Ost trifft West / 中西合璧 / East Meets West

Pictograms are the most efficient modes of visual communication. They distill the essentials of the message that needs to be conveyed and arrange them on a 2D surface in a direct way. Since it doesn’t waste any time in getting to the message, pictograms are usually used for signs or warning symbols, to communicate to people in situations when not a lot of time can be used to interpret messages. Some artists have used pictograms to re-imagine familiar images, like the movie posters below:

the road

inception

psycho

jaws

In a new book, Chinese-German artist Yang Liu uses pictograms to express the two parts of her identity. Liu was born and raised in China until 14, when her family moved to Germany. She has a unique sense of cultural duality that allows her to feel neither Chinese nor German; she “feels [herself] as more of a person, who belongs to all the places [she’s] been to.” It’s interesting how she approaches her cultural background as something that helps her to view herself more as a citizen of the world rather than only a part of a specific culture. Growing up in two cultures allowed her to examine her place within a society in a larger context, which is a fresh way to look at it because it’s such a mature point of view.

And her approach is definitely reflected in her pictograms, so effective in their simplicity: some of them definitely have a wry code of humor embedded in them, and all of them observe the world from a person standing at the boundary of the two cultures, one who is able to move from one to the other effortlessly. Liu’s work and her approach to cultural identity really inspired how I want to look at the world someday, as a person fluent in many cultural dialects of the world.

eastwest_sound
-Noise levels in a restaurant, West vs. East

eastwest_line
-How people line up, West vs. East

eastwest_germanchinese
-How people view each other

eastwest_problem
-Problem-solving methods, West vs. East

eastwest_ego
-Size of ego, West vs. East

More articles:
East Meets West: An Infographic Portrait

Interview with Yang Liu

Buy the book here!

Art in Non-Art Settings

As I sat waiting to begin a study for one of my courses, I began to look all around me. I had never been in this area of the building before, and I was taken aback by how full of art the walls were. It wasn’t a building dedicated to any artistic profession, but it captured this aura of serenity and culture through its snapshot images placed vertically along the wall. I’ve always been fascinated by how businesses choose to decorate their offices, eating areas, and hallways. Is the art supposed to match the theme of the business? Who chooses what art should go up? Will the artist get their deserved recognition if their pieces are well-received by the customers?

Wynwood Kitchen and Bar

Sometimes what makes a cafe or a restaurant so yummy is the atmosphere that is created by the decor. While we wait for our food, we are drawn to the setting around us, and it becomes our entertainment during our time of hunger. I find it very beneficial for an artist to display their work within restaurant settings because for many people, the desire to eat out is not solely based on the food, but also on the intrigue that the setting brings. An artist’s piece may be so eye-catching and original, like the Wynwood Kitchen and Bar backdrop above, that many people may inquire about who did this piece, and how they can contact them for more work.

 

New York College of Health Professions

I often see art within an educational or professional setting, and to be honest, I’m usually not impressed. I’m not sure if it is the fact that I’m in a dentist’s office or waiting to take an exam, but I rarely connect with the pieces because my thoughts are elsewhere. Some educational institutions may realize this and opt for the still life of a bowl of fruit or flowers, opposed to something more stimulating.

Chicago Dental and Dentist Services

With this in mind, I wonder what the relationship with art that colleges and businesses truly have. Is it for the love of the field or is it more about filling space with simplistic pieces?

Save Money’s #2 Voice

Vic Mensa is no Chance The Rapper, despite what many of their lyrics may tell us. The pair grew up in the same circle of friends and created the Chicago MC group “SaveMoney” together, but Vic (born Victor Mensah) is not at the same lyrical or aesthetic levels as Chance. Like his counterpart, he cultivated his artistic talent at Chicago’s YouMedia program that offers open mic’s and other instruction in the arts. There, and through the emerging young Hip Hop scene, Vic helped start the briefly famous seven-member group Kids These Days that bleneded rock, hip hop, jazz and soul into their own distinctive sound. The group incorporated other incredibly talented artists like Nico Segal, a trumpet player who recently toured with Frank Ocean, and Macie Stewart who has one of the loveliest female voices around today. After the band produced its first major work “Traphouse Rock” they disbanded to allow the blossoming of individual careers. Shortly before the official end of the band, Vic had already begun working on his biggest project to date, Innanetape.

The mixtape, which has been downloaded over 40,000 times from the site datpiff, is a top-heavy collection of tracks with decent samples, moderately good features and creative melodies. It lacks consistency, lyrical depth and polish. To put it in perspective, Chance’s Acid Rap came out over six months ago and I still jam to any track that appears on my music shuffle. Innanetape dropped only one month ago and I have already had my fill. The truly outstanding songs: “Orange Soda,” “Lovely Day,” “Tweakin’” and “Holy Holy” only sustained my attention for a few weeks before they became stale; I don’t feel the burning desire to hear every musical note and distinguish every hidden word like I do when listening to Chance. Vic Mensa is a gifted MC, but he has yet to find an aspect of his music that will separate him from the very competitive pool of rising artists.

He shows a tremendous amount of promise in the first handful of tracks. When my friend started playing the song “Orange Soda” in the car before the entire Innanetape project came out, I was convinced he was playing an old N.E.R.D. song I had never heard. It mimics the exact same soulful, drum-heavy, call and response and melodically complex sound that Pharrell’s group perfected a few years ago. On an aesthetic level, this is where Vic reaches his maximum potential, and where he can really soar in the future. The same is true for “Lovely Day” and “Tweakin’,” tracks that offer solid lyricism, quick rapping and a unique sound. However, only one song really stands out as a tremendous, album-worthy track. The only song of the mixtape’s second half I enjoy, “Holy Holy” featuring Ab-Soul and BJ The Chicago Kid is stylistic, intricately introspective and astutely socially conscience. BJ The Chicago Kid supplies wonderful harmonies over a soft drum/shaker beat, and Vic finds his true gift for flowing between rap and song. This track is powerful, and is the only one on Innanetape that I would listen to lying on my bed, eyes closed, attempting to really connect with the piece of art. The other tracks are too insubstantial to listen to more than a dozen times without getting bored.

To be clear, Innanetape is in no way a bad mixtape, but Vic Mensa clearly has a lot of work to do before he can climb the ranks as quickly as his friend Chance. The partnership between the two is undoubtedly a wonderful advantage for the MC; the two collaborate on almost every individual project they have, and continually make references to their sibling-like competitiveness, oftentimes alluding to their equal levels of talent. Respectfully, I utterly disagree with this evaluation (Chance is just too many strides ahead of Vic) but respect the support and companionship the two display. Neither has signed to a major label yet, and they seem perfectly content to remain SaveMoney artists for the immediate future– a decision that I for one consider this a very fortunate thing indeed.

Orange Soda

Essential Viewing

We learn about slavery in America from the time we are in elementary school, starting with almost cheerful overcoming-adversity adventure stories about the underground railroad, and progressing to the story of the transatlantic slave trade. After an overview of the slave trade, we generally leave off on slavery, focusing on manifest destiny until the Civil War and Reconstruction. If you’re lucky, you might encounter a high school AP US history teacher who emphasizes much more than names, dates and geographical locations, but generally history courses try so hard to get facts across that they deprive those facts of any real substance. So although we know that slavery was ‘evil,’ it’s almost difficult to be viscerally shocked or horrified by it when we’ve known about it since we were little kids. 12 Years a Slave breathes life, and horror, back into slavery.

12 Years a Slave, directed by Steve McQueen, tells the true story of Solomon Northup, a free born African American who lived with his family and worked as a concert violinist in Saratoga Springs, New York. In 1841, lured by an offer of employment, Northup was tricked, kidnapped and sold into slavery in New Orleans. The rest of the movie tells the story of his suffering under slavery with real historical nuance, brutal intimacy, and stunning cinematography. McQueen’s film probes certain realities of southern slavery that I’ve never seen come to life on a screen before.
In the midst of Northup’s suffering, the director includes several interesting and important pieces of history. In contrast to the mythic southern luxury shown in ‘Gone with the Wind,’ the film illustrated the great variability in economic fortune of the slaveholders, many of whom struggled to turn a profit – owners and overseers consider mortgages and debts, and when a plantation is blighted by cotton worms, Northup is leased to a different owner. The film also explores the unpredictability of slave owners. Northup’s first owner is the benevolent Master Ford (Benedict Cumberbatch), who expresses sympathy with the mother who is sold away from her children, takes Northup’s engineering ability seriously, and gifts him a violin for a job well done. However, as his fellow slave, (Adepero Oduye, the sobbing, bereft mother from the auction) points out, Ford is still a slave owner, and despite his appearance of kindliness he is still depriving them of their freedom and exploiting their labor. Indeed, when Ford presents Northup with the violin he mentions that he hopes the music will bring both of them happiness ‘over the years.’ Northup is caught off guard by the benevolence, but you can see him absorb the painful implication of life enslavement in the casual remark, even as he caresses the instrument.
Another fact of slavery that the film explores, in heartbreaking detail, is the institutionalized sexual exploitation and abuse of enslaved black women. When Northup assaults an overseer he is sold to a harsher master and known ‘slave-breaker’ named Edwin Epps, who is played as a cruel, crazed alcoholic, by a Southern-accented Michael Fassbender. As Northup suffers under the unpredictable rule of Epps and the whims of his icy wife, he witnesses Epps’s growing sexual fascination with a slave girl named Patsey (Lupita Nyong’o). Patsey’s case exemplifies that of many slave women –she suffers sexual assault and rape from Epps and physical assault and hatred from Epps’s wife, without recourse, gradually beginning to despair under a regime of abuse that promises to last for the rest of her life. McQueen uses Northup’s story to show how slavery cruelly interrupted a rich life, but Patsey and the other slaves show us a different, more common tragedy – the tragedy of human beings who were born into, and will die in slavery, with no hope of realizing their potential.
McQueen lingers both on the Southern scenery and on the character’s faces – the sun sets on the bayou, trees move in the breeze, Patsey makes dolls from corn husks while a whip cracks in the background, Northup stares into the camera, hopeful and hopeless, for long minutes. Ejiofor brings an incredible dignity to the role, and the performances of the rest of the ensemble are magnified in his often wordless reactions. The strange humans that surround Northup are intelligent, stupid, primitive, cruel, kind, righteous, moral, morally bankrupt – Ejiofor’s performance helps us to keep reacting, to understand that the pain caused by the institution of slavery was real and terrible, undiluted by historical distance from the present..

12 Years a Slave is, as a sum of its parts, one of the most engaging, important, and accurate depictions of American slavery that has ever hit the big screen. But why is it being described as ‘essential viewing?’ Why can’t the past be the past? And why should ordinary Americans, looking for entertainment, spend their money and time watching Solomon Northup’s suffering? Why, to be blunt, is legacy of American slavery so special?

Many people have tried to make the case that it isn’t. Epps points out righteously, slavery is in the bible – “that’s scripture,” he says, after quoting a biblical passage about whipping slaves. We know that slavery existed the world over, including in ancient Rome, in the Slavonic tribes, within African empires, and in Russia in the form of serfdom. But American slavery was different than these other forms of slavery; it was definitively worse, and it was worse largely because it was the first race-based form of slavery in the world. Throughout human history, humans have enslaved other humans due to conquest, debt, or war, but never based solely on physical difference. Race-based slavery is perceived (consciously or unconsciously) as a tragic, but inevitable extension of some kind of human predisposition towards racial hatred, when in reality it was a system intentionally created out of the economic need of a labor shortage. In addition to its created basis in race, American slavery was also distinct from other forms of slavery in that there was no way to work out of slavery, pay debts through labor and become free again. Other American innovations to the institution included inheritability (that a slave’s children would also be slaves for the rest of their lives), the tragic separation of the families (a distinguishing factor from serfdom), and the complete lack of rights – most importantly, the lack of a right to be free from physical violence. With these distinguishing features came the brutality and horror caused by the unlimited power of one human over another.
In Jon Stewart’s recent Daily Show interview with Chiwatel Ejiofor, he meditated on the fact that both Ejiofor and McQueen are Brits – maybe, he mused, it’s too hard, too emotionally wrenching, for Americans to explore our own past. But if we’re ever going the legacy of slavery, and the enduring racial inequality in our country, we need to explore it. 12 Years a Slave is essential viewing, in every sense of the phrase.

Visiting Museums in Times of Trouble

Growing up, I had always wanted to be one of those classy people who loved going to museums – someone who would look at a painting and say: “Oh my God, Monet is just speaking to me through these haystacks. They clearly represent the individual’s struggle against the socially constructed ordinary.” The reality though, was that my attention span was nowhere near great enough to appreciate looking at a static image on a wall for any extended period of time.

One summer, I worked as a camp counselor in Maine. I was born in a city just forty minutes away, and I hadn’t returned to the area since my family moved to Michigan when I was five; so, needless to say, I had grand expectations of being “at home” again and all of the Dorothy-Gale-complex-driven feeling-like-I-belonged-somewhere idealizations that came with that. To my shock, it was one of the worst experiences of my life for many reasons, a primary one being that it was so annoyingly, frustratingly, and sometimes horrifyingly loud. Children were screaming and chanting at the tops of their lungs wherever I went, which created a sense of falseness and confinement in the state I had always elevated as being the land of freedom and peace in my mind.

On a day off, I visited Old Port, a touristy (yet beautiful and culturally-diverse) area of Portland, ME. I recalled that my mother had recommended I go to the Portland Museum of Art while I was there; so partly in interest, but mostly to appease her, I went. And, as you can probably guess, it was one of those instances where mother knew best.

As I made my way through the building, I was surprised to find that I wasn’t having my usual, cynical, “Who the hell thinks stacked sardine cans constitute art?” thoughts. Instead, I felt my pulse lowering to tranquil levels again. The incredible sound of silence resonated in my ears, traveling through my brain and relieving my mind of anxiety.

That day, I finally understood the appeal of museums (or at least, how they appealed to me). I was alone most of the time and the people who occasionally passed by would speak in whispers as if there was some greater force among us which warranted respect. I was just there, and I was me, but that didn’t really matter, and it was blissfully quiet. The preserved characters in portraits and sculptures never ridiculed like the teenage girls I tried to teach every day. They didn’t follow young women alone into cabins at night and take pleasure in terrifying them like my supervisor did with me. They stared, and calmed, and aided in the process of remembrance. Portland was the Maine that had been beckoning in my dreams for fourteen years and I felt a connection to that museum. Its uprooted collections of painted and sculpted people were more real than the fake bullshit that was that camp. It was a vital and awakening experience. Now, I’m certainly not saying that I envisioned old-white-man God, sitting, perched upon a cloud above that city, looking down and twirling a beard as he magically induced a revelation within me, but this moment was the closest I had ever come to feeling completely enlightened, spiritually-aware, and secure in the world. I was at home there.

Art Awakening

Last winter, as I walked back to the train station in Chicago to head home after a long day, I had a little bit of time to kill. Almost all of the shops had shut down for the night, all except for one brightly lit gallery. There walls were covered with a variety of striking modern sculpture-style pieces, but as I made my way across the room my eyes fell on a huge classically painted oil painting of a young nude woman by the water. I honestly can’t conjure up the exact scene, but I will never forget that moment in time because that was my first art awakening. I was so excited, the art bug had finally bit me and I felt something I had never felt before, almost like I was finally a member of a secret club. The artist sort of chuckled at my gushing over the painting, telling me that it was just a copy of another artist’s work. He also told me that paintings like these were quickly going out of style and would be going for very cheap by the next year; what people wanted were the abstract compilations on the walls. Not me. I wanted that painting. I couldn’t remember the name he told me, but for several weeks after that night I scoured the internet to see if I could somehow crack the code of Google Images and unlock once more the treasure trove that this painting had revealed to me. No such luck. But my awakening that night has inspired me to soak in as much of the art around me as I possibly can.

After that day, I didn’t really feel that sort of connection to a painting again until this semester. Sitting in my art history class, my teacher began to talk about La Grande Odalisque by French painter Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres in 1814.

La Grande Odalisque, Ingres 1814
La Grande Odalisque, Ingres 1814

We learned that Ingres and many of his contemporaries began to explore a new way of painting, abandoning linear accuracy for compositional beauty. This means that he sought to make the most aesthetically pleasing representation of a body in space and sometimes abandoning the realistic proportions of the body. He sought to attain a higher form of purity than the traditional anatomical accuracy of the Greeks and early neoclassical artists. Well, he gets an A+ in my eyes because I could study the intricacies of this painting for hours. There’s something so lush and exotic about the entire piece that pulls me in and almost makes me forget entirely about the fact that there’s no way her back could really be that long. The rich blues and golds of the tapestry create in me such a feeling of extravagance and luxury; despite the fact that the model is undeniably European, her elegant cohesion as a figure in the space of the frame makes her an integral part of this scene of exotic leisure.

Just to put Ingres into context, his painting Napoleon I on his Imperial Throne of 1806 also exemplifies this sense of compositional harmony and lush texture. Napoleon’s right arm is noticeably longer than normal, but it works as a part of the piece as a whole. His robes are also extremely detailed, it is almost as if you could reach out and feel how soft that white fur is around his neck.

Napoleon I on his Imperial Throne, Ingres 1806
Napoleon I on his Imperial Throne, Ingres 1806

Words are often inadequate to convey art’s ability wake you up out of the dull monotony of daily life, especially in these times of mass media when little to nothing has the power to shock. But through my two awakenings, I’ve come to find that a piece of art possesses the unmatchable power to unlock the treasure trove of meaning that already lies within the viewer.