of material, space, and image.” The vivid colors of each print are dramatically highlighted in this hanging; although the prints, titled S.A.D. 1-9, have been displayed before as a three by three square, the gallery here showcases six of the nine works horizontally on one wall, and three prints directly across from the Travelers Series. In this arrangement, the prints seem even more engaged with the adjacent Woo photographs. The colors between the three walls work in conversation, though again, the visitor realizes this is a temporary dialogue. Wang’s statement references a desire to manipulate imagery “beyond legibility into abstraction and then back again.” Like Woo’s series, Wang asks the viewer to consider the balance between what is real and what is imagined.

Cory Feder’s work completes the exhibition. Her works on paper and limited-edition comic book incorporate the same line quality as the images in her video animation playing nearby. In the animated work, titled Heavy Blanket, the lines composing each scene waver; it is as though we are seeing Feder’s memories, but the delicate and shaky manner in which we see them remind us of the fleeting nature of these memories. After describing a story about a stone that was given to her by a friend who then passed away, Feder asks “I wonder if I should keep rocks from ephemeral friendships.” And with that, I conclude this meditation on ephemerality with a pertinent poem from Feder’s artist statement:

Sometimes I want to untie the entire universe.

Untangle every knot of my morning ritual and nighttime routine

Inspect every colored thread of my friends, loved ones, teachers

Cut open every seam that seals my identity into a pretty shape

To undo it all and piece it back together with every particle of magic that settled like dust in the fabric

No more settled dust.