Mystical and Spiritual Worlds in Contemporary Taiwanese Art
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Joni Low With Roots Skyward: Mystical and Spiritual Worlds in Contemporary Taiwanese Art he afternoon I visited the University of British Columbia (UBC) Museum of Anthropology’s exhibition (In)visible: The Spiritual TWorld of Taiwan through Contemporary Art (November 20, 2015–April 3, 2016), I serendipitously ran into Beau Dick, a renowned Kwakwaka’wakw chief and current artist-in-residence at UBC, whose exhibition was concurrently displayed at the nearby Morris and Helen Belkin Art Gallery, also at UBC.1 In an unexpected yet meaningful encounter, Beau and a fellow artist, Vanessa Grondin, joined me on my walk through (In)visible. His presence completely transformed my experience of the exhibition, allowing me to draw parallels between the spiritual explorations of Indigenous Taiwanese artists and our Pacific Northwest coast First Nations artists and their deep connections to the land and traditional practices of both. It prompted me to think more deeply about the politics of representation and display and about the openness to spiritual questions in both contemporary art and anthropological frameworks in exhibition contexts. The Great Hall, Museum of Anthropology, UBC, Vancouver. The Museum of Anthropology, a handsome concrete and glass building perched atop a cliff in Point Grey, Vancouver, was designed by Arthur Erickson to acknowledge the cultural importance of Canada’s First Nations. Based on the layout of a Haida waterfront village, it brings together a diverse range of historic cultural architectures, from Haida post-and-beam structures to the torii style gates reminiscent of Japanese Shinto shrines. The back of the museum hosts the great hall, with a large a surface of glass that 98 Vol. 15 No. 3 Vanessa Grondin and Beau opens out to ample natural light and ocean views, connecting totem poles Dick with installation by Li Jiun-Yang, Miao, 2003–13, displayed inside with those installed outside, among nearby indigenous in the exhibition (In)visible. 2 Photo: Joni Low. plantings. All of this is situated on the traditional, unceded territory of the Musqueam people, who for thousands of years moved through these territories to fish, hunt, and gather, maintaining their livelihood while practicing cultural traditions.3 The museum houses over 38,000 artifacts, which, due to recent innovations in their museum displays, are now accessible to visitors at all times through Plexiglas storage cases and drawers. The space echoes the histories of violence and colonialism in an unsettling way, particularly in what it chooses to carry forward: in addition to critical questions about how these items were collected, one of three circular World War II gun emplacements, a symbol of violence and protectionism, has been repurposed as the base for Bill Reid’s majestic cedar sculpture The Raven and the First Man (1980). One must physically move through this conflicted history—past rows of cedar carved boxes, totems, agate bowls and carved masks, and Reid’s sculpture—to enter the exhibition, which is tucked away in the museum’s space for temporary exhibitions at the far corner of the building. (In)visible charts the diverse spiritual world of Taiwan through the work of seven contemporary Taiwanese artists, exploring how modernity and tradition coalesce with a range of cultural influences and religious beliefs. Taiwan is home to sixteen officially recognized aboriginal groups of Austronesian peoples who have lived on the island for over 8,000 years, in addition to Han Chinese and other settlers and immigrants. As described by Vol. 15 No. 3 99 anthropologist and curator Dr. Fuyubi Nakamura, the island experienced waves of colonization—from the Portuguese, Dutch, and Spanish in the seventeenth centuries to the Chinese, who annexed Taiwan in 1683. This was followed by a fifty-year Japanese occupation that ended in 1945, after Japan’s defeat in World War II, when Taiwan was turned over to the Kuomintang (KMT), or Chinese Nationalist Party, which ruled through martial law until 1987. This turbulent history introduced a range of religions, from Buddhism, Daoism, Confucianism, Chinese folk religions, and Christianity, which in turn have intermingled with aboriginal belief systems, myths, and legends. Nakamura points out that, “as with other East Asian countries, it is common to blend different religious practices in Taiwan. The spiritual world is very much part of life and has also been the source for creative inspiration [there].”4 This syncretism of belief systems, of integration rather than categorization, and its fluidity within everyday life, yields unexpected and refreshing aesthetic manifestations within the exhibition—at once sensual, contemplative, humorous, mystical, and wistful—with works that elude classification. Nakamura’s curatorial approach to Taiwan’s diversity and her focus on spiritual elements is shaped by an interest in process: “As an anthropologist, I am interested in artists and their practices, more than artworks themselves. I wanted to include the artists with skills, especially those who incorporate traditional techniques in making their work.”5 Entrance to (In)visible, UBC Museum of Anthropology. Photo: Kyla Bailey. Courtesy of Museum of Anthropology, UBC, Vancouver. Left: Chiu Yu-Wen, Water Fairies Reproduction Project, 2004–15, paper and fabric. Photo: Fuyubi Nakamura. Courtesy of the artist. Right: Chiu Yu-Wen, Water Fairies Reproduction Project, 2004–15, paper and fabric. Photo: Joni Low. Courtesy of the artist. 100 Vol. 15 No. 3 Charwei Tsai, Sky Mantra, 2009, video, 30 mins., 54 secs. Photo: Fuyubi Nakamura. Courtesy of the artist. Entering the exhibition, one is immediately enfolded within the soft, intricate walls of Chiu Yu-Wen’s Water Fairies Reproduction Project (2004–15), a white labyrinthine installation of thousands of paper cuttings that lead to other works in the exhibition. Described by Chiu Yu-Wen as a metaphor for re-entering the mother’s womb, Water Fairies subsumes the delicate nature of the single cutting into the strength of its whole. Individual paper cuts float and quiver as the viewer passes by, varying with one’s velocity of movement. Chiu Yu-Wen spent over ten years creating this work, which took her to Japan, Thailand, and Laos for research and ignited other collaborative projects in theatre set design, fashion, and contemporary dance.6 In the most effective sections of this massive piece, individual fairies perform as mysterious shadows clustered around glowing lights. Peering through various openings within this installation, we discover a video by Charwei Tsai, titled Sky Mantra (2009), of a woman writing on what appears to be the sky. She begins in the left-hand corner, scrawling black characters from memory onto a mirror that reflects the transient clouds and blue sky above her. As a video performance of the artist’s meditative process, this work captures her exploration of the Buddhist concept of emptiness and its inseparability from form, which moves beyond dualistic, rational, and modern thinking—and beyond the separateness of words themselves. It recalls for me the impermanence of the moment when the reading of a word connects with thought, and the fleeting image or memory it sparks. Directly across from this work, Yuma Taru’s woven textile sculptures hang in mid-air, their dynamic forms curling like choreographed dancers, with vibrant colours catching the light like fabric tossed in the morning sun. Entitled Convolution of Life (2012–15), the works convey the importance of textile weaving within Ayatal culture, in which each human life is understood as an interwoven process continuing into the heavens, and where social values and activities such as art making reflect this. The circular shapes echo the forms that Ayatal women create when weaving cloth for everyday use; they also communicate a belief in the intersecting connections and relations between people. Yuma Taru, who is of mixed Chinese and Ayatal descent, has devoted the past twenty years to preserving Vol. 15 No. 3 101 indigenous traditions; at her Lihan Weaving Studio in Xiangbi village, amid Yuma Taru, Convolution of Life, 2012–15, cotton, ramie, the mountains of Miaoli county, she trains young women in both dyeing silk, and metal wire. Photo: Fuyubi Nakamura. Courtesy of and weaving natural fibres. There are strong matrilineal traditions within the artist. Ayatal weaving, in which complicated techniques and processes require precise arrangements of coloured threads to create patterns that vary across different sub-groups and regions.7 What is most striking about these works is how alive they feel, and the handmade process evident in the materials, such as the irregular beading and patterns that no machine could replicate. The (In)visible exhibition text draws a beautiful parallel between these forms, the circular dances in their tribal celebrations, and the metaphoric welcoming of intercultural conversations: “Like Ayatal weavings, each circular shape bears an opening to signify continuous receptivity and an invitation for someone on the edge to enter the gap.”8 The emphasis on ritual and repetition is a strong theme throughout these first works, from Charwei Tsai’s practice of working through philosophical concepts via the aesthetics of writing texts to the meditative process of Chiu Yu-Wen’s paper-cutting and Yuma Taru’s communal weaving. These works are traces of the act of a spiritual and meditative process, though in Charwei Tsai’s case, the artist is visible through her recorded performance. All works emit a gentle power, persistent yet without declaration or imposition. I find myself thinking of Taiwan’s recent historic election of its first female Prime Minister, Tsai Ing-wen, the strong matrilineal traditions within Taiwan’s aboriginal groups, and the qualities of leadership that can manifest and be honoured within these contexts. 102 Vol. 15 No. 3 Anli Genu, My Cross, 2009, Anli Genu’s mixed-media paintings present a more visibly syncretic oil and bamboo on canvas, 299 x 228 cm. Collection of approach to spirituality and cultural heritage in Taiwan.