a working writer's compromise?

in order to give myself something to do (and to avoid post-graduation panic), i decided to apply for and take on a job as a korean "cultural reporter," specializing in art exhibitions. the work is fairly lightweight: around two articles a month, posted on a special section of the organization's website.
here's the catch(?), though. the organization is actually funded by the korean government, created to spread knowledge about korean culture in new york city. they organize a variety of events every month--celebrating children's day, traditional dance performances, film screenings, and art exhibitions in their own gallery space.
my first assignment? writing about their current exhibition.
if my two years at the mfa art criticism and writing program taught me anything, one thing  i took away from it is to see and think about art in a critical manner. of course, this doesn't mean i have to have a problem about everything, but rather to see and think very carefully, to take my time, to be attentive. seeing and thinking about art is a balancing act of allowing the work to appear, while also taking note of the inevitable appearance of my own cognitive associations. writing about art is another difficult process; i must stay respectful to my experience with the art (what it did to me, so to speak), what i believe the work to be doing vs. (or in conversation with) what i think the artist may have intended, and enact all of the above in what i deem an appropriate combination of all of the above.
so now, working for an organization with a clear agenda (shit-talking about korean culture is no-go, i assume), i find myself beginning this first assignment in a conflicted position. my first thought after viewing and thinking about the show: this thing is the worst show i've ever seen in my life.
everything about it is wrong. it is supposed to be part of an ongoing archival project, so material such as letters, sketches, posters are expected. but the resulting presentation appears more like salvaged garbage from a hoarder's den that had been haphazardly picked out without much consideration and thrown onto the wall. clearly they wanted to fit as much as possible in their small space, and most walls have the lazy clumped-together labels for the work--the kind that has outlines of the mounted work with numbers, then a list of titles and names underneath. this can be alright, but a bit tiring when a single wall contains about 20 different things, all about the same size. a good portion of them are also ripped out pages of mediocre articles, most in korean.
other things:
the wall text is all crooked,
there is an exhausting number of spelling mistakes and missing punctuation marks,
very few of the work in each time period (their "themes," beginning with the 1950s) had been actually created during that time, but in the 1980s or 1990s, some as late as 2009,
arbitrary use of the label "korean-american" (the hyphen, i also have a problem with) without defining what this is (as far as i know, only one artist was actually a u.s. citizen, and some did not even stick around for very long but returned to korea after a few years),
eurocentrically contextualizing text explaining each "theme" that not only has nothing to do with the actual work displayed, but also reduces the work of these poor artists to being "results" of their influence by american movements that were alive when they first entered the states.
and the list goes on.

so then how do i maintain my integrity as a writer? the only answer seems right now to be bullshitting: emphasizing some great aspect of the show that will take me a good deal of effort to find. or, just going the very dry, reporting route: this, this, and this are here. the end.
i have a feeling i'm going to produce some really shitty writing for this job.

crumbling atlas

when i finally emerge from a winter-long sleep, i usually find it very difficult to leave the house "just because" the weather is nice--there must be a destination containing some element that is "useful" or "relevant" or conducive to "productivity." so i make extensive plans (which i rarely adhere to, except maybe a very small fraction of it). the other day, i decided to look up the public art installations along the high line at chelsea, and used it as an excuse to enjoy the sun. of course, i didn't bring with me the exact locations of anything, nor did i remember whose art was there. nevertheless, i passed by a few that i didn't find interesting enough to stop me in my tracks. then, there it was: el anatsui's broken bridge ii, 2012.
it probably helped that it was large. spanning 37 by 157 feet, it is supposedly the largest piece made by the artist. anatsui is a nigeria-based artist, born in ghana in 1944. he is known for making large-scale work with recycled materials. the work in question is made of mirrors and tin that cover maybe the entire top half of the building on which it has been installed.

from afar, the work resembles a blown-up section of a map. one can discern three groupings of mirrored surfaces in the midst of densely packed sheets of rusted tin. the sleek mirror reflects the clear blue sky, while the uneven surface of perforated tin evokes a rough terrain. the young trees lining the path make it difficult to get a clear view of the entire work, but through the spring green and blossoming pink, a peak here and there provides a closer look. hiding behind the colorful barricade hovers the massive atlas, holding steadfast to the top of the building, its pieces crumbling away toward the bottom.
the sheets are surprisingly thin, in contrast to the heaviness that their deep, earthy brown color conveys. the strips criss-crossing the two canals in the center and right sway with the riverside wind at times. yet the sheets exude a sense of mortal obstinacy: some parts wrinkle like old leather or aging skin, some are raised like stubborn scabs. the rows of rectangular sheets waver between an unsettling close-up of elephant hide to red brick tiles of a roof, lining the top of a house some place warm, perhaps.

on the other hand, the panels of mirror (obviously) appear strikingly sleek and industrial, not unlike the facades of other newly erected buildings in the neighborhood. yet, not entirely--it avoids the monotony of a clear-cut factory look through its slightly uneven surface. the various (and very faint) dips and rises give the impression of a living body of water, an occasional chelsea breeze rippling across it. the mirrors coexist with the surrounding skin-earth--at times contesting it in vehement contrast, at others in harmony like a placid lake cradled by its surrounding landscape.

on a clear day, the mirrored panels--especially those on the far left, unobstructed by bending strips of tin--provide an oasis in a bustling city, in the busy traffic of the springtime high line. but the waters will reflect a gray sky on an overcast day. and during the night, they, with the cracking rust, be swallowed up by the indiscriminately indifferent darkness. here, human products--hand-made and industrial--bend to the natural cycles of time. how long will they last? probably, as long as our pride allows them.

installation on view until summer 2013
chelsea high line (along 10th ave), between 21st and 22nd streets

marxist snippet of thesis: legitimization of participation

"gangnam style" is such old news, but since psy is still around in the media with his new song, "gentleman," i suppose my interest in the first is still relevant.

one of the issues that i spend a length of time discussing in my thesis are the terms of access into "stardom."

global success = success in the "west" = success/acceptance by american hollywood

these are the eurocentric standards of the global music industry, the u.s. or u.k. billboard charts being THE goal, whereas other regional (korean, mexican, polish) billboard charts are deemed inferior.
both hollywood and those outside of it perpetuate these standards.
occidentalism exhibit A: the korean pop industry. poorly mimicked american pop from decades prior, selling plastic sex objects moving mechanically in sync, etc, etc.

how does one gain acceptance by an industry run by white men?

1. conformity to their ideas of accepted representation.
for asian men, this usually means a self-deprecating asexual clown, a.k.a. not sexy or attractive or serious whatsoever, since any of those would pose as a threat to the careful set up of brad pitt being the hot guy.

2. legitimization by insiders.
in hollywood at large, this means, again, white men, or powerful ladies (by pop cultural standards), or powerful rappers. with psy, this has been done through tweets by scooter braun (justin bieber's manager), t-pain, britney spears, etc.
even just the acknowledgment of his existence by western media grants him this legitimacy, such as psy's appearances on the ellen degeneres show, cnn, chelsea lately, etc.
hip-hop is different, but similar. it's not run by white men, but if you're asian, you still have to prove your own worth. same with women.
in the case of hip-hop, psy was not granted legitimacy.

here is an excerpt on this section about legitimate participation (particularly in hip-hop):

Psy’s physical appearance may not conform to the reductively homogenous standard of beauty applied to Korean pop artists, but his American education—in part at a musical institution—must have contributed to his acceptance by his record label and mainstream audiences. Similarly telling is the greater magnitude of respect he has earned from Koreans after having “made it” on a “global scale” with his concerts with Madonna and in Times Square during New Year’s Eve. Innumerable blog posts congratulated Psy for the song’s success and hosts of Psy’s Korean television appearances frequently referred to Psy as a “world star” with a mix of reverence and envy. Various Korean media reports have also lauded “Gangnam Style” for drawing greater interest to the nation and its culture. This is the reproduction and perpetuation of Eurocentrism through consent on a global scale. If we accept Louis Althusser’s words that “ideology hails or interpellates individuals as subjects,” the construction of the subject becomes complete—and the ideology successfully reproduced—when the individual—the Asian Other—affirms mutual participation. Koreans adhere to standards that always deem them second best, yet wonder why their music fails to receive attention from Western audiences.

The international embrace of Psy’s “Gangnam Style” in part legitimatizes the “universality” of Hollywood’s standards, as exemplified by its musical composition: remove the Korean lyrics, and it is nearly indistinguishable from popular European or American electro-hip-hop (think LMFAO, whose music in the past years had been a standard in nightclubs). Yet Psy’s “Gangnam Style” has thwarted these measured filters of Korean marketers and gained popularity through YouTube, a quasi-democratic, ostensibly unmediated platform.

However, YouTube, too, operates on social and technological algorithms: the choices its users make depend on the patterns of their previous viewing history (accepting or rejecting YouTube’s “recommendations”), as well as their larger socio-political and cultural contexts. The notion that Psy’s music video for “Gangnam Style” could have been viewed by any YouTube user anywhere in the world is merely a theoretical one. The video circulated mostly among Korean (and Korean American, Korean Australian, etc.) users upon its release. It spread rapidly outside of this circle only once it somehow came to the attention of, then was shared by, an American celebrity on Twitter. It is reported that rapper T-Pain was the first Western celebrity to share the video with the comment, “words cannot describe how amazing this video is.” This was followed by Justin Bieber’s manager, Scooter Braun, who asked “HOW DID I NOT SIGN THIS GUY!?!??!” as well as Katy Perry and Britney Spears, who each have more than 23 million followers. These celebrities’ Tweets dispersed the video to millions of users, legitimizing it as worthy of attention.

Western media’s treatment of Psy’s global rise follows a predictable Cinderella story arc: before having been “discovered” by an American audience, he was a non-entity, his decade-long career and success in Korea of little importance. This is the “muteness imposed on the Orient as object” of which Said speaks: “What was neither observed by Europe nor documented by it was therefore ‘lost’ until, at some later date, it too could be incorporated by the new sciences of anthropology, political economics, and linguistics.” This, of course, is not restricted to Psy or those outside of the American domestic sphere. Only once Hollywood—as reigning ideological producer—names it does any object assume form.

Hip-hop began as a subcultural movement, giving voice to a narrative outside of the dominant language of mainstream American pop culture (until it was inevitably swallowed up by that same mainstream). Especially during the height of hip-hop’s popularity in the 1990s, many excluded from the dominant culture gravitated toward the perceived freedom of expressive possibilities provided by this alternative platform. Hip-hop presents itself as a more democratic culture, with acceptance based on pure merit. Freestyle rap battles, an essential element of hip-hop, serve as the tests: individuals compete with one another before an audience, testing their verbal prowess through improvisation. The winner gains respect and acceptance through the crowd’s consensus.

Yet hip-hop erects a parallel elitism. As an alternative culture, the genre frequently sets itself in opposition to white mainstream culture. The oppositional tendencies of the movement become distorted in some contexts as a black-white dichotomy. Blackness becomes the center of hip-hop’s power structure.

            The Chinese American rapper Jin gained initial acceptance into mainstream hip-hop through on his own merit. Jin appeared before a national audience in 2002, when he won the “Freestyle Fridays” rap battles on BET’s show 106 & Park for seven weeks in a row. His consecutive wins demonstrated his worthiness before the hip-hop community, and, in 2004, he became the first Asian rapper to release a solo album under a major record label in the United States. The Rest is History reached its peak at spot number twelve on the U.S. Billboard’s Top R&B/Hip-Hop Albums chart.

In order to market Jin to a wider mainstream audience, Ruff Ryders, his record label, needed to legitimize the Asian presence in a culture dominated by African Americans and Hispanics. Jin went through typical legitimatizing routines, appearing in other Ruff Ryders videos while fellow artists appeared in his. And then he went further, repeatedly addressing his own Asianness in his songs as a preemptive tactic (he released “Learn Chinese” as his first single) and emphasizing his affiliation with the highly regarded Ruff Ryders by releasing a song explicitly titled “I’m a Ruff Ryder.”

            Jin paved the way for other Asian rappers to enter the national scene, but even the more recent success of Far East Movement in 2010 was met with mixed attitudes about the group’s Asianness. All of its members always wore sunglasses at the beginning of their mainstream debut—in their music videos, live performances, and other media appearances. Some fans’ glimpsing the eyes behind the glasses offered predictably shocked responses—“They’re Asian?!” Many Asian followers criticized the sunglasses as a device to “hide their eyes because they’re ashamed [of their race],” which some admitted may be a disadvantage to the group’s career. Far East Movement’s more mainstream pop electro-club sounds, however, kept at bay protective antagonisms from hip-hop’s traditionalists.

Psy’s “Gangnam Style”—with similar mainstream dance sounds—followed the immense popularity of Far East Movement’s single, “Like a G6.” By the time Psy’s video appeared, it was a little less strange to see an Asian music entertainer who did not explicitly formulate his American presence around his Asianness. But remember that Psy’s visual humor was the driver, not the musicality of the sounds. If being granted visibility in Hollywood requires participation on its terms, Psy’s access indicates that the manner in which the video portrays Psy agrees (at least to some degree) with an image of an Asian man deemed acceptable by Hollywood.