REVIEW: Strange You Never Knew

Content Notice: This review contains brief discussion of a historical anti-Asian American hate crime as it relates to this exhibition. 

Strange You Never Knew at the University of Michigan Museum of Art is the first solo exhibition by Chinese American photographer Jarod Lew. In it, he explores the complex realities of the Asian American diaspora in the Midwest, from his personal and family history to larger questions of cultural identity.

The show includes four distinct but intertwined bodies of work. “Please Take Off Your Shoes” and “In Between You And Your Shadow” are collections of Lew’s photography, while “Mimicry” and “The New Challengers Strike Back” incorporate mixed media and appropriation.

In “Please Take Off Your Shoes,” Lew photographs Asian Americans (from family members to strangers he reached out to on social media) in their homes. Lew’s framing and staging draws attention to the relationship between his subjects and the objects that surround them in their homes. During his artist talk for the exhibition’s opening, Lew described how during his photoshoots for this collection, he and his subjects would go from feeling like the “most Asian thing in the room” in one space, to the “least Asian thing in the room” in another. Some of the participants in his project sit in rooms full of traditional Chinese furniture and art, others surrounded by American kitsch—many in a mix of both.

Jarod Lew, “The Most American Thing (Tina),” 2021, From “Please Take Off Your Shoes.” Image courtesy of the artist.

This juxtaposition of Chinese and American decor is recreated elsewhere in the immersive presentation of “Mimicry.” Tucked away in the center of the gallery is a replica of a living room, with an old-fashioned couch and glass-topped coffee table, decorated with East Asian-style vases and a ceramic Laughing Buddha statue. Atop a stack of books (which alternate between Western and Eastern art history subjects) sits a slide projector, which automatically rotates through a slideshow of found and altered images. Some are found photos of mid-century Asian American families, others of white American families onto which Jarod Lew has superimposed his own face, and still others of a white suburban family’s 1954 “Chinese Block Party.” Distinguishing them from each other requires scrutinizing the small projected photos in the short time before the slideshow flips forward, asking the viewer to pay careful attention to the nuances of cultural appropriation.

Lew is intentional with the gaze of his subjects, whether he is directing it at his audience or obscuring it. In many of his photographs, especially in “Please Take Off Your Shoes,” the subjects stare straight into the camera with neutral expressions, in a way that is not quite confrontational but still a little unsettling. The viewer feels as if they have intruded into these private spaces, or perhaps have been invited into them on the condition of good behavior (and leaving one’s shoes at the door).

The complementary photography collection “In Between You and Your Shadow,” balancing out the other half of the gallery’s symmetrical layout, grapples even more with privacy and the intrusion of the camera into its subjects’ lives. The collection is centered on Lew’s mother, whose face is obscured in every shot by flares of light, deliberately placed objects, or other photographic tricks that hide her from full view. Lew discovered at age twenty-five that his mother had been engaged to a Chinese American man named Vincent Chin, who was murdered in an anti-Asian hate crime in Highland Park, Michigan in 1982. This deeply traumatic history, revealed to visitors in the collection’s exhibition text, gives an emotional weight to the way Lew’s mother is obscured in his photographs. It reflects her choice to hide her past from her children in order to protect them, but is also a gesture of protection itself, allowing her to remain a measure of privacy even in the focus of the camera lens.

Jarod Lew, “Untitled (Wedding picture)”, 2021, from “In Between You and Your Shadow.” Image courtesy of the artist.

Lew dives further into the history of violence against Asian Americans in “The New Challengers Strike Back,” a multimedia work that incorporates found media. The work ties acts of violence against Asian Americans to symbolic acts of violence against Asian-made cars. A news clip from shortly before the murder of Vincent Chin shows white Americans smashing a Toyota car in front of a Chinese restaurant, demonstrating the resentment of the Japanese auto industry that motivated the hate crime against Chin. It is presented alongside a modified bonus level from Super Street Fighter II: The New Challengers which also involves destroying a Toyota. Viewers are invited to pick up the controller and participate in the destruction, which resets after a few seconds.

These two complementary works are a creative use of multimedia, and conceptually strong, but despite the interactive element they are perhaps the least engaging part of a strong exhibition. They are direct and clear in their message, but feel blunt in comparison to the nuances of Lew’s other work.

Ultimately I found myself lingering with the large-format photographs, wanting to take the time to fully understand the figures captured by the lens. The layer of mystery in each staged-yet-personal scene invites longer contemplation. Other elements of the exhibition add interest and depth, but Lew’s masterful photography steals the show.

Strange You Never Knew is on display at UMMA through June 15.

REVIEW: A Prison, a Prisoner, and a Prison Guard : An Exploration of Carcerality in the Middle East and North Africa

Featured Image: Marc Nelson (left) is an Illinois-based artist whose work documents the war crimes, and human rights violations occurring in Syria, Yemen, Myanmar, and the United States, and is featured in the exhibition. He is pictured with his friend and martyr of revolution Mazen Al-Hamada, whose verbal and visual testimony are also featured. Mazen was forcibly disappeared and later murdered in the “slaughterhouse” prison of Saydnaya in Damascus, only days before the toppling of the Assad regime.

CW: Depictions of Torture (Illustrated) and Discussions of Carceral Violence, Torture, and Death

The notion of human nature implies certain universalities amongst all people, suggesting an intangible connection between everyone who has ever lived, everyone alive now, and everyone who has yet to live. The tangible products of creative expression that we call art could be described as the physical manifestations of human nature. Thus, an artist’s humanity and identity become immortalized by their act of creation.

But what about those who cannot create art freely? Whose voices are silenced by carceral institutions designed to dehumanize and disenfranchise? Human nature does not simply vanish, and neither do those who are incarcerated.

A Prison, a Prisoner, and a Prison Guard: An Exploration of Carcerality in the Middle East and North Africa (MENA) is only the second exhibition I have encountered dedicated solely to incarcerated and prison-impacted artists and communities, a troubling reality I believe reflects the overwhelmingly negative Western and global attitudes towards incarcerated people.

Curators Susan Aboeid and Sumaya Tabbah of The Hafathah Collective, with organizational collaboration from U-M Students Organize for Syria (SOS), in partnership with U-M Library, and with support from the U-M Arts Initiative, have created one of the most poignant traveling exhibitions I have ever had the privilege of viewing. The geographic coverage of the MENA region is extensive, with prison art from Algeria, Egypt, Iran, Iraq, Lebanon, Palestine, Sudan, Syria, and Yemen, effectively revealing the devastatingly similar carceral realities of these countries. The exhibition, however, resists exceptionalism by asserting that prisons in the MENA region are not bad because the area is bad, but because the prisons and those who run them are detestable. Untitled by Unknown, Undated, Yemen is a visual testimony smuggled out of prison by an unknown artist, depicting methods of systematic mass torture implemented in UAE-run prisons in Yemen. This piece grapples with the exhibition’s tension of understanding prison art as testimony versus aesthetic, the former allowing the works to transcend carceral geographies and speak to the visitors, who in turn, speak to each other. Thus, the gallery becomes a space for those who have survived these prisons but can’t go back, a chance to reconcile their experiences and emotions.Another work, Broken Oaths by Razaan Killawi, 2021, Syria, depicts former Syrian president Bashar al-Assad atop excerpts from his inaugural address, “…a speech laced with assurances of unity, reform, and national pride — words that starkly contrast the realities of oppression, fear, and violence experienced by Syrians” reads the object label. Much like Assad weaponized language to legitimize injustice and oppression, the prison experience is carefully designed to legitimize the disintegration of communities under the false notion of “protection”. What is truly protected within these prisons is the truth — the truth about the unbearable reality so many people experience, which they can only later describe as “being suspended between life and death”.

Whether we are separated by oceans and borders, language and culture, walls and bars, or armed guards and authoritarian regimes, we remain forever connected to our family and friends on the inside. This heart-wrenching exhibition, which will remain open until March 30th at the Hatcher Library at U-M, reminds those of us on the outside that those inside are still with us. I implore everyone who is able to take the opportunity to be with these artists through their immortal testimony, and hear their voices which will not be silenced.

REVIEW: Sasha Velour in the Big Reveal Live Show

The historic stage of the Michigan Theater sits sparse, except for a comfortable cyan lounge chair, a cozy floor lamp, a vintage two-knob TV, and a dainty desk with Sasha Velour’s The Big Reveal: An Illustrated Manifesto of Drag neatly atop it.

On screen behind them, a prerecorded Sasha Velour dangles a disco ball from an elegant, silver finger. As Jennifer Lopez’s Waiting for Tonight begins to play, Sasha caresses the disco ball with her other hand, and as a spotlight appears on the cyan lounge chair, the audience waits with bated breath.

In an instant, the chair blanket is yanked back to reveal…

Sasha Velour…inside the chair…and I was gagged by possibly one of the best live reveals I’ve ever seen.

Her ruby lips gleamed unobstructed through a face-sized hole, as she began to lip sync sections of Kylie Minogue’s futuristic In My Arms, Dionne Warwick’s forever cherished A House is Not a Home, and Brandy’s *perfect* rendition of In My Own Little Corner.

As the chorus of Britney Spears’ Stronger begins, Sasha sheds the chair from which she came, only to become…

Sasha Velour…the chair, again…I was gagged again.

She struts in a brocade gown of the same cyan fabric, cream tassels on her shoulders and hips, and chair arms accentuating her tightly-corseted waist…a hybridized perfection of camp, glamour, and humor on full display to close act one.

As the energy in the room quells, Sasha reflects on her grandmother Dina, who came to America from China as a Jewish immigrant during World War II and, “would always encourage me [Velour] to channel my inner diva.” Showing videos of herself as a child, Sasha cherishes these moments aloud on stage, gushing about how Dina’s love and enthusiasm shaped her as a child, and now as a performer.

In one of a series of hilarious video skits, Velour switches between various personas, who comment on drag’s significance across communities: a medium of history, of fun, of revolution. Velour asserts that drag can be anything, for anyone, and this fundamental freedom affords drag infinite power.

But what happens when this freedom is at stake? Unafraid of asking the difficult questions, Velour challenges the audience to both revel in the privilege of being able to attend her show and share in her sense of growing urgency towards collectively understanding what these next few years will bring, not just for the queer community, but for everyone the Trump administration seeks to erase.

Drag is not dangerous for children, and helps to embolden those who need creative outlets of expression… “I have always been Sasha Velour…drag has a spiritual mission to give each other the biggest gift in life — to be seen and documented as we really are…to write our own stories”. The Big Reveal is everything a drag performance should be: It acknowledges what drag has been, what it is now, and everything it can be, while somehow completely exceeding the expectations of any audience member or Sasha Velour fan in the audience.

Even if you didn’t have a chance to see Sasha Velour, supporting your local drag scene helps to contribute to the parts of her show that still sit within me as I write this — drag is more than just a performance, it is the establishment of ones’ identity in relation to themselves and their community. It is a way of surviving, thriving, and ultimately, existing in the world in a profoundly beautiful way. A way of life that has always existed, and will continue to thrive in spite of those who seek to refute it.

REVIEW: Babygirl

O Nicole Kidman, what can’t thou do? What heights canst thou not reach?

In Babygirl, Dutch director Halina Reijn is intent on liberating us unenlightened Americans from the shackles of shame and fear. Her modus operandi is to throw us headfirst into a world of dominance and submission, of power-plays and betrayal. Without pitch-perfect performances from Kidman and her costar, the sizzling Harris Dickinson, Babygirl would flatten into cheap comedy. Yet against all odds, this movie works, turning us on and teaching us a lesson all at once. 

It takes a special type of plot to have several people in the audience walk out halfway through the movie, one of them muttering “disgusting…” under her breath. Babygirl is sure to be repulsive, even offensive, to some people. The movie follows Romy Mathis – girlboss CEO of a robotics automation company, mother to two well-adjusted teenagers, and wife to an adoring husband (Antonio Banderas). Yet something is off in this charmed life. In the very first scene, Romy, after faking an orgasm with her husband Jacob, tragically and hilariously runs to another room and masturbates to cheap Internet porn. Romy has love and riches, but is hiding a shameful secret that is ruining her life: she craves submission in the bedroom. Samuel (Harris Dickinson), an enigmatic intern at her company, quickly sniffs this out. He draws her into an affair that she can’t resist, and the film snowballs from there. 

Although Babygirl received generally positive reviews, the negative feedback tends to point out that actually, Romy and Samuel are villains. “In a real-life scenario, Samuel would have been instantly fired,” says the Standard. The Guardian notes that as Romy conducts her affair, “Her poor husband…is left wrangling the kids and trying to direct his latest off-Broadway show.” NPR laments that the film “…feels out of touch with our post-MeToo era.” This criticism misses the point. Babygirl is a work of fiction, not a documentary. Its purpose is to lead us out of the noose of shame and into the open air of pleasure. 

For this reason, the scenes featuring only Romy and Samuel are the lifeblood of the film. In their first rendezvous, Samuel is unsure of himself but organically comfortable with giving orders. Go stand in the corner. Get down on all fours. Eat this strawberry-flavored candy out of my hand. “You’re mine,” he says without words. The scene is a potent mix of awkwardness and passion. It works because Samuel is neither a sadist nor a douchebag. Unlike the infamous Christian Grey, who “likes to whip little brown-haired girls like you because you all look like the crack whore—my birth mother,” Samuel wears his power well. Samuel knows what he’s doing. 

In another scene, a nervous Romy invites her lover to a fancy hotel room. She follows his directions, taking off her dress and getting on her knees in front of him. The scene changes, and suddenly it is Samuel performing for her, swaying to George Michael’s “Father Figure” as Romy’s eyes follow his body. This is the female gaze at its best, and Samuel is its perfect recipient. Here is someone comfortable in his own skin. Here is someone who knows that what he puts out will be well-received. Reijn’s talent is channeling just the right combination of danger and allure. Beauty, power, dominance – it doesn’t take much to convince the audience that these are virtues to be admired.

There are certain aspects of this movie that I think are superfluous. Reijn alludes to Romy’s childhood, which was apparently full of cults and gurus, in engineered EMDR therapy sessions. Romy’s assistant ends up discovering the affair and extorting Romy for a promotion. There is a girl-boss final moment that feels contrived. None of these B-plots are necessarily bad, but they’re a distraction from the central theme: what Romy wants and what Samuel can give. 

When the pair are inevitably caught, culminating in a violent altercation between Jacob and Samuel, Jacob is distraught that his wife would be enraptured by such cheap thrills like submission. “Female masochism is nothing but a male fantasy,” he mutters through tears. “No, you’re wrong. That’s a dated idea,” says Samuel, to the man he has just cuckolded. The people agree, Harris Dickinson. Give the people what they want. 

REVIEW: La Raza Art and Media Collective: 1975–Today

Fifty years after its founding, the University of Michigan Museum of Art celebrates the legacy of La Raza Art and Media Collective, a trailblazing group of Chicano, Hispanic and Latino/a creatives. Founded in the 1970s, the group organized community gatherings and produced creative work, including a multimedia journal. Now, these works from the collective’s history are brought into conversation with the present, in La Raza Art and Media Collective: 1975–Today.

At the center of the exhibition is a collection of material from the early issues of RAM Collective’s journal, including original copies of artwork that have been preserved by the Bentley Historical Library. This collaboration brings a different kind of experience than viewers may be expecting at an art museum. There are gems of poetry, artwork and essay writing among the spread of pages, providing a fascinating glimpse into the lives of Latino/a students and artists from fifty years ago, but finding them requires a willingness to spend some time reading through small print.

However, visitors searching for dramatic visual impact will be more than satisfied with the gallery space itself. One wall is papered with silkscreen prints by U-M Stamps School of Art & Design professor and alum Nicole Marroquin (MFA ‘08), using more imagery drawn from the Bentley archives. Another is painted bright green and features a mural painted by George Vargas, a founding member of RAM Collective, along with Nicole Marroquin and Mina Marroquin-Crow. And the gallery’s two walls of floor-to-ceiling windows are adorned with ribbons of transparent film created by Michelle Inez Hinojosa (Stamps MFA ‘23) that give a colorful tint to the light flowing into the gallery and the view onto State Street. Together, they bring a bold and bright atmosphere to the exhibition, letting the vibrant history and present of the university’s Latino/a community spill out of the journal pages and onto the walls of the museum itself.

A view of the gallery windows, featuring the work “The Ribbons, the Future” by Michelle Inez Hinojosa.

Of all the contemporary artworks created to accompany and transform the historical work of RAM Collective, a highlight is the collection of zines produced by Stamps School of Art & Design students, working in Nicole Marroquin’s Social Spaces class. These zines engage with the history of RAM Collective and the artists and communities involved, drawing on the Bentley’s archives to continue the mission of the collective in the present.

One zine, created by a group of students (Megan Fan, PingYu Hsu, Julian Kane, Jaden King and Violetta Wang), presents a selection of images from George Vargas’s sketchbook during his time as a graduate art student at U-M. The students write, “As art students ourselves, we became inspired by this work.” Another, produced by Liana Kaiser, presents a poignant collection of poems from a Detroit organization called La Casa de Unidad Cultural Arts and Media Center. Visitors are encouraged to take a zine with them when they leave, “so that La Raza Art and Media Collective carries on.”

Zines and other materials created by Stamps students in Nicole Marroquin’s Social Spaces class. The backdrop is silkscreened wallpaper created by Nicole Marroquin.

The exhibition’s true strength is how it embodies the spirit of collaboration, coalition-building and solidarity that the original RAM Collective was founded on. The array of contributions from original members of the collective, more recent Stamps alumni and faculty, and current students brings multiple generations together to continue La Raza’s mission.

La Raza Art and Media Collective: 1975–Today is on view at UMMA through July 20th. All exhibition signage is presented in both English and Spanish.

REVIEW: Blue Velvet

When I was 15 years old, my life changed forever when my dad took me by the shoulders, looked me in the eye, and said “Watch Blue Velvet. Trust me.”

At the moment, I wasn’t quite aware that he was prompting me to watch a two-hour psychosexual meditation on the dark underbelly lurking beneath society’s surface, featuring sado-masochism, drug-addled perverts, and erotic blackmail. But watch it I did. Then I closed my laptop and stared up at the ceiling for an hour contemplating my newly-lost innocence. 

David Lynch, the celebrated director of Blue Velvet who recently passed away at the age of 78, was a giant of filmmaking. In movies like Blue Velvet, Mulholland Drive, Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me, and Eraserhead, Lynch introduced audiences to revolutionary ways of seeing the world. I always suspected that Lynch was some kind of hologram placed on Earth by an advanced alien species, hovering somewhere between genius and madness, meant to transport us mortals into a higher plane of existence. His filmmaking talent even added a word to our lexicon – “Lynchian” – meant to connote surrealism that uses a dreamlike aesthetic to expose malice, absurdity, or hypocrisy in society. This “uncanny valley” quality that Lynch’s films embodied earned him a cult following as well as mainstream appeal. 

Nowhere are these Lynchian elements more at play than in Blue Velvet, released in 1986. The film features Dorothy (Isabella Rossellini), a battered woman blackmailed into sexual slavery by the sadistic Frank (Dennis Hopper). In an ironic twist, Frank’s games reveal masochistic urges repressed deep in Dorothy’s psyche. She is simultaneously repelled and titillated, expressing these conflicting emotions by initiating a sadomasochistic relationship with the clean-cut Jeffrey (Kyle MacLachlan), who is ashamed of his urges but drawn to the alluring older woman. The three characters – Frank, Dorothy, and Jeffrey – exit society’s confines and enter a lusty place of debauchery and degeneracy. 

Through colorful metaphors, a haunting score, and cast members that are clearly willing to bare all for the sake of art, Blue Velvet earned its place in film history. The marriage of surrealism and erotica, tragedy and eros, death and love – these are philosophical concepts that artistic leaders have wrestled with for millennia. More recent films featuring BDSM dynamics, like Secretary, Fifty Shades of Grey, and Babygirl, can only aspire to the emotional power that Blue Velvet oozes. Each scene is perfectly calibrated to press the audience’s buttons. So enduring is the film’s appeal that the Michigan Theater specifically chose to play it to honor Lynch’s legacy. This type of masterpiece earns either one star or five stars, but nobody leaves the theater without an opinion. 

There is only one filmmaker who can somehow master horror, erotica, surrealism, and mystery all at once. That man is David Lynch. In my opinion, to even write a traditional film review of his work is to diminish his genius. So I will leave it at that – anyone who hasn’t watched Blue Velvet is missing out.