identity
For some time now, I have thought about creating a body of work which would explore and affirm my Chinese American identity in my lifelong search to express what it means to be an Asian American. I wanted to express my personal thoughts about major themes of being Asian American, while also resisting the monolithic stereotype that all Asians are the same. Through my story of paintings, I hope you can engage and continue having conversations about what it means to be Asian American and how that affects what is happening in the world today. This exhibition is timely. As the COVID-19 pandemic burst onto the world stage, Asians have been increasingly vilified and attacked. We have been suddenly cast front and center in an unwanted spotlight simply because of who we are.
Having grown up during my latter life in Southern California and now having raised my own family in a Los Angeles suburb amidst many Asians, I have almost forgotten what it means to be Asian. How was my Asian identity formed?
In my early 1980’s Asian American Studies class at Berkeley, I learned I was not “Oriental”; I am “Asian American.” Confusing. After all, I was part of the OCC (Oriental Culture Club) in high school. For those of you still wondering, “Oriental” is an adjective that describes things, and not people groups. Asians were not considered people but rather things, as in something curious, unusual, and different from the Far East. For all these years, I did not realize that I should have been offended at being called Oriental instead of Asian or Asian American. For those who have used “Oriental” to describe a person of Asian descent, no worries. We are all on a journey to better understand and embrace the rich diversity of people groups.
I remember realizing how society perceives Asians with the #Oscarssowhite movement in 2016, which was really a black and white movement. I saw how diversity and inclusion meant nothing if you are yellow. Chris Rock, who is African American, hosted the Oscars, yet he made racist jokes, including those that mocked Asian male masculinity and stereotyping young Asian kids as nerds on stage. Most people believe racism is a black and white issue. It is not.
Admittedly, I am not a baseball fan, but the 2017 World Series is now etched in my memory. Houston Astro’s Yuli Gurriel (of Latin decent) hit a home run off of the Dodgers’ pitcher, Yu Darvish, who is part Japanese. Upon returning to the dugout, Gurriel put his fingers to the sides of his eyes and lifted up the corners, slanting his eyes as a humorous gesture. Gurriel also called Darvish “Chinito” (“Chinese boy”). When I witnessed that incident, unexpected mixed emotions of shame and anger came flooding back to me. I remembered what it was like growing up in Texas as the only Asian kid in our entire elementary school. I had forgotten and blocked this from my memory. I wondered how different the response would have been if the Dodger pitcher had been African American, and if Gurriel had made a monkey gesture and used the “N---“word.
As an Asian American, I often wonder if I should even complain about my own pain and racial injustices because I do not want my personal issues to overshadow or distract from those of my African American brothers and sisters. I have it so good, right?
As the COVID-19 lockdowns waged on, people sought to place blame for the virus. One leader called it the China Virus and the Kung Flu, propagating a belief that the Chinese, and those who look Chinese, were to blame. Violence towards Asian Americans continues even now to escalate across our country. With the recent Atlanta spa mass killings, we as Asian Americans are being forced into an unsolicited limelight. We can no longer be invisible. But we can instead realize, resist, and reframe the stereotypes and issues that seek to define us as Asian Americans.
As you view this collection, hopefully you will get a glimpse into aspects of my own identity as an Asian American.