Category Archives: Current Exhibition

Current Exhibition, Top Picks!

Garment Identity

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UNFOLD from January 30 to April 1, 2023 at The Stamp Gallery | University of Maryland, College Park | Written by Oliver Foley

Every day, before you enter the public eye, you select an outfit. Whether by instinct, intentionality, or necessity, you make a choice. Sometimes, you just throw on what is most comfortable. Other times, you carefully craft your outward appearance. But no matter how you choose, the clothes you wear shape your identity for that day. UNFOLD, the show currently on view at Stamp Gallery, explores how the garments we choose for ourselves can be used as a tool to modulate identity. Four different artists provide four different takes on how our clothes define us. Through these four stories, the viewer learns, chapter by chapter, how essential clothing is to our own humanity. UNFOLD asks the viewer “What function do your clothes serve?” To help the viewer find their truth, Elliot Doughtie, HH Hiaasen, Mojdeh Rezaeipour, and Hoesy Corona each bring their own answer to the table.

Elliot Doughtie, Solo (detail), 2023

Although clothes may not constitute an entire identity, everyone is evaluated by their attire, whether they like it or not. In order to control the external perception of one’s self, one must fashion their outfit like a tool. The purpose of this tool? To take what is inside and make it visible. Our internal lives are locked inside of our minds, and only through outward expression do we free it from the confines of our psyche. Our choice of garments allows us to broadcast this internal life to anyone and everyone. In a way, this is the same role that art plays in our society. We use art to convey thoughts and feelings which otherwise would necessitate intimate conversation. In UNFOLD, Elliot Doughtie calls attention to the group mentality of performative masculinity through the repeated imagery of the athletic sock. The inadequacy of the unpaired sock takes the intimacy of hushed discussions and the unspoken hang-ups of inner life and puts it on display. The clothes we wear expose our insecurities as loudly as they champion our prides. Garments and undergarments are not simply tools to display what we want to be seen, but to veil what we want to hide. Sometimes, caught up in our performance, we are betrayed by our outfits.

The outward expression of identity can also trap the true self within. The uniform, mandatory and standardized by definition, connects the individual to the system, the greater organism. These outfits serve as a label of function, identifying the wearer by their use as a tool, concealing the human underneath. The bus driver, fast-food employee, metalworker, and mechanic may wear the garments of their function, but they are far more than a cog. HH Hiaasen acknowledges and refutes the role of clothing as a “reducer” of identity in their series “Ventilated Workwear.” Cut-out grids puncture through the outfits, opening the uniform to reveal the person underneath. Through these modifications, Hiaasen helps the individual survive their time as a uniform. 

HH Hiaasen, Ventilated Workwear: GRIDgloves, 2019

The judgmental perception of our appearance is inescapable, and our clothing is one of the few tools we have to control our interactions with strangers. In order for our garments to convey our true identity, rather than a false one, choice is necessary. Yet, in Iran, this mediation is enforced. Mojdeh Rezaeipour’s untitled works in UNFOLD draw from the ongoing movement in Iran to free the women of the nation from the restrictive law regarding dress. These clothing laws serve as a symbolically rich focal point in the movement’s battle against the oppressive policies of the authoritarian regime as a whole. Covering oneself is a common religious practice in Islam, but clothing turns from a tool into a weapon when it is forced onto others. Rezaeipour’s artworks demonstrate the need for the autonomy which transforms clothes from a destroyer of identity into a blooming flower of individual expression. 

It is often said that one’s actions define one’s character. If we were to apply this standard to humanity as a whole, we are beyond unforgivable. Even ignoring our actions towards one another, the extent to which we have ravaged our home planet is tremendous. Our species is unavoidably defined by our treatment of the Earth. The final chapter in UNFOLD’s exploration into garment identity is Hoesy Corona’s “Climate Ponchos.” Although most fashion is designed to mediate the reception of our identity, Corona’s “Climate Ponchos” mediate our identity with nature itself. The poncho is a tool to protect against the elements, and in that way it is a communicator between the individual and the natural world. This earth which we have destroyed now rejects us through natural disasters of our own creation. There is little that our clothing can say or broadcast to walk back these transgressions, but acknowledging our failures and wrongdoings is one step towards inspiring change. By wearing clothing which champions the environment, we interlink our own identity with our identity as a planet. Strengthening this bond on an individual level is an important step towards repairing our relationship with the Earth. Corona uses the connective qualities of clothing to bring awareness to our part in the greater organism of the Earth.

The way we perceive others, the way we perceive ourselves, and even the way that we guide our actions is brought about by that seemingly small choice we make every day before we leave our room. For better or for worse, our clothing makes us human.

UNFOLD will be on view in The Stamp Gallery at the University of Maryland, College Park from January 30 through April 1, 2023. 

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Unfolding Ventilated Workwear by HH Hiaasen

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UNFOLD from January 30 to April 1, 2023 at The Stamp Gallery | University of Maryland, College Park | Written by Ellen Zhang

In the Stamp Gallery’s current exhibition UNFOLD, HH Hiaasen has graced the walls with their collection of Ventilated Workwear. For the first time, these uniforms have been displayed off the body and, instead, on two peg boards typically found in toolsheds. Simultaneously, the displayed Tyvek suit, coveralls, gloves, ear plugs, face mask, and goggles have transformed from “garments” to “tools.” By doing so, Hiaasen opens a new door for their audience to observe and ponder their art. 

When looking at Hiaasen’s artwork, some interesting observations can be made. Rather than imitating the appearance of tools, Hiaasen uses actual objects typically found in a toolshed. By following a uniform grid pattern, Hiaasen has hand-cut most pieces, which leaves little “garment” left. Each garment is then traced with a black outline, containing each object in its own space. As Hiaasen explains, the rectangular cut-outs also represent a “standardized mode of containment.” Despite the underlying meaning behind the pattern of choice, there is less containing and more opening. Through those openings, the audience gets a greater view of the pegboard, which enforces how these garments should be explicated as tools. Since most of the pieces on display were created between 2016 and 2019, the edges of the cutouts have also become frayed. This can be best seen in the denim GRIDsuit. Since the project’s inception in 2018, the GRIDsuits have been worn for display, leading to apparent wear and tear. Microthreads of denim poke out from all directions, marring the appearance of the standardized rectangles. 

HH Hiaasen, Ventilated Workwear: GRIDsuit, 2018. Hand-cut coveralls.

Hiaasen’s deliberate usage of empty space, pattern, and time tie into a broader message of their own “experiment in queer survival.” Due to the rectangular cut-outs, the tools lose their prescribed purpose of protecting the wearer. Take the GRIDgoggles for example. What is supposed to be a tool that protects the eyes becomes a mere ornament that exposes the wearer to surrounding danger. In other words, when tools deviate from their conventional purpose, the wearer feels vulnerable. While not explicitly expressed by the artist or the artwork, this could be indicative of how dangerous conformity is. Conventional definitions of gender and sexual orientation are most often binary and straight. This singles out individuals who don’t identify with these conventions, making them feel defenseless to social isolation, discrimination, and much more. As seen in the wear and tear of the GRIDsuits, time plays an important role in exacerbating this issue. As conformity continues to draw its power from numbers, the exposure to these encircling risks is heightened. 

Garments that serve as protective gear can also “contain” the wearer. As garments diminish, there is greater visibility for the wearer. This effect could also enable the wearer to better express themselves. However, the separation between self and other is still stark. As the black outline of each piece suggests, the wearer is subject to their own space. Even as clothing loses its purpose of protecting or containing, the isolation of the wearer remains stagnant as ever. 

What’s interesting is the vehicle HH Hiaasen has chosen to embody this message. By displaying the garments as tools in a toolshed, Hiaasen’s work is able to express a dual purpose of protecting and containing. Rather than using garments as a whole, Hiaasen takes a specific type of clothing—protective gear—to convey their message. 

Hiaasen’s work delves into the connection between self and other. In exploring this connection, their work touches on conformity and queerness, and how these two subjects interact with each other. As a result, Hiaasen has truly explored the possibility of garments beyond their conventional manner, thus unfolding the layers of meaning we would have never imagined.  

UNFOLD will be on view in The Stamp Gallery at the University of Maryland, College Park from January 30 through April 1, 2023. For more information on HH Hiaasen and their work, visit https://www.studio-hh.com/HH.

Current Exhibition

Binary Socks

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UNFOLD from January 30 to April 1, 2023 at The Stamp Gallery | University of Maryland, College Park | Written by Isabella Chilcoat

I first encountered artist Elliot Doughtie’s work last November of 2022 during my Contemporary Art Purchasing Program cohort’s visit to his studio in Baltimore City. We arrived early in the morning (in a university van) for a full day of gallery and studio visits, and Doughtie was first on the docket. He greeted us outside of Area 405, the historic Baltimore warehouse that houses a number of working artists’ studios and emits the familiar musk that so many historic properties possess after sheltering decades of dust from the bustle of busy humans. Surrounded by the energies of creatives past and present, my team members and I were eager to explore the brick-walled universe of expression and curiosity.

Enter Doughtie’s studio. The floors are gray wooden boards met by drywall panels in between exposed brick. The drywall patches are covered in graph paper sketches of concepts, ideas, and the two sock drawings that now hang in the Stamp Gallery as part of the group exhibition UNFOLD. There are two rooms, one main studio space testing the display of sculpture and installations followed by a narrow hallway to a smaller workspace. Throughout the studio are socks. Not real socks, but heavy, brittle sculptures and mock-ups capturing the exact texture of fabric created through an all but easy process of pouring plaster into molds cast from bulk-buys of generic gym socks. Inside the smaller workspace room resides a circular saw, molds, and other scattered tools. Imagine a public education shop class room, then make it half the size, then fill it with various sizes of plaster fragments, pipe, and little empty replica bottles of Testosterone.

Just as the plaster fragments spread across the floor of the studio, Doughtie’s finished sock sculptures rest on the wooden floors in the Gallery. What most visitors do not know is that they weigh around eighty pounds, can shatter, and are not, in fact, real socks. The closest element they bear to the fabric socks used to create their molds is the red striped detail above the ankle. The red dye in the original sock transferred to the absorbent plaster during casting.  An expert dupe, these conceptual socks would likely crush under the weight of a foot, which is what makes them so fantastic as works of art! They subvert any ordinary conception people hold about socks; Doughtie’s are not the resilient little things we banish to hampers, closet floors, or washing machines every evening. Instead the art socks on the floor are metaphors for the crushing weight of our society’s masculine stereotypes. 

Further exemplified in the diptych drawings of socks on the gallery’s first wall, the illustrations oppose each other by contrasting a picture of many socks crowded together with a picture of just one sock in isolation. Despite what initially feels like a playful subject, the illustration with only one sock is chillingly lonely. The single sock floats at the bottom of its page as if staring at the crowd of intertwining socks separated by two frames. Socks come in pairs, like binaries, and can only fulfill their prescribed purpose if  they are together. The idea of losing one sock from a pair likely raises neck hairs for anyone who has scoured a house in search of that elusive piece of polyester-blend hosiery. It also highlights the devastating pressures to conform to a stereotype or standardized identity for belonging. Focusing on a single, separated sock from the cluster really spotlights the metaphor for stereotypical masculinity and exposes its weaknesses beyond the safety of sameness. These all-but-essential unspoken codes dictating binary gender expression inflict droves of problems, and Doughtie’s single sock captures some of the feelings associated with rejecting the standard. 

The lonely sock suggests dual ideas that the pressure of assimilation  is crushing, and, ironically, so is the isolation. I am grateful for the physical space in between the picture frames, however, because I needed it to remind me about the gray area. Our world is frequently so suffocatingly black and white, but life is much more complex and colorful beyond the binary. 

Elliot Doughtie’s work is included in UNFOLD at The Stamp Gallery of the University of Maryland, College Park, from January 30 – April 1, 2023. 

For more information on Elliot Doughtie, visit https://elliotdoughtie.com/ . 

For more information on Unfold and related events, visit https://stamp.umd.edu/centers/stamp_gallery 

Current Exhibition, Top Picks!, Uncategorized

Climate Ponchos: The Human-Environment Binary

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UNFOLD from January 30 to April 1, 2023 at The Stamp Gallery | University of Maryland, College Park | Written by James Cho

Hoesy Corona, Climate Ponchos, 2022

Draped over hangers suspended from the Stamp Gallery’s ceiling, Hoesy Corona’s Climate Ponchos display multiple scenes of different biomes across the Earth. Made from digital and hand-cut collages on leatherette, vinyl, and silk jersey fabric, the collective works in the series Climate Ponchos explores the relationships between humans and their environments—specifically, how our presence often affects ecosystems within them, calling for humans to act as stewards of our environment instead of our current path that claims ownership of the world we live in. Corona describes the figures depicted on the ponchos as “the archetypal ‘traveler,’ [with] the subjects portrayed while in unilateral transition, wearing backpacks and hats, carrying suitcases and holding children.” These travelers and the surrounding biomes—whether it be plains, mountains, or fields—serve to collectively display immigration instigated by the degradation of nature, emphasizing how climate change affects both nature and humans alike, giving us all the more reason to help prevent global warming and work with nature instead of against it. On the other side of the ponchos, the figures reappear as anonymous blue and orange silhouettes, representations of a collective of immigrants from around the world, creating a sense of wonder as they traverse the diverse multicolored foliage around them and march towards a new home. 

Gardens by the Bay, A Unique Experience (OCBC Skyway, SuperTree Grove), 2022

In my own experience growing up as an immigrant across different countries, I can relate to Corona’s message, especially from living in Singapore, a country that wants to become a “City in Nature” by 2030 as part of their Singapore Green plan. Unlike many modernized cities, Singapore itself is surrounded by natural rainforests often right next to residential areas, and has places like the Botanic Gardens which preserve the island’s natural beauty, and the Gardens by the Bay’s famous Super Tree ecosystems. Acting as their own ecosystems and powered by solar energy, which are also used for music shows at night, these trees are a prime example of the stewardship of nature that Corona is calling for. Through these efforts, alongside Singapore’s diverse population of immigrants from around the world, Corona’s advocacy for greater care toward the land and all of its inhabitants becomes a reality and a guiding principle. Where instead of the multi-colored floral patterns resembling comic book or manga-like anger marks that animated characters sport when angered – used here on top of the plant life, perhaps to symbolize its discontent with humans’ actions – hearts or another symbol take their place, as an indication of the naturalization of the world. Much in the same way that Singapore as a city forms a sense of unity between humans and the tropical ecosphere that coexist on the island. In essence, the Gardens by the Bay represent the first step toward fashioning a human-made world that allows for harmony between human and non-human life. Though like any other city Singapore may not be in perfect symbiosis across the country, Singapore still acts as a near-perfect example of the kind of stewardship and respect for nature that Corona is trying to emphasize, which in turn nurtures human lives as well. 

Swan Lake at Singapore Botanic Gardens, 2023

As a collective from all over Asia and the world, citizens in Singapore share in the anonymity of the human subjects in the Climate Ponchos as well. Millions of people from all walks of life live or pass through Singapore. Whether it be because of environmental degradation like in Climate Ponchos, political or social instability, or other reasons, Singapore acts a cultural hub of stability, where immigrants might either stay because of the environmental and cultural harmony that exists there, or use as a place to collect themselves and all that they carry with them from their country of origin. Immigrants like the camouflaged individuals and blue and orange-outlined humans from both sides of the ponchos can rest from carrying their bags, suitcases, and children, and blossom like the camouflaged humans’ flowery hair.  No matter what kind of dress they wear, everyone can express themselves and take a break from moving across different environments. And just like how ponchos themselves physically embody this immigration from different parts of the world, Climate Ponchos serves as a reflection of the experiences of immigration depicted on them, as a reflection of human to environment relationships throughout our lives and from our native environments. 

Singapore not only represents a first step towards human-to-non-human harmony, but also reflects the larger message of human-to-human connections that the current UNFOLD exhibit strives to convey to visitors. As we address issues like climate change, we must also turn our attention to improving LGBTQIA, racial, gender, and ethnic harmony, and other socio-political causes for immigration that hinder our inter-human relationships. 

Current Exhibition

The Hijab Untitled and Unfolded: A Dual Symbol of Empowerment and Oppression

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UNFOLD from January 30 to April 1, 2023 at The Stamp Gallery | University of Maryland, College Park | Written by Reshma Jasmin

According to the curatorial statement for the Stamp Gallery’s current exhibition,  UNFOLD, the artwork on view explores the function of clothing to “mediate connections between public and private, human and non-human, self and other” in a way that “[complicates] these binaries.” This power of clothing is readily apparent in the work of Hoesy Corona, Elliot Doughtie, and HH Hiaasen. These three artists use modified clothing or sculptures of clothing as a medium to comment on prevalent issues, social phenomena, and injustice; their work is a clear “unfolding” of clothes. 

But UNFOLD houses another artist’s work: Untitled (۱۴۰۱ Series) by Mojdeh Rezaeipour. Rezaeipour’s work differs from the work of the other artists in the exhibit as her individual pyrographic collages on wood contain no textile work or sculpture of textile. The series of panels is titled ۱۴۰۱, or “1401,” which likely stands for the year 2022 according to the Persian calendar. This is likely because the content of her work focuses on the protests in Iran which began in 2022.

In Iran, the government requires that women cover their hair with a hijab. In September, a young Kurdish woman named Jina (Mahsa) Amini was murdered by Iranian police for failing to comply with this gendered law. In response, a series of feminist protests were mobilized by Iranian women in and outside of Iran. Four out of eight of Rezaeipour’s pieces on display at the Stamp Gallery involve women holding their fists up. The raised fist is used in a lot of movements and protests, notably in Black Lives Matter and Black Power movements, but also historically in socialist, feminist, anti-fascist, etc. demonstrations and protests. The nineteenth-century French artist Honoré Daumier shows a man with a raised fist in the c. 1848 painting The Insurrection, which is commonly thought of as the first documented depiction of the raised fist as a symbol of resistance and rebellion. The icon of a raised fist represents resistance, solidarity, and power— all aspects of the ongoing protests in Iran that Rezaeipour highlights in her series.

 
Mojdeh Rezaeipour, Untitled (۱۴۰۱ Series), 2022-23
 

In conversation, Rezaeipour pointed out the context of the scenes in some of her pieces. What I thought were pretty shades of blue and yellow that made the black and white grainy image of a woman rock-climbing stand out was actually a poignant moment of civil disobedience. In October, Elnaz Rekabi represented Iran in a climbing competition without her hijab, breaking Iran’s strict law. According to IranWire, Rekabi’s brother was held hostage by the Iranian government, so she was forced to apologize for her lack of hijab during her climb, and afterwards her family home was destroyed.

Rezaeipour moved on to describe the significance of the hijab as a dual symbol of freedom and oppression. In one of the two pieces below, Rezaeipour depicts two women, one with a chador (full-body and head covering garments) and one with uncovered hair and three-quarter sleeves, holding their enjoined hands up in front of the Iranian flag (left). Rezaeipour asserts that there is solidarity between women, that feminism is the empowerment of the choice to wear a hijab or not, and that the protests in Iran were a demonstration of said solidarity. In the other panel on the right, a woman with uncovered hair stands with a hijab in her hands in front of the historic Azadi Tower, also known as the Freedom Tower, which is located in Tehran, Iran. When the woman raises the currently controversial piece of clothing to the Freedom Tower, she is actively taking her right to choose; the tower in the background stands as evidence that as an Iranian, regardless of law, it is fundamentally her freedom to choose what to do with her hijab.

Mojdeh Rezaeipour, Untitled (۱۴۰۱ Series), 2022-23
Mojdeh Rezaeipour, Untitled (۱۴۰۱ Series), 2022-23

Rezaeipour focuses on a piece of clothing that traditionally speaks to faithfulness of women. When clothing, something so close to the body, holds such spiritual significance, it becomes sacred. As a sacred cloth that speaks to the wearer’s personal experience of faith, modern Muslim women wear the hijab to feel empowered by their religion. When covering of hair is made mandatory, the hijab is weaponized to oppress women, an act that is even sacrilegious by virtue of disrupting a woman’s choice to express her faith freely and sincerely. In Rezaeipour’s Untitled (۱۴۰۱ Series), it is seared into wood that when it is a free choice, the sanctity of the hijab remains intact.

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A Reflection to Remember: Teach Me How to Love This World

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Teach Me How to Love This World from October 19 to December 10, 2022 at The Stamp Gallery | University of Maryland, College Park | Written by Ellen Zhang

Bold red streaks, ominous ringing, whirrings of rotating projector shutters… each piece in Teach Me How to Love This World plays an integral part in illustrating a past, present, and future world grappling with violence and peace. What I like about Kei Ito’s work is that it’s direct and straightforward without undermining its complexities. As a viewer, I am amazed by how he has balanced artistic choices, abstract themes (like the meaning of peace), and the factuality of the impacts of nuclear war. Together, these three elements create the necessary experience of being caught off guard that precedes a stage of reflection. 

Stepping foot into this exhibition for the very first time, the piece that caught my attention was Teach Me How to Love This World: Sacrifice. The immediate appearance of a blood-red peace sign dripping down the canvas is jarring, intimidating, and contradicting. The perception of tranquility, from the peace symbol, is intruded by the blood-red color, enhancing Ito’s message that peace doesn’t come without fatal sacrifice. Ito reflects the destructive nature of war weapons through artistic choices that don’t sugarcoat and, instead, speak volumes on how nuclear war is a source of fear and intimidation. For those that are conflict-avoidant like me, an initial glimpse is enough to instill a sense of trepidation and uneasiness. 

Kei Ito, Teach Me How to Love This World: Sacrifice, 2022. Unprimed canvas, spray paint, print on aluminum dibond, 36x48x3 in.

The question of “whose peace, whose sacrifice” splattered across the top and bottom of the canvas adds to the power of the piece. It’s a transparent move that introduces perplexing questions between humanity and war, unlike the sanitized version we often get from the mainstream media. By proposing the question of “whose peace, whose sacrifice,” Ito also eases the viewer into a stage of reflection: Who are the victims of nuclear war? Who benefits from it? Is there even a clear distinction between the two or are we all unknowing victims of nuclear war? While I haven’t found the answers to these questions, I appreciate how Ito’s work is centralized in questions rather than statements. Nothing is definitive and, perhaps, this is on purpose. Ito breaks the stigma of reflecting on war by encouraging us, the viewers, to weigh on an integral theme of conflict: someone’s peace is brought through someone else’s suffering. During Ito’s artist talk, he even encouraged his audience to consider everyday life through the lens of sacrifice, war, and peace. For example, he mentioned how fast fashion is one of many suppressed examples of those benefiting from another’s exploitation. 

Situated in the center of the canvas is an inverted photograph of a goat receiving a blood transfusion by three masked doctors. Here, Ito adds additional layers of identity, fact, and questioning. The presence of a goat pays homage to the significance of animals ingrained in Japanese culture. At the same time, the photograph is rooted in factual evidence that depicts the devastating effects of atomic bomb testing. The original photograph was taken by George Skadding in 1947 and captures the moment when a goat, exposed to radiation from an A-bomb test on Bikini Atoll Island, receives a blood transfusion as it lies strapped to a surgical table at the Bethesda Naval Medical Research Institute, MD. Reflecting on the photo with its historical backdrop in mind subjects the viewer to numerous questions: Why did Ito choose a historical moment that took place in Maryland? Why is the photograph placed where it is? Why is it inverted? With no answers in plain sight, we are encouraged to ponder the artistic choices Ito has made. To me, Teach Me How to Love This World: Sacrifice is a piece that embodies reflection. And quite literally, the contents on the canvas are mirrored, portraying the interdependent relationship between those who enjoy peace and those who sacrifice. At the same time, the viewers can reflect on how power and politics determine who is impacted by war. The photograph alone is a testament to how some, if not all, can have their peace stripped from them at any given moment and with no say at all. 

Despite the way Ito explores the dichotomy between peace and war, his exhibition is certainly not despairing in nature. By balancing the factual and the abstract, he breaks the silence on taboo subjects and builds fruitful conversations, open to anyone regardless of their background, belief systems, and ideas. Ito brings a sense of vulnerability into the gallery, graciously inviting us to explore, and prompting reflections to remember. 

Teach Me How to Love This World: Kei Ito will be on view in The Stamp Gallery at the University of Maryland, College Park from October 19 through December 10, 2022. For more information on Kei Ito and his work, visit http://www.kei-ito.com/.

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Teach Me How to Love Myself

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Teach Me How to Love This World from October 19  to December 10, 2022  at The Stamp Gallery | University of Maryland, College Park | Written by Isabella Chilcoat

My typical approach to articulating each exhibition by the Stamp Gallery over the past year and a half has involved a level of formal artistic analysis and critique. However Teach Me How to Love This World: Kei Ito plucked a chord in my being that I feel calls for a more intimate reading. Ito’s current solo exhibition manifests not only a physical presence, but also a profound psychological phenomenon of deep empathy and contemplation. His works plunge my own mind into an abyss of chilling curiosity – they cast a red-hued light of extrospection on my own inner tribulations. Themes of generational trauma, visible and invisible wounds, violence, destruction, rebirth, and peace radiate from the six works on view, and each piece contains a piercing capacity to connect its viewer with a larger history surrounding them. Ito’s work certainly has prompted me to deepen my inward self-exploration as it connects to generational wounds that bleed into my present.

Aptly titled, Into the Abyss (2022), a unique C-Print of sunlight developed film, hangs on the Gallery’s entrance wall, a rectangular plate of aluminum dibond emblazoned with blood-red word pairings against its smooth black surface. The text couples a pronoun and a noun, pronoun + noun, pronoun + noun, pronoun + noun… endlessly in columns that eventually obscure toward the bottom. These groupings compose a solemn poetry to ponder while sojourning through and beyond the gallery walls with phrases pertaining to: “their + war,” “his + war,” “his + weapons,” “your + weapons,” “your + peace.” With a repetition that references an obsessive compulsive sequence of words, Into the Abyss forces me to recall my own journey through healing the consequences of generational trauma.

Kei Ito, Into the Abyss, 2022. Unique C-Print film mounted on aluminum dibond, laminate, 40x32x1 in.

Though different circumstances, Ito’s encapsulation of heirloom agony, or legacies of passed down emotional damages, is something that resonates in a myriad of settings yet lacks the recognition and understanding it deserves. I particularly love this print because it echoes a period in my early childhood where I would repeat a list of the same, completely arbitrary “safe” phrases in instances of high anxiety in a set numerical quantity. As a child the specific recitation of my “safe” words calmed my autonomic nervous system as an act of defense in a situation in which I felt my safety or autonomy was compromised. In retrospect of more than fifteen years (and with professionally guided coping strategies) I can still remember my “safe” phrases – no longer with a feeling of desperate relief, but a feeling of grief for a waning childhood of which I had little concept at the time and a stronger desire to console my child self and restore a sense of security. Ito’s phrases, while clearly intentionally correlated, illustrate the sequences of inner thoughts in an ordered but increasingly blurry image synonymous with memory. Memories of my “safe” words, survival mechanisms, and certain traumatic instances of my life flicker through my mind like an orderly reel of film or text until the clarity vanishes in a manner similar to the visual qualities of Into the Abyss and other works in the Stamp Gallery, including a dual Kodak slide projection piece titled Teach Me How to Love This World (2022), in which the same pronoun + noun couples project on the wall.

Kei Ito, Teach Me How to Love This World, 2022. 35mm slide, Kodak carousel projectors.

Ito’s exhibition has offered a narrative and a solidarity to trauma by employing the acute dichotomy between war and peace. His work in the gallery also translates the severity of war and of peace individually. If I relate these concepts to my own journey with mental health I can visualize how my mind and my body have at times existed at war with one another, both seeking the same peace from trauma, but disconnected. The lack of harmony enables a cascade of conflict, confusion, and fear. Being at war with the self or warring (in survival mode) against a harmful situation unfolds in a complex manner, especially if that trauma is carried through multiple generations. The devastations of war can bare themselves physically, but often, as the scars fade, the invisible wounds, emotional traumas, anxiety, trauma-induced ADHD, PTSD, and cPTSD rage more severely. The sinister aftermath of battle (both literal and metaphorical), when the dust has settled, too often leaves the survivor’s remaining injuries unrecognized, unfinished, on the inside, and sometimes resurfacing as panic attacks, racing heart rates, an urge to flee—the list goes on. There is seldom peace immediately after a trauma. Without proper time and care for wounds to heal, injuries can fester and compound. War and peace are not black and white; the space between is easier to leave hidden, but that gray space is also the only ground for true healing. The path to peace can take generations, making “peace” no easy feat. Accordingly, some of the world’s best efforts at “keeping the peace” do little more than apply palliative bandages after onslaughts of violence to cover a deadly (unsightly) injury. 

Occupying the floor with ash on a panel of wood, Riddle of Peace/War (2022-ongoing) considers these layered topics by questioning who will ultimately be sacrificed for either “war” or “peace.” A misconstrued conception of the means by which to secure peace tips a violent scale for which humanity will always pay the price. Additionally, the individual handling of “war” and “peace” can also stand as a microcosm for the global struggle. Seeking peace internally can create desperation as it does within larger politics with fear and anxiety at their core. This desperation, anxiety, and fear screams, “seek peace BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY.” However, speaking from the individual level, I have only been able to grasp authentic peace within myself through a place of care and unconditional love for the covered parts of myself deemed unfit to express in the open. Releasing blame, shame, and fear and growing in empathy for the parts of myself and my childhood that I was conditioned to keep hidden have been the only ways to work through the traumas in my own story and continue growing from a stronger foundation. Aptly constructing and simultaneously destroying the distinctions between “war” and “peace,” Ito’s exhibition demonstrates the necessity of considering life from multiple angles and reveals that nothing is truly black and white. Furthermore, my “path to peace” is an evolving effort, but at its center I have been learning to remove the shame in an effort to understand all parts of myself, just as Ito removes shaming from his exhibition for those who inflict violence in their efforts for “peace” recalled in his works. Even the title of the exhibition, Teach Me How to Love This World, acts as a macro glance for the core requisite of my inner healing, which could read: Teach Me How to Love Myself. 

Kei Ito, Riddle of Peace/War, 2022-ongoing. Ash, wooden platform.

Though somber, Ito’s exhibition is not hopeless. On the contrary, his work is full of hope. Nothing difficult disappears by ignoring it; peace is not possible without confronting daunting realities and pushing through them with eyes and heart wide open. Ito’s work does just that. It is bearing the face of questions the world is afraid to ask, and bravely calling for healing in the gray areas. If nothing else, Teach Me How to Love This World has inspired a level of self-reflection and further affirmation of the importance of empathy and love toward myself and in confronting the world around me. Ito’s exhibition implores, “teach me how to love this world.” I suggest that a place to start is learning how to love ourselves.

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Kei Ito’s work is included in Teach Me How to Love This World at The Stamp Gallery of the University of Maryland, College Park, from October 19 – December 10, 2022. 

For more information on Kei ito, visit http://www.kei-ito.com/.

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Gone But Not Forgotten: Kei Ito’s “Riddle of Peace/War” as a Reflection of the Past and Warning for the Future

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Teach Me How To Love This World from October 19th to December 10th, 2022, at The Stamp Gallery | University of Maryland, College Park | Written by James Cho

Emblazoned on the floor of the gallery lies Kei Ito’s Riddle of Peace/War. Made solely of loose, stenciled ash on a wooden platform, the work not only physically presents viewers with the dichotomy between World War II and the ensuing peace for America, but also guides viewers through the bombing. 

“WHO WILL BE THE NEXT SACRIFICE FOR THE PEACE? WHO WILL BE THE NEXT SACRIFICE FOR THE WAR?”

Kei Ito, Riddle of Peace/War. 2022 – ongoing. Ash, wooden platform.

By asking viewers these two questions, Ito creates this “riddle” about World War II and its aftermath. Despite the war having ended and peace being restored to the US, Japan was left in ruins and Europe alongside the rest of the world would soon face the Cold War between the US and the USSR. For Japan, the end of the war, signalled by warning sirens similar to those playing from the radios in Ito’s sound installation Talking Heads, left its mark on Ito’s grandfather, who witnessed the bombing of Hiroshima firsthand. Much like how his grandfather’s family, friends, and colleagues in the city left only outlines of where they stood when the nuke exploded, so too does Ito’s Riddle of Peace/War. 

Riddle of Peace/War (detail)

In tandem with the rest of the exhibition, Riddle of Peace/War serves as Ito’s way of performing the scene at Hiroshima that his grandfather experienced. Even though Ito himself isn’t present to act in this performance, he has extracted key parts of that day and placed them into the exhibition for all to see as if he were. The direct aftermath of what Ito’s grandfather witnessed at Hiroshima is dashed across Riddle of Peace/War as a warning for future generations against repeating this tragedy, as Ito explained during his artist talk at the Gallery on October 20. Going further than Japan, however, Ito uses Talking Heads to further his “universal” dichotomy of war and peace across time by sounding nuclear sirens from Hawaii and Japan during North Korean nuclear testing in recent years and Ukrainian sirens after an air raid by Russia from the radio on the right while peace messages emanate from the radio on the left. In this way, the central theme of the dichotomy of peace and war comes to fruition in both Riddle of Peace/War and Talking Heads. When addressing Riddle of Peace/War during his talk, Ito continued to stress the connections between generational trauma worldwide, suggesting that 9/11 in the US paralleled the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki as events that were not only “delicate” but so “fuelled by the idea of national identity that it became so taboo to talk to the victims” of the Cold War, 9/11, the war in Ukraine, and for Ito, the bombing that his grandfather witnessed. 

But let’s get back to the physical organization of Riddle of Peace/War instead of its psychological organization. The ephemerality of the text, which can be deformed by a slight unsettling of the ash, serves as a reminder of the fleeting quality of both life and memory. The outlines of those vaporized from the bombings in Japan slowly fade, while new buildings rise from the ashes of those destroyed, sacrificed for “peace in our time.” Just as the ash stenciled into Ito’s questions can be easily blown away by a simple sneeze or brisk walk over the course of time, the victims of the wars of the past and of ongoing conflicts today, coupled with the renewed threat of nuclear warfare with Russia, are also delicate. While decades have passed since these events and their outlines are physically gone, they will never be truly forgotten, as a kind of psychological object permanence. If we forget, we are doomed to repeat an endless cycle of sacrifice for the sake of war and peace, reducing the magnitude of these tragedies and their aftermath to nothing more than a couple of lines in a history book. 

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Installation and Impermanence

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Teach Me To Love This World by Kei Ito, October 19 to December 10, 2022, at the Stamp Gallery | Written by Oliver Foley

When you think of an art gallery, what first comes to mind? For many, the mental image consists solely of paintings upon a blank, sterile wall. Yet, in Kei Ito’s new exhibit at Stamp Gallery, we find ourselves breaking out of this often limiting preconception. Ito’s Teach Me To Love This World is a work of installation art: the individual pieces are designed specifically for the space that they inhabit in the gallery, creating a unified sensory experience beyond that of traditional framed artworks. Ito constructs a chaotic audiovisual environment of multimedia artworks which immerses the viewer in the “liminal space between peace and war,” as he describes it. “I started as a photographer where I had this idea that photography can exist beyond a ‘frame on a wall,’ where art can be activated by the inclusion of audience and space,” Ito said. “Thus it was natural for me to dive into the world of installation art.”

Inherent to the art of installation is the theme of impermanence. The experience of an installation is unique to the space and time it is designed for. Although many philosophies regard change as a problem to be solved, Ito adopts it as a means of artistic expression. Every component of this exhibit accentuates the underlying impermanence of art, war, peace, life, death, time, space, and sound. One piece in particular, which highlights a very distinct take on the theme, is Talking Heads. 

Kei Ito, Talking Heads (2022). Analog radio, two-channel audio, media player, radio transmitter, acrylic paint. 9-minute loop.

Talking Heads consists of two radios, each playing a different channel. Yet, these are no ordinary radio stations: Ito broadcasts his own audio through the airwaves. A transmitter sends two different signals to each radio, named Peace Radio and War Radio. “I want the audience to place their head between the two radios, getting disoriented by the bombardment of audio … when the audience places themself in the middle of these two radios, the positioning becomes the metaphors of the liminal space we as society exist in right now,” Ito replied when I asked him how he intended the piece to be experienced. Just as war and peace are fleeting things, so too is the auditory experience of this piece: the chaotic mix of passing words, sounds of war, and analog static puts the listener in a trancelike state. 

“Who will be the next sacrifice for war…” the radio says. As if caught in a disagreement, the parallel radio replies, “who will be the next sacrifice for peace?” They argue atop the slow hum of wind, as tension rises. Air raid sirens begin as the urgent, foreboding tones of news broadcasters creep up from the static. The anxiety builds to a horrific crescendo as the sounds of war fill the room. Then, as suddenly as they began, the sirens cease, and the broadcast returns to a quiet hum, only interrupted by the refrain, “Who will be the next sacrifice for war… who will be the next sacrifice for peace.” But this peace is only transient, no matter how comforting it may feel. 

When I first placed my head between the radios, I was surprised by the altered state of sensory perception it provoked. During the “wartime,” I could hardly recall the sense of calm that the peaceful, churning static inspired. This piece encourages the listener to notice themselves becoming “trapped in the moment” and become aware of  their unconscious fear of change.

Talking Heads is just one of many pieces in this exhibit which exemplify impermanence. Elsewhere in the gallery, Ito presents the audience with text made of loose ash, infinite permutations of projected text, relics of the past and forecasts of the future. All of reality is governed by change, and Ito’s embrace of change in Teach Me To Love This World results in one of the most compelling installation exhibits you will have the pleasure of visiting. 

Teach Me How to Love This World: Kei Ito will be on view in The Stamp Gallery at the University of Maryland, College Park from October 19 through December 10, 2022. For more information on Kei Ito and his work, visit http://www.kei-ito.com/.

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Shadow-Forms in Hae Won Sohn’s “Unspoken Volumes”

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Unspoken Volumes from August 29th to October 8th, 2022, at The Stamp Gallery | University of Maryland, College Park | Written by Oliver Foley

The Made Maker (top) with Risk Dawn (bottom) (both 2022)

As we enter the final week of Unspoken Volumes, Hae Won Sohn’s show at the Stamp Gallery, I find myself considering the effects that this art has had on me through hours of sitting with it. Although the impressions of gallery visitors, curators, critics, and contemporaries often define the written legacy of a work, many fascinating perspectives are held by the humble docents and guards of the art. Sometimes spending longer hours with the art than the artists themselves, art attendants are seldom without a unique take on the works which they oversee. In my hours of sitting at the desk, walking through the gallery, and gazing at the beautiful forms of Sohn’s sculptures, one specific theme repeatedly came up: shadowplay. The shadows of Sohn’s artworks were as tangible and concrete as the three-dimensional works of plaster, clay, and paper.

In addition to simply providing an exhibit’s worth of art for the Gallery, Hae Won Sohn played a large role in the installation of the exhibit. As a result, every decision of the gallery’s flow contributes to her great design. The lighting design, in particular, captured my eyes through my days in the Gallery. The angling of the lights and placement of the pieces resulted in stunningly complex shadows, such as The Made Maker.

“Blurry objects,” a concept Sohn developed through this work, is exemplified in the play between the tangible and intangible objects of the show. Shadows take the form of transition, blurriness of the hard-edged spaces we inhabit; potential beyond what is defined by the physical and temporal world. Shadows define and defy our brain’s understanding of the world, of the three dimensional, and even of the passage of time. By constructing objects which exist simultaneously in two- and three- dimensional worlds, Hae Won Sohn communicates the incommunicable blur of space through the “gray areas” in between. Shadows depend on the three dimensional to exist, but objects in space depend on light and shadow to be observed. These were the recurring thoughts in my mind all throughout the time I shared with these pieces.

Growing Thin (2022)

Sometimes, the ornaments and subtle architectures of the spaces we pass through go unnoticed. Perhaps this subconscious “smudging” of landscapes is the blur which Sohn pursues. Yet, even more than the architectural thresholds, edges, and accents, the most subconscious element of our day-to-day perceptions is the shadow. We train ourselves to ignore it, just like we ignore the trim of the rooftop, the rosettes and finials of our furnishings. By leaving nothing but the liminal form, the ornament and its ever-constant shadow, Hae Won Sohn gives the viewer the eyes to see what their brain blurs. One particularly beautiful example of this theme is the piece Growing Thin. My hours at the desk provoked thoughts of chicken-and-egg games between the illumination and the illuminated. Magic is alive within the plaster-cast object and its own light-cast into the two dimensional. I found myself profoundly affected by Sohn’s installation.

With only fours days left to see Unspoken Volumes, I encourage anyone to come give it one last look!