The Council of Grand Justices’ landmark ruling in May that a ban on same-sex marriage is unconstitutional demonstrates Taiwan’s increasingly progressive stance towards LGBTQ rights and anticipates Spectrosynthesis — Asian LGBT Issues and Art Now, an exhibition currently on view at Taipei’s Museum of Contemporary Art (MOCA, Taipei).
The exhibition, which runs until Nov. 5 and features 51 works by 22 artists from Taiwan, China, Hong Kong, Singapore, the US and Canada, displays paintings, installations, videos and sound recordings about the history and life stories of LGBTQ people in the “greater Chinese community.”
Photo courtesy of MOCA, Taipei
PHALLIC ART
The male member is possibly the most privately cherished and publicly reviled body part. And yet it would seem to be the most celebrated asset of the LGBTQ community.
Martin Wong’s (黃馬鼎) Mi Vida Loca (我的瘋狂人生) is, to put it bluntly, a huge cock-and-balls painting within an ornate, grandiose frame. Towering over the viewer, the sculpture represents physical interactions and exchanges, the stars in the background implying the hopes, desires and dreams of an often isolated community.
Hsi Shih-Pin’s (席時斌) Buck of Freedom (自由之鹿) installation is a metallic creature of silver and gold that seems both grand and grotesque. At the exhibition opening he points out the blue pistol between the buck’s hind legs and says the merging of these different parts symbolizes the synthesis of our image and idea of identity that can appear violent yet fascinating.
SEEING THEIR VOICE
There’s more, howerver, to the exhibit than aesthetic penises, embodying an ongoing dialogue between the LGBTQ community and broader society.
Some of the artworks show pained past experiences, such as Xi Ya Die’s (西亞蝶) Chinese paper cut series that gives us a glimpse of his personal journey from internal shame to later discovery of his freedom and self-expression.
Su Hui-yu’s (蘇匯宇) somber and dreamlike video Nue Quan (虐犬) was inspired by a well-known murder case in Taipei 16 years ago, which the media relentlessly sensationalized due to the unusual circumstances surrounding the crime involving cybersex, homosexuality and S&M. The video invites viewers to ponder the case and reflect on their feelings about the sexual practices it depicts.
QUEER DREAMS
Some works drift towards the eccentric. Wang Haiyang’s (王海洋) Wall Dust (牆上的塵埃) is mesmerizing in its surreal fantastical animation, as the soft pastel animation plays out absurd and sexual scenes.
Observing the dreamlike paintings of the late Ku Fu-Sheng (顧福生) with men floating nude through their surroundings in Blue Sky (青空), Poppy Dream (罌粟夢) and Resting Place (休息站), I recall what it means to be naked in your dreams, whether that be a sense of insecurity or freedom. Our clothes identify us, but also conceal who we are. Perhaps there is some freedom in being laid bare, free of fabric constraints, allowing the world to witness the naked truth.
By contrast, one of his paintings, The Room at The Top of the Stairs (秘密房間), is hung within its own room that can only be viewed through a window, distant and out of reach. The two men in the painting stand facing away from a bed, undressed and unmoving. Perhaps they are uncertain of themselves — an awkward moment within a private space. The viewer serves as a kind of voyeur of this intimate situation.
PUBLIC REFLECTION
Walking into Hou Chun-ming’s (侯俊明) Man Hole (男洞) series, as part of his Body Image Series (身體圖), felt like entering a temple dedicated to 13 body images on two-sided paper hung in rows from the ceiling. The subjects are members of the LGBTQ community who the artist met online and agreed to draw a self-portrait on the white side of the paper hung from ceiling, while the artist gives his own representation of them on the other side. The result is an image of how the subjects perceive themselves and how they are perceived by the artist.
The exhibition offers a glimpse of the LGBTQ story — one that remains largely misunderstood by broader public. It may or may not diminish the public divide on the touchy subject of same-sex marriage and rights, but I can understand the community’s desire to be allowed the same privileges many take for granted, to love and be loved without boundaries and arbitrary limits.
In 1990, Amy Chen (陳怡美) was beginning third grade in Calhoun County, Texas, as the youngest of six and the only one in her family of Taiwanese immigrants to be born in the US. She recalls, “my father gave me a stack of typed manuscript pages and a pen and asked me to find typos, missing punctuation, and extra spaces.” The manuscript was for an English-learning book to be sold in Taiwan. “I was copy editing as a child,” she says. Now a 42-year-old freelance writer in Santa Barbara, California, Amy Chen has only recently realized that her father, Chen Po-jung (陳伯榕), who
When nature calls, Masana Izawa has followed the same routine for more than 50 years: heading out to the woods in Japan, dropping his pants and doing as bears do. “We survive by eating other living things. But you can give faeces back to nature so that organisms in the soil can decompose them,” the 74-year-old said. “This means you are giving life back. What could be a more sublime act?” “Fundo-shi” (“poop-soil master”) Izawa is something of a celebrity in Japan, publishing books, delivering lectures and appearing in a documentary. People flock to his “Poopland” and centuries-old wooden “Fundo-an” (“poop-soil house”) in
For anyone on board the train looking out the window, it must have been a strange sight. The same foreigner stood outside waving at them four different times within ten minutes, three times on the left and once on the right, his face getting redder and sweatier each time. At this unique location, it’s actually possible to beat the train up the mountain on foot, though only with extreme effort. For the average hiker, the Dulishan Trail is still a great place to get some exercise and see the train — at least once — as it makes its way
Jan 13 to Jan 19 Yang Jen-huang (楊仁煌) recalls being slapped by his father when he asked about their Sakizaya heritage, telling him to never mention it otherwise they’ll be killed. “Only then did I start learning about the Karewan Incident,” he tells Mayaw Kilang in “The social culture and ethnic identification of the Sakizaya” (撒奇萊雅族的社會文化與民族認定). “Many of our elders are reluctant to call themselves Sakizaya, and are accustomed to living in Amis (Pangcah) society. Therefore, it’s up to the younger generation to push for official recognition, because there’s still a taboo with the older people.” Although the Sakizaya became Taiwan’s 13th