Lighting the Preamble January 28, 2011

Scott Rosenfeld, American Art's lighting designer, let's us in on the challenges of lighting an artwork.

Lighting Mike Wilkins'sPreamble

At American Art we do our best to provide lighting that allows visitors to fully experience our artworks. We succeed much of the time by lighting artworks to help reveal the significance of the piece while eliminating nasty distractions like glare (whether it's the somberness of August St. Gauden's Adams Memorial, or the golden glow of J. William Fosdick's Adoration of St. Joan of Arc).

Sometimes, however, it just can't be done. A great example is Mike Wilkins's, Preamble. Preamble is constructed of license plates, which are ideally illuminated at an angle perpendicular to your eye, much like a car's headlights or a miner's helmet. If lighted in this ideal way, the license plates brighten magnificently and the background dramatically darkens and recedes. Perfect when you're driving. Unfortunately, without handing out flashlights, parking a car in the gallery, or blinding visitors with a strange shadowy light, there is no way to show this unique component of Wilkins's artwork. Thankfully, even without this added dimension, the artwork looks fine and visitors love working out the Preamble to the Constitution with the abbreviated script that Wilkins spells out with vanity plates.

So while we provided you with the light that allows a dynamic experience for many of our artworks, with Mike Wilkins's piece I could use some help. Next time you visit, bring a flashlight and hold it between your eyes, or try taking a flash photograph to get a fresh look at Wilkins's sculpture (located off the G Street lobby near the museum store). Upload your photos to American Art's Flickr group. And lets see if we can get this problem solved!

• Constitution, Mike Wilkins, Artwork Lighting, American Art, Smithsonian American Art Museum

A Year of Gaman: 5 Questions with Curator Delphine Hirasuna January 25, 2011

Kichitaro Kawase, Interned at Amache, Colorado, Butsudan, Scrap wood, paint, metal, Collection of Haruo Kawase and Family, ©Photo by Terry Heffernan.

On Sunday, The Art of Gaman: Arts and Crafts from the Japanese American Internment Camps 1942-1946 ends its nearly year long run at the Renwick Gallery. I'm sure I'm not alone in naming this one of my favorite recent exhibitions, and will be sad to see it go. In honor of the exhibition and its closing, Eye Level spoke with the exhibition's curator, Delphine Hirasuna, who is also a writer and a blogger, from her home in the San Francisco Bay Area.

Eye Level: During the course of the exhibition we’ve learned compelling stories of the internees. In the closing week, could you share a story or two from your own family?

Delphine Hirasuna: My parents were living in Fresno, CA, when the war started. At that point, they had been married nearly three years and had one son, who was not quite two, and a dog, named Bobby. They had a vegetable farm. Dad had just bought a new tractor. After Roosevelt signed Executive Order 9066, which gave the army permission to exclude anyone it deemed necessary from the West Coast in the name of military necessity, all ethnic Japanese (two-thirds were American citizens by birth) were given about a week to settle their affairs and report to camp taking only what they could carry. My parents once said that they left just as the crop was ready to harvest, but they had to leave it behind. Dad also had to give away his new tractor. They joined with a few other families in renting storage for their belongings, but someone broke in during their absence and stole anything of value. The saddest story was what happened to Bobby. Apparently their neighbor agreed to take the dog, but as they drove away from the farm, Bobby went chasing after their truck, and the neighbor said he'd stay by the road day after day waiting for them to return. Then one day he was run over by a car. When I was a kid, I'd ask my mom if we could get a dog, and she'd always say, "no, it's too hard." I never knew what she meant, and she never explained. I heard the story about Bobby years later from my uncle.

My parents were sent to the internment camp in Jerome, Arkansas, where my older sister was born. Dad was also drafted into the U.S. Army from Jerome and served with the all-Nisei 442nd Regimental Combat Team. Since he was still in Italy when the camps were closed, my mom returned to California by train with my two older siblings (then age 5 and 2). She once mentioned that they had a layover somewhere, but she was afraid of the hostility of locals who were suspicious of ethnic Japanese, so they spent the night in a park rather than look for lodging.

EL: From what I understand, families didn't talk very much or at all about internment. Was it that way with your parents?

DH: My parents were typical of other Nisei (second generation Americans, born in the U.S.) They never talked about the camps, never sat us kids down and told us what they were or what had happened to them. The way I learned about the camps when I was growing up was in passing comments. "We used to have one before camp." "We had to buy a new one after camp." They would mention Jerome and Rohwer (the camp my mother transferred to after my dad went into the Army) also in passing. "We knew them from Jerome." I realize now that my parents and other Nisei didn't talk about the camps with their children because it was too painful to discuss. I think they also didn't want their children to bombard them with questions about civil liberties and constitutional rights for which they had no good answer. After being released from camp, the Nisei needed to get on with their lives, and the only way they could do that was to block out that period and pretend that it hadn't happened. It was really my generation, the generation born after camp, that forced the issue, demanded to know why they weren't outraged, demanded that they seek redress and an apology from the government—the Civil Liberties Act was finally passed in 1988.

EL: What was your reaction when you first found the bird pins (and other objects) in your parents garage?

DH: About a month or two after my mom died I was prowling around my parents' garage looking for who knows what and I found this dusty wooden box tucked in a nook in the back of the garage. When I opened it, I was surprised to find that it contained old trinkets. In addition to the bird pin made in camp, there was a shell brooch, also made in camp, and a bunch of souvenir-type jewelry that had to have been picked up by Dad when he was serving in Italy. There was a cameo, a few silver pins in the shape of Venetian gondolas, and such. Given what was inside, I concluded that all of the contents must have been collected during the war years. At the time, I wasn't thinking of writing a book on internment camp art—and certainly not about organizing an art exhibition. I just found the objects intriguing. They gave me a glimpse of my parents's lives before I was born. I liked the bird pin, so I took it, and started wearing it. That's when the designer (Kit Hinrichs) who designed my book saw it, and asked what else had been made in camp, and suggested that the subject might make an interesting book. Kit and I have collaborated on several books, mostly on design and typography. For about 15 years, we produced a design magazine called "@Issue: Journal of Business and Design," which has now been turned into a blog So, deciding to write a book on internment camp arts and crafts was a natural extension of our interests.

EL: What was the most surprising or amazing thing (or two or three) you learned from the exhibition?

DH: The exhibition at the Renwick Gallery has been a phenomenal experience on so many levels. When you consider that the Smithsonian is the national museum of the United States, having arts and crafts made by internees from scrap and found materials showcased there is a tremendous honor. It is acknowledgment that the internment camps existed in the first place and recognition of Japanese American internees as individuals. That is no small thing. Even into the late 1970s, high school textbooks made no mention of the internment camps—or if they did, it was one sentence. As a result, even in the U.S., many people do not know about the camps and if they do, they do not know that 90% of all ethnic Japanese living in the U.S. were forced into camps for the duration of the war. Also, two-thirds of those sent into camp were American citizens by birth (the first generation were not allowed to become citizens). In reading the visitors comment books, I'm struck by the number of people who wrote that they were not aware of the camps before coming to the show.

The other wonderful outcome of this exhibition is the response from the Japanese American community. For one, a lot of people have looked in their own garages and attics and discovered that their elders had stashed away things that they had made in camp. I've been shown amazingly beautiful objects. The objects have also prompted a dialogue between generations. Last summer I went to a Japanese American summer school program that adopted the theme "Art of Gaman." The children tried their hand at making things from scrap and were assigned to interview their grandparents and write a report about what the internment camp was like for them. What I am seeing is that the objects are "safe ground" for starting a conversation within families and within the Japanese American community. While people wouldn't just talk about the camps, they will talk about the shell pins or wood carvings made by grandparents and that leads into a larger discussion about their own experience and why it is so important to protect the civil liberties of all Americans.

Raising consciousness of the internment camps of World War II in a non-accusatory manner is a way to bring this sad episode in American history out into the open and to understand how it happened. As well, it helps insure that it never happens again. The exhibition at the Renwick has been cathartic and educational. When I look at the amazing things the internees made, I am uplifted. Instead of tears and anger, all that remains of that terrible experience, all that our elders left us are things of beauty that speak to perseverance, hope, and courage. That's pretty wonderful, isn't it?

EL: Yes. It also speaks to the role of art in our lives.

DH: One thing I keep mulling over is the role of art in boosting the human spirit. Many if not most of these people had lost everything; they had been imprisoned behind barbed wire for 3–4 years; they had been deprived of their civil liberties even though they were American citizens; they had no formal art training (for the most part); they had to work largely with found materials and scrap and even fashion their own tools. Yet, they sought solace in art. It gave them purpose. It tapped into something that they could "own" —their own imagination and their own self-expression. The larger meaning of what and why they did what they did fascinates me.

EL: Thank you, Delphine, for the wonderful exhibition.

The Art of Gaman is open through Sunday, January 30, 2011 at the Renwick Gallery.

• Delphine Hirasuna, Gaman, Renwick Gallery, American Art, Smithsonian American Art Museum

Alexis Rockman's Evolution January 20, 2011

Alexis Rockman, Evolution, 1992, Oil on wood, Collection of George R. Stroemple, © Alexis Rockman, Photo courtesy of the artist

Alexis Rockman kicked off the first in the series of "Art and Science" talks at American Art's McEvoy Auditorium in conjunction with the exhibition of his work: Alexis Rockman: A Fable for Tomorrow. The image on the screen that greeted us as we took our seats was a black and white photo of a scientist or curator at New York's Museum of Natural History creating a diorama with what looked like miniature woolly mammoths. Though the photo was from the 1950s or so, (and Rockman was born in 1962), it spoke to his lifelong interest in natural sciences and his formative years spent in that museum's galleries. His mother, a secretary for famed anthropologist Margaret Mead (that's a story in itself!), introduced Alexis to the museum and began his love for art and the natural sciences.

Exploring the "tension between nature and culture in evocative and surprising ways," Rockman took us through images of his work, often matching other artists who either served as inspiration, or walked the same path where art and nature cross. His interests in the environment, global warming, the disappearance of species, and biotechnology on the farm, made for a fascinating evening, and provided a window (or two) into his thoughts and working process. A diorama titled "Forest Floor" that he viewed as a child in the Natural History Museum, became the inspiration for his painting of the same name from 1989. The poetic drips from Morris Louis's famed Veil paintings found their way into his Weather paintings and the series called "Half/Life."

Other artists that have inspired Rockman are as varied as Philip Guston, Sigmar Polke, and Joseph Darby, whose painting, "The Age of Enlightment" from 1766, Rockman described in terms of its "spectacular retinal experience." And then there was Mierle Ukeles, who, in 1970, became the first (unsalaried) artist of the New York City's Sanitation Department. The image of a garbage truck that had been covered in a mirror brought home the idea that we need to see ourselves reflected in all parts of the environment, from those we treasure to those we toss away.

To find out more about Alexis Rockman's inspirations watch our webcast of his talk.

The series continues with J.D. Talasek, director of cultural programs at the National Academy of Sciences, on February 9. The exhibition runs through May 8, 2011.

• Alexis Rockman, Evolutionary Biology, Genetic Engineering, Deforestation, Climate Change, American Art, Smithsonian American Art Museum

Found Object: a Pre-Photoshop Artifact January 14, 2011

Emily Moazami, one of American Art's photograph archivists, recently found this gem in our Peter A. Juley & Son Collection.

Photograph by Paul Juley

We recently unearthed an interesting example of a pre-Photoshoped holiday card as part of American Art's Peter A. Juley & Son Collection. And even though the holidays are over we'd like to prolong the good tidings for just a little while longer by showing the younger generation how it was done before we had Photoshop.

Before the days of digital photo editing software, a holiday card like this one took many steps to accomplish. This card is made up of four elements. The base photograph is of a woman standing with her arms stretched between two redwood trees. The image of the man behind the camera is superimposed on top of that. Next, Juley painted snow into the foreground and around the trees for a wintery effect. Finally, the greeting text was painted on top of the snow.

Based on the woman’s clothing and the redwood forest, I believe the original photograph was created in the 1930s. It’s probable that Juley photographed it during his trip to Northern California between 1930–31. During this excursion west, Juley photographed Mexican artist Diego Rivera painting a mural at the San Francisco Stock Exchange Luncheon Club. He also captured images of Rivera and fellow artist and wife, Frida Kahlo in their downtime.

Peter A. Juley (1862–1937) and his son Paul P. Juley (1890–1975) headed the largest and most respected fine arts photography firm in New York from 1907 to 1975. The collection of 127,000 black & white photographic negatives documents the work of more than 11,000 American artists and includes more than 4,700 photo portraits of artists and artists at work. These images capture some of the most well-known artists of the twentieth century, including Thomas Hart Benton, Alexander Calder, Stuart Davis, Edward Hopper, Jacob Lawrence, Barnett Newman, and Grant Wood.

In addition to being a talented photographer, Paul Juley clearly had a creative mind. And he knew how to use it in the darkroom (you remember what a darkroom was, right?).

• Photoshop, Photography, Photography Archives, American Art, Smithsonian American Art Museum

Five (and a half) Questions with Alexis Rockman January 11, 2011

Alexis Rockman, Bromeliad: Kaieteur Falls, 1994, Oil and lacquer on wood, Nestlé USA © Alexis Rockman, Photo courtesy of the artist

In advance of Alexis Rockman's lecture at American Art on Wednesday night at 7pm, we spoke to him from his Tribeca studio about the talk, monster films, inspiration, and his current exhibition at the museum, Alexis Rockman: A Fable for Tomorrow.

Eye Level: Tell me about your childhood influences, including your mother an anthropologist who worked with Margaret Mead, and your stepfather, a jazz musician?

Alexis Rockman: I was lucky to have parents that let me develop my imagination. I had a lot of time to myself and drawing was very important to me, counting natural history and monsters my favorite things to draw. The Museum of Natural History was a big draw. I was always interested in reading (and looking at) the Golden Field Guides and magazines such as National Geographic. I also watched a lot of monster movies. The ones that moved me the most were Jean Cocteau’s Beauty and the Beast (1945-46), Ernest B. Schoedsack’s King Kong (1933), and James Whale’s The Bride of Frankenstein (1935). My father, a jazz musician from Australia, introduced me to them, and they struck a chord in terms of their sense of wonder and the fantastic and their relationship to nature. When we would visit Australia, I found it romantic on some level. At the museum, the dioramas and art that I saw were also looked at by the people who made some of the movies I was drawn to. The guys who made King Kong spent their careers looking at Charles R. Knight's paintings at the Museum of Natural History. I felt early on that there was a strange vacuum, and I was born at a time when you could make paintings about these sorts of things: adventure travel, serious science, and fantasy.

Eye Level: Is there a typical day in the life of Alexis Rockman?

AR: Sure. I get up with my family, Dorothy Spears and her two sons Alex and Ferran, at 7:20. We read the New York Times, drink some coffee, and talk about our day. From there I play basketball (during the winter indoors) or go right to the studio, walking our dog Padme from the West Village to Tribeca. Sometimes I’ll have a studio visit. I'll work until around 6pm. During the summer I tend to quit early (4:30pm) because I like to play basketball outside. I work every week day.

Eye Level: That makes me think about your motto: be conscious.

AR: One can hope...it's my goal.

Eye Level: The weather paintings and the "Half/Life" series evoke the Washington DC color field painter Morris Louis, a hero in these parts.

AR: Isn't he great? My body of work, "Half/Life" is deliberately referencing him. It had to do with postwar industrial might and the dark side of that. When Morris Louis gets it right there’s nothing more perfect. This is horrible to say, but there is the idea that his materials killed him. In his paintings, he used some sort of magma, a hybrid material. The idea of the triumph of modernism, and I consider his paintings a sublimely modernist gesture, there is a dark side and that is what these paintings are about.

Eye Level: How do you balance seriousness and humor in your work?

AR:I always felt like humor was something risky in anything you wanted to take seriously. American culture treats comedians as entertainers, even with artists like Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton. I think it's exciting and dangerous. "Golf Course" (1997) which shows a manicured golf course and perfect landscape above, reveals, through a cutaway, not only a secret landfill that it's built on, but a monster who lives below with half eaten human body parts littering its lair--hilarious!

Eye Level: Can you give us a preview of your upcoming talk at the museum?

AK: It’s going to be about art history and how nature and some of the things I’m interested in have been represented by other artists, from Dutch still life painting to Mierle Ukeles, who became the unsalaried artist-in-residence with the New York City Department of Sanitation in 1976.

Thank you, Alexis Rockman. We’re looking forward to hearing you on Wednesday night.

• Alexis Rockman, Evolutionary Biology, Genetic Engineering, Deforestation, Climate Change, American Art, Smithsonian American Art Museum