Death on the Ceiling

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Every city needs a Spider-Man! The Spider-Man was here under a bridge/walking path, up side down, clinging on to the bridge bottom. People came to see it and responded ” It is very cool!”. Then, for sure, that means you found the super hero’s mural on the low ceiling. This highly foreshortened image was a creation by Tulsa Artist James Gallagher, with his own labor, his own materials, and his own vision: to imagine a superhero in a place that was dark and exposed. Like Lascaux cave paintings in the dark, the spider-Man too stays on the ceiling until the sunlight hit the surface and some park strollers discover him. Understandably, the city painted over the mural, not only to kill the Spider-man but waste an excellent opportunity for the citizens to enjoy the art in hiding. (My take on this: It is not necessary to spend millions of dollars to create engaging public art + bureaucracy sucks!)

A Fancy Jar With a Big Hole

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This Nippon Jar with a hole on the bottom is in the family for many years and since it is an antique therefore no one has bothered to touch it until someone did and turn it up side down that we realized this is NOT a sugar jar or soup bowl of any kind. So, with google, we found out these kind of serving accessories were used by the wealthy during the Victorian era to conceal from themselves and their guests, the plain, manufacture’s label on the condensed milk can or jelly/jam jar. A large hole on the bottom made for easy removal. With the import of sugar and now condensed milk, Victorians really know how to enjoy their tea!

In 1876, Morimuras Brothers established a trading company with offices in Tokyo City and a retail and wholesale office in New York City. In 1904 the Nippon Toki Kaisha Ltd was established to manufacture Western-style porcelain dinnerware. However, the vessel-with-a-hole style takes us right to Gail Borden Jr. and “Elsie” the cow. Elsie made her debut at the New York World’s Fair in 1939. and is associated with Borden”s condensed milk ever since. I read a 2013 article by Helaine Fendelman and Joe Rosson, it describes:

Some say that condensed milk can be traced back to the 13th century Tartars, but the first condensed milk we might recognize as such was made in France in 1820 by Nicolas Appert. Then in 1851 several children died from bad milk on a voyage between England and the United States. Gail Borden Jr. was on the ship on which the children died and was devastated. Once back in the United States, Borden began experimenting with condensing milk so that it would not spoil after only a few hours. He failed miserably until he used a vacuum pan the Shakers employed to condense fruit juice. Eventually, Borden was successful, but it took a long time for the product to be accepted by the public. It was used during the Civil War by Union troops as a field ration, but it was not until the 20th century that it made a place for itself in the American home. But women did not like putting an ugly can on their table so manufacturers made containers in which the can could be inserted and later removed by poking a finger through the large hole on the bottom and pushing the unsightly tin container out.

It should also be mentioned that similar devices were made to disguise jam jars — no woman in the early 20th century wanted her female neighbors knowing that she bought jam rather than making her own.

This kind of concealing content’s true identity reminds me of two other scenarios. One is an early, neck tight, flat collar of beads arranged in a fancy pattern that was a cloth accessory for ladies who couldn’t afford a fancy blouse to keep up with the appearances. Another is the table skirts, especially Victorians often covered up furniture with lavish draperies and fabrics to disguise a plain table made of a lesser wood. I think the history behind the condense milk container is more interesting than the hole on the bottom of a porcelain jar. As far as the value goes, this Nippon Jar is worth $55 – $65.

Transitional Gate

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Cornelia Parker, using old fence materials to build “Transitional Object” (Psycho Barn). He transformed barn materials into an out-of-place icon, worked well. In fact, on the Metropolitan Museum rooftop, against the modern skyscrapers, it appears out-of-place by design. Interestingly, James and I, two of us, from Tulsa Oklahoma, used a similar approach one year before this piece. In our case “A Gate”, built into two steel beams at Tulsa Hardesty Art Center (AHAH), in part, to construct a biblical non-site. “The Barn” a fake house over the rooftop; the Gate was an actual passageway over the ground. Our gate was self funded, a striking contrast to the tons of money spent on fabricating The Psycho Barn. Since the gate was not reminiscent of any famous structure and it was in an unassuming place, and ironically, even though hundreds people walk by/through the gate, using it as a photo-op, hardly anyone was aware of it’s transitional meaning.

I have gone to the roof garden to see this installation and do like the visual sensation created by this barn object and at the same time I came to realize that what James and I did was very important: the Gate is a manifestation for mankind on the brink of all directions.

Enter through the narrow gate; for the gate is wide and the way is broad that leads to destruction, and there are many who enter through. For the gate is small and the way is narrow that leads to life, and there are few who find it. – Matthew 7:13

Treasures Found

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These art works dated 1980-81 by my 7th grade students in Taiwan. It was my second year of teaching after graduating from National Taiwan Normal University. I had been hired as a special education teacher for one year. Then I received the teaching position from a retiring art teacher, who along with other art teachers were graduated from the prestigious National Hangzhou Academy of Fine Arts in China. How cool is that!

7th grade, at my school, was a mixture of everyone. After the 8th grade, entrance examination students would be placed from top all the way down. To enter the class ranked 18, or 19 out of 20 classes you better be prepared to fight to survive your class. What about number 1 girls and number 1 boys classes? Yes, segregated by genders. Usually the Math and English teachers would borrow art and music classes to let the students study more. However, I had a vivid memory from these top-tier students begging me to not to let go of my art class. I made a rule: nobody allowed to read or study material of any kind. So what did we do? we were creative and I had my Sound of Music moments that students and I sat down outside looking at the clouds.As far as my from the bottom boys, I had to win many many basketball free throws for their kindness in class.

I was a part of a group of the BEST teachers graduated from the BEST teachers university. Members we were sent all over the island like missionaries. We were young and feisty. Man, I love those feelings!

Colors of the Underwear

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Part of the application for the foreign spouse’s green card includes an in-person interview with the United States Citizenship and Immigration Services. In it, an immigration officer will question the couple to make sure the marriage is legit. While the interview usually includes basic questions about the relationship, immigration officials may also ask very specific questions about your significant other. One question that is so bizarre that immigration office eventually took it out: What color is your spouse’s underwear? ( I got this story from NPR Wait Wait …Don’t Tell Me). Somehow I know not only the answer but recall a childhood memory.

When I was in elementary school in my hometown, Peitou, a prefecture geographically surrounded by volcanic mountains and famous for its hot springs, hotels and prostitution. The hot sulfur steam would come out of the sidewalks, streams, and hillsides. To go home I had to walk through narrow alley, passed houses with stone walls and crossed a couple of bridges. I could hear the water flow and could see steam out of every gaps. However, on top of, and underneath the roofs, I could always spot colorful women’s underwear hanging on string. My friends and I would play the counting game. Later on I came to realize that behind those tall walls were living quarters and these girls lived there. The colorful underwear, waiting lines outside health clinic, as well as motorcycle engines roaring through the mountain passes, transporting the prostitutes to and from the fancy hotels, became a vivid memory, growing up this “so-called” Japanese Men’s Paradise, my hometown.

Mirror Images

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Lesbos refugees Life jackets and deflated dinghies left behind by refugees and migrants are seen on the roadside near a beach on Lesbos (Dimitris Michalakis/Reuters) Disappearing, environmental installation on the Northern beach of Taiwan by Yiren Gallagher.The children cloth symbolized the young life lost in Bangladesh cyclonic of 1991.

In Object Lesson, an article published by New York Time Magazine Teju Cole wrote: … Objects, sometimes more powerfully than faces, remind us of what was and no longer is; stillness, in photography, can be more affecting than action. This is in part because of the respectful distance that a photograph of objects can create between the one who looks, far from the place of trouble, and the one whose trouble those objects signify. But it is also because objects are reservoirs of specific personal experience, filled with the hours of some person’s life. They have been touched, or worn through use. They have frayed, or been placed just so.

Letter To A Young Collector

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Sep 1, 2015

The woman from AHHA told us, you bought the drawing: Moth. You are one of the students from Riverfield Country Day School who visited our installation two days ago. Your lovely teacher Mrs. Lindsey Watts took you guys to the gallery to see the exhibition and to meet James Gallagher, one of the artists who created the show.

I could not be there because I too am a teacher and had to work that day. I have seen pictures sent to me and I am intrigued by the presence of young students sketching in the gallery, using our art as inspiration. Are you one of the students sitting in front of a drawing? What are you sketching? Do you have any questions about this moth? This is a big moth that appeared from nowhere and stayed with us for a while when we built the wood gate house outside the gallery. Moth to me is a hard to pin point insect, a loner (especially when it rests on a wall), a moon creature, and a mystery. I think of “moth-er” a lot, this playing with words, such as butter-fly gives me some free association, for I, in a totally different context, miss my mother.

The AHHA lady has mentioned that you spent all the money you saved plus some of your father’s money to buy this humble piece of art. And YOU put the red dot on it. I imagine you had to count your money, think over why you want to own this drawing, and talk to your parents first. Finally, you decided it was worth it to have this art. I am so amazed by your sensibility and the depth of your appreciation. I am also so proud to call you my young collector. I am sure ART (not only this piece) will bring you joy and comfort for years to come.

I hope the world in the future will provide you, the students from Riverfield, from every corners of the globe, a safe place in EVERY POSSIBLE WAYS for everyone to grow, to learn, to share, to ponder, and to enjoy. Thank you for reminding me as an artist, a teacher, and a mother, to appreciate what I have in front of me. Have a great school year and delightful journey, enjoying beauty and nature!

Sincerely yours,

Yiren Gallagher

Stage Three

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There are 20 chinese characters “dai” to make a garden of “foolish”.

Once a master of ink brushstrokes told me, ” for Chinese painting, you started raw, nothing goes your way , you copy master pieces then practice, practice, and practice again, until you became so masterly, so fluent with all aspects of the art…,”, “However,” the master continues “a true Chinese painting master needs to go back to that raw stage to really enjoy the easiness of creativity”. The master also reveals ” never show your stage three in front of the Westerners, because they would take the demonstration as too easy , then your price will suffer”. A similar situation happened when I introduced abstract art, especially Picasso or Pollock to my high school students. One student commented, ” that’s too easy”. It would take me more than just couple classes to explain why they were great artists and why you and I could not be a Picasso or a Pollock by just repeating what they did. Many artists intended to impress viewers with impressive skills, such as realism, amazing composition, and complicated techniques. Stage Three is a famous chef doing home cooking, a jazz musician plays at the sidewalk, a dancer displaying the grace of movement while walking, and artists showing the holistic method of their chosen craft.

I like to quote a paragraph about baseball from ” The Art of Fielding” by Chad Harback. “… And of course the jersey number, Aparicio believed that the number 3 had deep significance….There are three stages: unconscious being. Thought. Return to unconscious being. …Do not confuse the first and third stage. Unconscious being is attained by everyone, the return to unconscious being is attainable by a very few. ”

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Knolling: Griding the objects

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Broken pottery from the river bed

In the early part of this century there began to appear, first in France and then in Russia and in Holland, a structure that has remained emblematic of the modernist ambition within the visual arts ever since. Surfacing in pre-War cubist painting and subsequently becoming ever more stringent and manifest, the grid announces, among other things, modern art’s will to silence, its hostility to literature, to narrative, to discourse. As such, the grid has done its job with striking efficiency. The barrier it has lowered between the arts of vision and those of language has been almost totally successful in walling the visual arts into a realm of exclusive visuality and defending them against the intrusion of speech. The arts, of course, have paid dearly for this success, because the fortress they constructed on the foundation of the grid has increasingly become a ghetto. Fewer and fewer voices from the general critical establishment have been raised in support, appreciation, or analysis of the contemporary plastic arts.(The first paragraph from “Grids” by Rosalin Krauss, The MIT press, 1979)

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Knolling: the process of arranging like objects in parallel or 90 degree angles as a method of organization. To me, they are all grids. The following are some of my Pre-knolled (messy) and knolled objects:

Broken Glasses

Group all like from squrrel bites

The American sculptor Tom Sachs adopted the phrase “Always be Knolling” (abbreviated as ABK) as a mantra for his studio:Scan your environment for materials, tools, books, music, etc. which are not in use.

Put away everything not in use. If you aren’t sure, leave it out.
Group all ‘like’ objects.
Align or square all objects to either the surface they rest on, or the studio itself.

tools in pre-knolled stage

A lost generation

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World War I, also known as the First World War or the Great War, was a global war centered in Europe that began on 28 July 1914 and lasted until 11 November 1918. More than 9 million combatants and 7 million civilians died as a result of the war. In America and Canada, the “Great War” is so little-known it is called the “Forgotten War.” But in Britain where stories have passed down generation to generation, for the British, everybody had a story in their family and everyone is touched by this war.

Sea of Poppies, London 2014

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2718744/Charities-set-receive-millions-100-000-people-buy-25-ceramic-flowers-Tower-London-s-sea-poppies-display-memory-WWI-dead.html

The Lost Boys, London 1904

The story started with Peter Pan and his gang, the Lost Boys, created by Scottish novelist and playwright J.M.Barrie. The character’s best-known adventure first appeared on 27 December 1904, in the form of a stage play at the Duck of York’s Theatre, London. It starred Nina Boucicault as Peter and most of the performers especially members of Peter’s gang were played by women. However, among the few children audiences were Llewelyn Davies’ five boys: George, Jack, Peter, Michael, and Nico, who were the inspiration for Barrie’s play. Sadly, the boy were orphaned after their mother died in 1910 and in four years Europe plunged into World War I. George, Jack and Peter would be called upon to serve their country. England, allied with France, was soon embroiled in the conflict. It was, of course, not only the Llewelyn Davies boys, and their friends, who were at risk during the first part of the war. People throughout Europe were dying. Those who succumbed became members of a lost generation. (from Bos, Carole “Finding Neverland” AwesomeStories.com. Date of access: 8/9/2014 https://www.awesomestories.com/asset/view/Finding-Neverland

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What about the boys? George died in the war; Peter was mentally wounded beyond repair; Michael drowned while at Oxford in 1921; Jack survived the war and married; Nico lived to be an old man. In 1929 Barrie gave London’s Great Ormond Street Hospital all rights to Peter Pan. Royalties have been buying beds, funding research, and expanding the Hospital’s ability to care for children ever since.

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The last scene of Peter Pan is “Home Sweet Home”. Love and Peace!

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Shadows

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shadows Under the bridge, Tulsa

In drawing, light falls on a spherical surface creates a gradation of shadows from light to dark. Within the cast shadow there is an area that has no light and is the darkest area of the object. Adding shadow to an object creates a figure and ground relationship on paper, so a form will not look like flying UFO. Shadows ground objects to earth, allowing the artist to express the volume and solidity of being. Tracing cast shadows from different objects is to choose, to see, and to create composition. When you don’t look at the surface details, the shapes consolidated and gave the artists a chance to deal with negative and positive spaces.

color shadow drawing by students

Finding an old frame with a cut out silhouette portrait in it at the flea market is something we all have experienced. American artist Kara Walker is best known for her room-size tableau of black cut-paper silhouette that examine the underbelly of American’s racial and gender tensions. One of her pieces at Crystal Bridge Museum “A Warm Summer Evening in 1863” depicted a Silhouette figure suspending on a wool tapestry. On the other hand, Jan Pienkowki’s children books, their superbly detailed silhouettes, set against glowing, jeweled – colored backgrounds illuminated the fairytale. Using Silhouette in art can be cultural, aesthetic, or political; however, shadows’ moving in space is always personal, it brings out our fears and excitement. The Lascaux cave drawings were found by archaeologist Marc Azema and French artist Florent Rivere, who suggest that Paleolithic artists who lived as long as 30,000 years ago used animation effects on cave walls. The images look superimposed until flickering torch-light is passed over them, giving them movement and creating a brief animation. (http://www.webpronews.com/prehistoric-animated-cave-drawings-discovered-in-france-2012-06) The huge volume of darkness roaming down the hallway is a classic in horror films and so does using Chiaroscuro to create an eerie feeling in the scare- me- to- death movies “The Ring” and “Conjuring”. As far as a pleasant side: the living shadow of Peter Pan unleashes magic away from Peter and enjoys his freedom. When I was a teen, I used to see my shadow in late afternoons. The sunset cast beautiful shadow out of my body on the ground: my body was slim, legs were long; a perfect Barbie-like silhouette. That moment also planted a seed of feminist questioning cultural control over the shape of female body contours.

Thumbelina silhouettes animation from Lotte Reiniger, 1954

‘Magic Castle’ by Jan Pienkowski

A container home

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“Just because we have the best hammer does not mean that every problem is a nail.” President Obama, downplaying the role of military action in U.S. global leadership during a major foreign-policy address at West Point’s 2014 Commencement. Thanks to President Obama’s and his commencement speech, the hammer is back!

The theme for a shipping container that James and I finalized for the 2011 Kaohsiung International Container Arts Festival is titled “If the Only Tool You Have Is a Hammer”. The intention of our site installation was to transform a shipping container into a heroic, garage syndicated, trailer. The transformed seaworthy container became an osmotic conveyance, home to cow, orange tree, grass, dirt, water, sun, shade. The work subtly questioned the method and availability of food raised and produced in the world today. The title of the piece borrows from Abraham Maslow’s Law of the Instrument to describe habit vs. solution. Maslow makes an analogy to describe how man repeatedly relies on an available solution to solve multitudes of newly arising problems. In 1966 Maslow stated “It is tempting, if the only tool you have is a hammer, to treat everything as if it were a nail.” We live in such a world. With every tool a hammer and every problem a nail, is humanity able to construct an answer?

watercolor by James Gallagher

The idea for our trailer came from an attempt to link the irrational behavior sited in Maslow’s law of the hammer with the consequences of distancing ourselves from the Earth( nature). Our ability to design agriculture appears to have no ill effect, yet, as we correct nature to benefit man we lose connection to the Earth and sacrificing the planet to economic and ethical pressures, in a universe where Earth is, so far as we know, the only answer. Contemporary food production causes true food to become extinct and “true” life to be removed from the land. A living Earth cannot be converted into a field or energy source without disruption to its vitality. When we compare cows to oranges we are calling to mind their like histories. In fact, on some level, a cow and an orange have become one in the same thing: a modified link to an economized food chain. This nutritional imbalance is foretold by Rudolf Steiner and the culturists in the early 1900 planted gardens that were aligned to the cosmos. The shortcomings are also echoed in the work of the economist Friedrich von Hayek, writing during World War II, “…The increasing veneration for the state, the admiration of power, and of bigness for bigness’ sake, the enthusiasm for “organization” of everything (we now call it “planning”) and that inability to leave anything to the simple power of organic growth…” is the same economic hammer of food production.

a container home

a container home with lights, like a flying object.

“If the Only Tool You Have is a Hammer” project began with a simple observation. The Earth is home to all life. — It is life. Is there any other such place in the universe? The cow and the fruit tree inside a mobile piece of land, goes along with an understanding calculated to maintain an unplugged human population. Is it not true that we, almost as a rule, consistently choose to isolate ourselves from Earth looking for answers? We use self-improvement to show (a) man separate from the central balance of life. Our stationary trailer, with its planted habitat brings the cosmos home, to this place. (In the end, we switched a cow for goats and a mini orange tree for a fruit tree.)

a cotton trailer

“Talking to the Moon” is a beautiful book by a Native American, John Joseph Mathews. John was born in Pawhuska, Indian Territory, in 1894 and died there in 1979. The book was first published in 1945 and after out of print for more than 30 years, the book is being reissued. I like to quote one paragraph from the book to temporary rest our journey to the earth home:

The ground seems rich and fruitful in my yard as I dig with the sharpshooter spade. I dig more holes than I can ever fill with plants because the earth invites digging, and the feel of it and the odor of it inspire dreams. I plan a garden in the savage blackjacks each spring. Sitting in the wheelbarrow with my tools lying about, I dream of the garden beautiful as the wrens sing ecstatically about me, and that garden is a real ambition as I berate myself for the years wasted.

Art in Transit Tulsa

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About the contest

In 2013, Tulsa Transit and AcrobatAnt, a local advertising agency, have teamed up to spotlight creativity and boost ridership with their Art in Transit contest.

Art in Transit promotes art and artists of all types by making their creations moving, working parts of the urban environment. Putting art in unexpected places, like buses, is a great way to beautify Tulsa’s landscape and display our city’s artistic horsepower.

about our art works

Winter, like age and poverty subdues. You quietly pass someone you remember.

The inspiration for “Victoria” from James Gallagher came from brushing by a woman outside a supermarket on 15th Street. He incorporated a poem as part of this portrait to emphasize the process of how people fall into patterns of isolation.

“Riverside” by Yiren Gallagher is a small watercolor sketch depicting a tranquil moment she experienced while walking down Riverside Drive on a winter evening. The water was calm enough to reflect the street lights.

“Over the Bridge” is another watercolor by Yiren that captures an impression of a landscape with hundreds of starlings suddenly appearing from the edge of the sky, flying over the 21st Street bridge.

top: 21st and riverside bottom: 31st and Harvard

It is not hard to imagine to ride a bike in Tulsa

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I lost my car a result of a bad car accident and decided to become a carless citizen in Tulsa. To be able to commute to school, I had to take bus 105, transferred to 112 and then walked from bus stop to school, and vice versa. Since the bus schedule was so out of my convenience, I had to carry a bike for back up. If I missed the transfer bus, then I would ride my bike to school. For a good day, I would put my bike at the front rack of the bus for a long bus ride then pedaled my way to work; or I would enjoy a nice walk without the bike when the weather was nice. Usually a 20 minutes car ride would take me an hour and half to reach my destination. I lost the count how many times I missed the bus simple because the bus had never arrived. I commuted for 6 months until the weather turned too warm to ride a bike. I eventually bought a car, ending my love hate relationships with Tulsa public transportation.

This was not the first time I used a bike for transportation. I arrived in Tulsa twenty years ago with two young kids and I rode an upright no gear bike everywhere in the downtown area and my 4 years and 7 years would run with the bike. The Gallagher power house produced two Tulsa elementary Triple Crown runners and one tough mama. However, my biking experience really hit the bottom low when some truckers rolled down their windows throwing garbage at me and trying to squeeze me off of the road. Tulsa was not bike friendly. It is hard for me to imagine Tulsa redesigning the city to accommodate disabled, bikers, and pedestrians, being aware of road condition. Our city is hosting Tulsa Tough this weekend and thousands of bikers will try to challenge the epic Grand Fondos. This doesn’t come close to my back pack, winter boots, and ear muffs diva survival ride!

Here is my top 10 to do and not to do list when taking the bus in Tulsa:

#10: know the bus schedule. Get the Ride Systems GPS app on your smart phone; you can trace all buses where they are actually at. If you don’t have a smart phone, go get a print out one. Don’t count on other people to tell you.

#9: wave to the bus if you are not right on the bus stop. Don’t wave under your waist, which means don’t stop for me.

#8: Wait until the bus completely stops then move to the exit door. This is not New York City; you do not have to fight your way out.

#7: Keep the bus conversation (such as time, place, temperature, and greeting) in the bus. Never talk loud and never curse inside the bus.

#6: Leave your groceries at the front rack, your stroller under your seat, and never keep your cell phone in your back or side pocket.

#5: Always check your seat to make sure nothing is left behind. Actually the best way is not to take anything out when you are in the bus.

#4: Practice how to put your bike up and down and over other bikes on the rack as smooth as possible.

#3: Get correct money or ticket ready like a pro. Don’t ever try to get your coins from more than three pockets.

#2: Have many back up plans and numbers to call if you missed the morning bus or the last bus home. Never ride a bike in a snowy or raining day. Time to find a ride home.

#1: Be polite, be polite and be polite. Thank you and Have a nice day.

In a very early and cold morning.

Apron, Uniform, and Me

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I have always admired people who wear uniforms. I grew up in an era that was governed by martial law and “Dead Communists” was a real ideology. In my high school, girls had to wear army khaki uniforms once a week and practiced target shooting every month. I hated the tight army skirt and the bruise on my shoulder after shooting. I would have rather joined the Police Academy after graduating from high school in Taiwan had I had better eye sight.

One of my childhood friends had gone to an all girls catholic school, even teachers had to wear uniforms. Another of my childhood friend went to a girl-has-wear-skirt private school, but ended up quitting school. Of course, my refuse-to- wear-skirt friend later became a very famous rock-n-roll signer on the island. I also adored the uniform of nuns and priests regardless of my mix feeling about their teaching roles. In college, I had known a Buddhist nun from Hong Kong. She had no problem studying male and female nudes in class with us. Her airy grey robe on her small body reminded me of the Taiwanese Buddhist nun, Cheng Yen, a woman often referred to as the “Mother Teresa of Asia”.

Cheng Yen’s Tzu Chi Foundation is an international humanitarian organization that conducts its mission via an international network of volunteers. They are easily recognized by the blue and white uniforms they wear. Tzu Chi relief workers have been called “blue angels”. I have seen these “blue angels” on TV recently, providing comfort for the families of the passengers from Malaysia Flight MH 370.

As a teaching artist, I have my uniform, providing my service to the public, to my students, to the future. I have worn an apron in classroom for the past 14 years. Every year, I let seniors sign my apron. It was a proud moment, anticipated by both teacher and students. I stop doing this classroom ritual three years ago. The time frame coincides with the use of smart phone in class among students. After all, wait for your turn to put your name on an apron provided minimal excitement compared to instant gratification of sending messages and pictures o a cell phone. I have also realized a shift interest among the teachers and students, which makes a smart phone the new uniform!

In a Time magazine article “Tales Wrapped in Aprons,” Mimi Harrison wrote, “There’s nothing like an apron to evoke domesticity. Like a treasured baby blanket, it is rich with sentiment and associations. Store-bought or homemade, flower print or flour sack, an apron does double duty as protection and decoration. An old apron’s faded pattern seems a memory of itself. It’s soft, well-washed, fabric feels as soothing as a bowl of hot soup. Yet, an apron also may represent a woman kept in her place…”

I love my humble aprons and all the time I have spent teaching, with my students, and making art. With a nod to public service, my apron has also kept me in my place,

A Sunday afternoon in the park

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The island of la Grande Jatte is a suburban park at the very gates of Paris, lying in the Seine between Neuilly and Levallois-Perret, in a short distance from where now stands La Defense business district. Although for many years it was an industrial site, it is today the site of a public garden and a housing development. When Seurat began the painting in 1884, the island was a bucolic retreat far from the urban center.(Wikipedia)

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Guthrie Green is an urban garden and performance space in The Brady Arts District in downtown Tulsa, Oklahoma. Visitors looking for a peaceful escape or family activities find that the park features a stage, The Dock pavilion, tree-lined paths, shade structures, water features and a large lawn.(www.quthriegreen.com)

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Juneteenth is the oldest known celebration commemorating the ending of slavery in the United States. Dating back to 1865, it was on June 19th that the Union soldiers, led by Major General Gordon Granger, landed at Galveston, Texas, with news that the war had ended and that the enslaved were now free. All across the U.S. and beyond, people are celebrating Juneteenth – the spirit of freedom and achievement. (www.juneteenth.com) This year, Woody Guthrie Center opened, the Guthrie Green also opened to the public. The park has become a new gathering spot for the weekend. So did Tulsa’s Juneteenth celebration move from Greenwood District to Brady district for its convenient location. As we know, public park is a modern invention which gives the middle class ( not the vagabond) an open space to connect with the nature and culture. In this manicured, by design nature ( like Seurat’s and in many other French Impressionist public spaces), historical, political, and sociological discourse gave way to a civil life style that celebrate urban beautification with good music, food, and beautiful people. ( A look-like-bum young guy referred this Guthrie-Green-Sunday-afternoon-phenomenon to me with delightful joy!)

Juneteenth Festival by Yiren

Soup Nazi

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12/21/2011 Dongzhi

Traditionally, the Dongzhi (Winter Solstice) Festival in Taiwan is also a time for the family to get together. One activity that occurs during these get together is the making and eating of Tangyuan or balls of glutinous rice, which symbolize reunion. Since I don’t have my whole family with me in Peitou and to make myself feel festive, I MUST have those sticky rice ball soups!

Down the hill at a corner of the night market, a family owns a soup stand selling red beans and peanuts soups. For a special occasion such as Dongzhi, the business for this small stand increases ten times. To stew the red bean and peanut until they are soft takes time and has to pre-cooked for the night, however, to maintain the chewy texture of tangyan, it cannot be over cooked and has to do it on spot then add to the red bean or peanut soup. In this Winter Solstice night, I join in a group of twenty in front of a 10×10 stand to order my must-have tangyua soups. The women in charge of the soup are sisters, one takes care of soups, another takes care of tangyua, and their father keeps the supply coming. To order your soup, you say it loud and NEVER repeat the order. The soup Nazi groups her customers’ order according to the flavor and total quantity. She takes care of all the orders by ears, counts how many she needs to put in the pot and cook them together, next group of customers have to wait for a new batch. The soup ladies get very upset when the total tangyua number is not match the total order (which means there will be another wait for some costumers or waste some over cooked rice ball). Nobody mess up with soup ladies and It is better you don’t specialize your order to avoid long wait.

I ordered my soups, waited with my group, and got it. The warm red bean and peanut tangyua soups are for Jim and my brother. The sweet soups have full body of flavor and the tangyua taste just right. Happy Dongzhi!

1000 Year Old Cinderella Bowl

Aside

A rare “Ding” bowl from the Song dynasty in China sold for $2.2 million at a Sotheby’s auction.(Sotheby’s / March 20, 2013)

It seems a three dollar tag sale bowl sold for 2.2 million at the Sotheby’s had shocked the nation. I am neither a garage sell trooper nor junk yard warrior, I spent money on food and to pay bills. However, after looking at the picture of this Cinderella bowl, I have to admit, it’s beautiful and perfect. I wish a Chinese billionaire bought it and would bring it back home to China.

I am not too crazy about “Made in China”; it is cheap and slightly off like my Made in China paper-cutter. The marked measurement is off more than one mm. However, the 2 million dollors ceramic bowl is not just Made in China, it was MADE IN SONG DYNASTY a thousand years ago!

To appreciate this bowl, you have to imagine three things: the Song period, the bowl, and its maker. Compare Song dynasty to the majestic Tang Dynasty before it: Song Dynasty is famous for its artistic achievement in art, not warfare or political influence. To personalize the last five dynasties of Chinese history, I think you get a sense of what is Song: Tang people is colorful with an organic food diet, custom of drinking wine, well-built and a bit sun tan. Song people are well dressed, lean, noted for art, music, scholarly writing, rice and tea. Yuan stands for a winner takes all sportsman, loud, hairy, strong built and drinks beer. Ming is represented as a mannerist, with a good appearance, eccentric, and very suspicious about the others. Qing is spoiled, bossy, an imitator, under weight, and sometimes a druggie. Song is sentimental, subtle, and shows vulnerability. Song suffered bullying from enemies to the north and eventually moved its capital south. It was in this governmental setting that the greatest landscape painters, calligraphers, poets, and urban elites appeared.

From the well balanced white glaze of the North to supreme Jade like Celadon, Song aesthetic sophistication was matched by an incredible inventiveness, which led to a variety of classic wares for the imperial court all over China. It reminds me of the wine culture of our time. The connoisseurs would spend lots of money for a certain taste, flavor, moment of romance and to brag about their finding with a divine moment to their honored friends.

The form of this million dollar bowl is perfect: 5 inches diameter is the space inside fingers with your palm opened, like a blossom lotus. You would hold the bowl for eating or drinking. The food for the bowl shouldn’t be too creamy to enjoy the flowing flower design inside; maybe sweet lotus seed soup or tea to accompany the lotus flower. I don’t think the bowl is for the general public because common people do not have this kind of fine time or fine taste. However, when the fine art of the 21^st century is shaped by body parts, garbage assembling, and zombie grotesque, this simple, subtle, and delicate bowl brings me back to an era that painters created the most sublime landscapes, and craftsmen crafted the most exquisite wares in Chinese history. These artists followed a simple code: to make it just right.

Once my father had warned me never to get into Chinese Crafts, “it will suck you into its perfection and you’ll never come out of it”, he said. It echoes contemporary food and wine connoisseurs who cannot get away from their noble hobby! A humble maker with positive Karma had to perfect the million dollar bowl. After it is resolved, the spirit of creativity wanes and form begins to control the production. You are left in awe. I prefer any kind of bowl that can hold a humble meal. Here are some of my imperfect and inexpensive ceramic wares. Hope you enjoy. Have a free spirit!

• Guide to Chinese Ceramics: Sung (Song) Dynasty [Minneapolis Institute of Arts]

• The Legend of Ju Ware: A Special Exhibition of Ju Ware from the Northern Sung Dynasty [National Palace Museum]

candy jar, 5.5″ x 5.5″ x 6″

bowl with grapes decoration, wheel thrown,6.5″ x 6.5″ x 3″

grapes bowl, 6.5″ diameter

Oasis plate, 8.5″ diameter

leaves plate, 8* diameter

Celadon tree plate, 8″ diameter

spider plate, 8″ diameter

Sheep top of a ceramic pillow, 12″ X 4.5″

farm animals ceramic pillow, 12″ x 4.5″ x 3.5″

The Bird Has Died

Posted on January 13, 2013 by Yiren

Our bird Jack, the parakeet has died right before the New Year. James received a phone call from neighbor Alex who took care of our pets when we visit the relatives in Connecticut. “We know the bird means a lot to you, we put the bird in a box”. Alex’s wife Anna wrapped Jack in red velvet inside a fancy cigar box and put it in our freezer.

Jack was very good to us, he made peace with our cat, sang with the area birds, entertained us with his bird talks. We would bring the bird cage out so Jack could enjoy nice weather and would let him practice flying inside the house from time to time. Jack adored James and had learned his whistle. Since no one saw Jack’s death, his death comes with a void which must be filled with many memories so we can connect to the bird anytime we want.

What if we had actually witness the death? Does that make our life more real? Or if we turn away from it, only look into the future, will this make us happier, more hopeful? I thought about my aging parents. My fear of receiving a phone call of their death is tremendously real; however, I would really want to stay with my parents on their last days and would like to be part of their final life. Although love and memory can fill the void of death, I would want to witness the death.

This holiday season is all about the future: the future for the young and the old and especially for each family. There is no room for the void and emptiness. For me, the 2012 winter family gathering marks a fantastic note that is joyful and exciting. The family story continues: the summer family reunion party really kicks everyone’s bud for an awesome time, until then, we appreciate the time to see each other and love each other.

Finally, to build a holiday spirit, young and not very young of us built an ice bridge to celebrate the New Year! After all, the bird has died, the music is still on and the bridge is up!

Shout out for a son of a gun

Posted on November 10, 2012 by Yiren

He was a special agent who worked in a huge movie industry in Hong Kong as an undercover for the government in his 30s; a writer too hip for his time that I refuse to recognize him when I was in my rebel teens; he can cite The Twenty-Four Histories by heart and consider Nietzsche is his enlightenment; he smokes cigarette for 30 years and quit it in one second without looking back; he loves European football and is a fan for the Lakers; he play basketball with my teenage son when he is nearly 80; he taught me how to swim and let me draw on every page of his book collections; he gave me the love for sports when hardly anyone in the Island thought girls should play sports; he told me an era governed by an old power was over and so his political career; he warned the family to pack suitcases if the political revolution hit home; he teaches me to embrace the world and it is ok to be exiled from your homeland; he gave me a tombstone to celebrate the end of my artist life when I told him I am getting married; he enjoys the ideal of Spartan way for all kids and did with his grandson; he is my father, a true spirit, a son of a gun.

August 10th is Taiwan’s Independent Day. Sometime between 10/10-11, our purple flowers start blooming. And October 20 is the Nobel Prize week. My father did not win the Nobel Prize for the Literature, of course, we know the Nobel Prize in Literature 2012 was awarded to Mo Yan “who with hallucinatory realism merges folk tales, history and the contemporary”. My father has written two books a year on China policy, literature, and philosophy since the 90’s. These heavy weight publications have not brought him any wealth or fame. My father published his book entirely on his own, no promotion or publicity from any power publishing houses; atop father is not a novelist to accumulate enough readers. My father’s knowledge of Russian literature, Nietzsche and Nobel Prize writers is real and he wrote so many books on these topics. My father’s writing is sharp and like a knife, will cut you to pieces, if you cannot keep up with the lines. I remember clearly the day father stopped his college teaching and announced he had enough with the empty souls of young people. Truck loads of books hauled out from his book shelves to the paper refinery. I own more than 25 of my father’s publications. I have received two publications a year for the past 15 years. Lately, only a book a year makes me wonder about his health and will. For whom I consider a brilliant Chinese scholar in modern time, my father lives a very modest life.

While China celebrates one of its own for a Nobel Prize in Literature, I, too, celebrate my father’s life as a writer. I salute him, for his last stance as a traditional Chinese scholar who refuses to let his own existence fade away and keep writing.

His name is Li-Chao Hou.

A week in Washington DC (with mysterious cross paths and some thoughts)

Posted on September 24, 2012 by Yiren

Looking at a Cezanne, National Gallery of Art During 2012, I was in Washington DC for a week-long Impressionism and post-Impressionism Teacher Institute at the National Gallery of Art by myself. However, five years before that I was once in Washington DC to study Dutch painting at the National Gallery of Art, and I brought my teenage son along with me.

While I was in the NGA, my son would venture out to the city on his own, with his skateboard. We stayed in the youth hostel and both would skip lunch to save money. By the time we met up after the conference, we were famished. We would find a nice but not very expensive place to eat dinner ( we have discovered the Whole Food Market!) and afterwards it was usually me asking about his day. That was my “Curious Case of Benjamin Button” moment with my son.

The mother and son’s connection became closer during a road trip we took to Colorado for a college visit in 2010. We truly enjoyed the gorgeous mountain views and a promising future lay ahead for both of us. Only later did I realize the mother and son relationship is far from perfection or fulfillment. In 2012, my daughter came down from New York City to Washington DC to spent one evening with me during my NGA workshop. Mother and daughter moment is precious. Atop the list of things we shared that evening, she accepted a job offer through a phone call. We both screamed in the Smithsonian Museum for American Art and pondered what would her new life be like.

1801, oil on canvas, 28 1/4 x 24 in.

On the last day at the Institute, I revisited the Painting “Rubens Peal with a Geranium” since last time my son took a picture with the Painting after I had mentioned the gentleman in the picture looks like his father. That evening without my son and daughter or my sweetheart, I decided to treat myself a great dinner to celebrate the end of a busy week and reflect on a cross road of growing up and growing old in the Country’s Capital.

I stepped into a local Salvadoran restaurant, had the best Fajita chicken and taco I have ever tasted. With impressions of Manet’s Bar at the Folies-Bergere still strongly present in my head, I ordered a glass of Margarita served by a warmhearted lady behind the bar. I enjoyed every bit of the food on my plate.

Manifestation

Posted on July 26, 2012 by Yiren

If you look carefully, you will find a dog portrait within the portrait of the dog. Art by James Gallagher

Postcards

Posted on July 26, 2012 by Yiren

Corpse Meditation, literally meditation over a picture of dead body, is a form of meditation practiced by monks in Thailand. It helped them deal with the grim task of cremating thousands of victims after the 2004 tsunami. The photos of corpses or decomposing bodies are sold in religious shops throughout Thailand and it is quite normal and understood for monks to keep macabre pictures among their personal possessions, so they may see beyond an external aspect of a living person (The Washington Times, 1/3/2005). On the other hand, in a total different context, contemplating the postcard of Lynching Laura and Lawrence Nelson of 1911, I wonder how sightseers interpret the image of human corpses in their mind.

For me, the image of a mother and her son hanging under the Canadian River Bridge brings me to tear and fear. The cry of a mother knowing that she is losing her child is the emptiness of circumstance, in the postcard. The cry penetrates inside me, like the lyrics to Wood Guthrie’s song about the hanging, “Don’t Kill My Baby and My Son”: (use with permission. Since 2013, the center has moved from NY to Tulsa Oklahoma).

As I walked down that old dark town
In the town where I was born,
I heard the saddest lonesome moan
I ever heard before.

My hair it trembled at the roots
Cold chills run down my spine,
As I drew near that jail house
I heard this deathly cry:

O, don’t kill my baby and my son,
O, don’t kill my baby and my son.
You can stretch my neck on that old river bridge,
But don’t kill my baby and my son.

Now, I’ve heard the cries of a panther,
Now, I’ve heard the coyotes yell,
But that long, lonesome cry shook the whole wide world
And it come from the cell of the jail.

Yes, I’ve heard the screech owls screeching,
And the hoot owls that hoot in the night,
But the graveyard itself is happy compared
To the voice in that jailhouse that night.

Then I saw a picture on a postcard
It showed the Canadian River Bridge,
Three bodies hanging to swing in the wind,
A mother and two sons they’d lynched.

There’s a wild wind blows down the river,
There’s a wild wind blows through the trees,
There’s a wild wind that blows ’round this wide, wide world,
And here’s what the wild winds say:

O, don’t kill my baby and my son,
O, don’t kill my baby and my son.
You can stretch my neck on that old river bridge,
But don’t kill my baby and my son.

Skip to the present, natural and man-made disasters bring up an array of images to us. For better or worse, we are looking into postcards of happenings from TV. computer, and cell phone screens. Because social media flash mobs (both physical and through propagation of ideas) are everywhere; in the form of authoritative voice, public opinions, profiling, camera taping, neighborhood beautification, dress code, etc., I fear for my living. Any impulse that may drag me and my family out of our home and hang us under a big oak tree may be righteously vindicated, in the guise of just cause.

Winter’s Road

Posted on July 11, 2012 by Yiren

Winter’s Road

January, 2012

Jim and I came back to Tulsa inspired, motivated, and completely broke. My one person show “The Cages” at Tulsa Artists’ Coalition Gallery was a quick fix but well done. The cage images reflect my state of mind. They are birdless, doorless, and somewhat bottomless. Later, the cages’ metamorphosis included references to houses on hills and ribbed structures with nets, used to fight malaria in Africa. In that case, human is inside.

Not long ago, I visit the website of the British Foundling Museum. There was a picture in which one small glove hangs on a fence, the unknowing part is the story. I thought of the birds, cages, and the free sky, the moment you let go of something, the story begins.

In a warm winter afternoon, Jim picked up couple unmatched lost gloves alone his walking path, “Here you go, these are the stories I pick up for you”, he smiles.

small wire cage

Formosa Collages

Gallery

Posted on July 9, 2012 by Yiren

This gallery contains 47 photos.

Garbage Run

Posted on July 7, 2012 by Yiren

12/22/2011

In this Island, garbage is gold and people fight for it. Collecting garbage used to be a job only for the elderly and unfortunate people. Not any more, the garbage collectors are self-employed and very territorial. Recycling garbage is a business and people go for it. When, where, how and what to put out your garbage takes strategy. In the city, the singing garbage truck (playing a recording of Young Girl’s Prayer by Bache) comes once a day. Man, what a sight! You can hear the music from blocks away, then everyone comes out with their bags of separated garbage, in five minutes, it was over. I did my first garage throw in Kaohsiung fifteen minutes before the pick-up time and offer my help to a young guy who has only one little trash bag so he won’t be waiting. He responds, “It’s quite ok, it’s nice to see neighbors and talk a little bit”. My true garbage run happened in Peitou, a district of Taipei with mountains and hills. The steep uphill route means neither the garbage truck can stop nor can the residents slow down. My neighbors and I line up single file on opposite side of the street so we can all throw at once. Within seconds, it was over!

Shipping Containers

Posted on July 7, 2012 by Yiren

Kaohsiung International Container Arts Festival, 12.10.2011-1.31.2012

James and I went to Kaohsiung to take part in a container arts festival in November. It is the only such festival in Taiwan or the world for that matter. Containers are common as dirt in Taiwan and especially Kaohsiung. They are used as economical homes, business, exhibition space, hotels, storage, everything. For something so big and square and rusting it is odd how they blend into the landscape. As a festival it is more partial to the process of people working together in a place, inspired by the bonds created by the exchange of language, culture and thoughts. We have been discussing our needs with the museum staff for the past month in Tulsa and will meet with the organizers in the morning to arrange for finances, and visit the place that we will be working from for the next three weeks. It is exciting to think that we will be working beside artists from Taiwan, Europe, and USA. There is a staff of translators from a nearby college and museum assistants to help production in a strange place for people given to all in one shopping found at Home Depot.

The group of artists invited to create art out of retired shipping containers is at the museum as guests to view the opening of modern art from Korea. Afterwards we talked with the curator from S Korea about the amazing show, and finally introduced to the director of the Kaohsiung Fine Arts Museum, Beatrice Shih. Artists from France and Spain have filmed and collected material from a distribution center for recycled household goods. Could you imagine having these artists turning up soil in Tulsa? Two Italian artists have knit and to coordinate an effort to make a pure feminine environment inside a shipping container. A young German artist is smiling at the opportunity she has to create with plenty of skilled help to create a psychological box within a shipping container. An Artist from New York wraps a shipping container in a history of its 13 years on the ocean, again coordinated with huge support from the museum staff and volunteers. A protest group of indigenous people is free to recreate a structure they had built on the beach in a rural part of the island to fight development of the ocean front and the storing of spent nuclear fuel on a pristine island, just off the coast.

We appreciate the financial support from the Department of State along with support from Tulsa This Land Press to make our own installation come true and were able to represent one of Kaohsiung’s sister cities by working hard for three weeks with local labor, an elementary school, and a university, as well as the Museum to create the most involved work we have yet created.

If the Only Tool You Have Is a Hammer Trailer Container

Michele & Miquel

our trailer with a fruit tree and goats

Contained Home – Spain

We are Still on the Homeward Voyage -21639nm, Taiwan

Home Is Everyone’s Primeval Little Universe – San Antonio

Silently For Me, NY

Bloom – Florida

the entrance to KarmaKroma

KARMAKroma – Italy

Drifting Ground – Hawaii

Special Economic Area – Germany

2111.11.29,04:16,4’16 -Taiwan

Save the Moonrise Coast-Collective Art Action, Taiwan

Ho Hi Ya together

The artists

Look and be looked at, a world of snapping

Posted on July 7, 2012 by Yiren

12/4/2011

the opening of Comic and Animation Exhibition at Pier-2 Art center

In Kaohsiung, everyone in the city has a camera–a good camera, in addition to their iPhones! If you put a red dot on a tree and start taking picture with your camera, in a short time everyone with a good camera will follow.We stumbled upon the 2^nd annual Cosplay conference at Pier 2 while we were working on a container show and experienced two days of camera clicking.

Cosplay, short for costume play, is a type of role play in which participants wear costumes and accessories to represent a specific character from manga, anime, comic books, or video games. The rule at this conference is simple, you can snap pictures but you cannot touch cosplayers, and when the time is up you don’t shoot their back or their unprepared poses. In a Cosplay group there is usually one who is involved as a prop carrier, one who does the timing, one who is the photographer, and a couple of close friends. Although the pier is jam packed with people, the atmosphere is more restrained than a mosh pit that happened in a live concert in the States.

Taking apart, repair, reused, and repainted

Posted on July 5, 2012 by Yiren

11/24/2011

Kaohsiung’s heavy industry was famous for three things: cutting down the ships, repairing the machine and redistributing them as new as possible. The old Industrial Area near the Pier 2 are all for the taking apart business. In the small compartment ground floors pile up the chains, mortars, pumps, knots, wheels, engines painted a vivid picture of the used to be no. 1 industry in the world: ship yards. The industry has trained the world-class workers in wielding and machine repairmen, along with all kinds of by-product s of cutting down ships. Not very long ago, the Japanese tourist would come to this jam-packed area to witness the miracle of reusable parts from Japanese made heavy duty machines. Everything has changed since the city has a new vision of green tourism, including torn down the greasy mom and pap and uncle, cousin and son shops, swept the old and ugly away and turned the blocks into wilder roads and public parks.

The shop.

Cleaning.

Painted blue.

Big and heavy!

The rise and fall of a sugar paradise

Posted on July 4, 2012 by Yiren

What we do not learn from museums about the history of Kaohsiung, we are told of on the street. The city has converted its port navigational authority building into a museum dedicated to history of traditional exports, salt, banana, and sugar. The sugar refinery (next to last stop on the red line), once responsible for producing 58% of GNP, is now being reassigned as a museum as well. Nothing has moved since the last day of processing, 2000 tons per day. Wild dogs rule the old dormitories for sugar refinery workers, and we have just missed meeting with a friend who is doing artist in residence at an old elementary school building.

Closer to town, a hydraulic pump re-builder is upset that the government has removed a whole street of similar shops, one by one, and created a giant park. What can we do with a park, he questioned. We are creating container art just a few doors away on a pier that has been, itself, converted to public usefulness. A vendor on the curbside told me that old man collecting scraps of metal and paper is making more than $400/day in a motorcycle converted into a pickup truck.

Wishing to practice a few sentences of English, the street vendor tells me there was a time when this area was all American service men. They used to play baseball over in the park. “They were nice, patted me on the head and gave me candy” the gentleman said. The US helicopters patrolled the air, up and down the pier, and shipping container gained popularity delivering supplies during the Vietnam War.

Back in the National History Museum in Kaohsiung I learned during the time of Japanese occupation that sixty percent of the factories in the area were bombed by b24’s. Later on, a hardship which led to a severe crackdown of the educated class by the new government results in the most tragic massacre in the post-war Taiwan history, the 228 incident. In 1947, a group of high school students in Kaohsiung did something unimaginable and yet their innocent bravery reminds me of the spring revolution in Egypt, 60 years later. Students from the Kaohsiung municipal senior high school organized self-defense Forces to protect the town, the school, and the city hall (now the Kaohsiung History Museum). An attack was ordered by the nationalist army military commander in the area. More than 60 people including city councilors were killed during the attack. The unarmed, young, deputized high school students, left behind to protect, were killed by the army. A very bitter piece of history!

In the market

Posted on July 1, 2012 by Yiren

11/20/2011

James and I enjoyed breakfast in the local market streets, usually they are in a narrow alley in between older 4 or 5 story apartments. As usual, you cannot find a clear pass way on the sidewalks; they either are occupied by vendors or motorcycles. Many if not all the food preparers are women. They start their day very early preparing food from scratch and they work so hard that many of them have to use a bandage like the athletes here in the States to protect their elbow, knees, and wrists. Usually, the morning vendor will finish the business around 11 and then in the same space for the afternoon vendor, no space and no time is wasted. This is a 24/7 operation.

A place the bird won’t lay an egg

Posted on June 30, 2012 by Yiren

11/15/2011

Kaohsiung Fine Arts Museum is in an affluent area; many residential tall buildings are the result from few giant real estate companies bought out farm land and moved or closed the oil refinery industry for city development. With the museum and its landscaping and huge sculpture garden, the property value in this area skyrocketing to a point that only the richest can afford it. The old part of the city including the train station area started losing their dense population. The same story happens everywhere in the world: The big developer bought out the land that used to be places where birds won’t lay eggs and turn into artificial golden eggs. However, with the global economy, I heard the occupancy of the skyscraper apartments is only 30%. A local lamented the fact they need more people for this big city. Kaohsiung’s beautification includes the Museum, the parks, the public art, and the most of all, a clean “Love” river. I cannot believe that I actually enjoy riding my bike along the Love River to Pier 2 to work on our shipping container. Along the way, I zigzag my way through the motorcycles, hop into the bike route, enjoy a warm harbor breeze with my shorts and love every minute of it.

Kaohsiung City

The art of losing isn’t hard to master*

Aside

11/14/2011

Leaving Tulsa was full of last-minute effort but no hard task thanks to relatives, friends, neighbors and colleagues, James and I simply left everything we were doing at the moment behind to pick up with and complete a container art project in Kaohsiung. After 4 hours on the ground, 18 hours in the plane, and flying over the North pole, Siberia, Mongolia, Japan, Hong Kong, we landed in Kaohsiung City. Kaohsiung is a city in southwestern Taiwan with a population around 2.9 million. It is a center for manufacturing, refining, shipbuilding, and other light and heavy industries. Designated an export-processing zone in the late 19
70s, Kaohsiung has succeeded in attracting foreign investment to process locally purchased raw materials for export.

The images of thousands of factory workers riding their bikes passing through the gate are long gone. The old parts of the city welcome us with some breeze and quietness in the early morning. James and I passed through some narrow alleys and checked into a hotel.

First line from One Art, by Elizabeth Bishop

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/176996