Completely consumed by his research and maximizing ‘field work’, our ‘father-son’ outings consisted of innumerable museums in contrast to my peers who shared paternal fishing, camping, boy scouts, and playing ball. At age of 10, I rebelled and refused to set foot in the Boston Fine Arts Museum one more time (every Sunday) … they allowed me to stand across the street alone to watch my preferred football. Early on, with such overexposure, I became inoculated against museums. Perhaps an unsurprising oppositional start for an art historian’s son.
As the vaccination wore thin, I took one course in Chinese art history taught by my father’s former student Yoshi Shimizu, and fleetingly considered such a path. On our travels, Teri and I enjoyed visiting the Chicago Art Institute, the Met, the Freer, MoMA, Asian Art Museum, East Wing, Tate Modern, the Palace Museum … as tourists. Whenever we returned to my parents’ home, I would see a new painting, inquire and engage my father about the artist. Chinese art and artists were one constant he would freely share with me. I began to appreciate the gestalt of knowing artists, their background, their techniques, their development behind that painting.
I distinctly remember one day when Teri thanked my father profusely for bringing such beauty into our lives! This thoughtful gesture made me realize that I had taken the encircling artwork for granted. As my father devolved into dementia, I became the steward, donating paintings to museums (as he directed), properly storing the remaining collection, and sorting and donating his papers to Taiwan National University (as he wished). This labor gradually progressed from necessity to deep respect and even love. I asked him to teach me, alas his mind had slipped too far, despite momentary accurate recollections. In the end, my father’s prescient appreciation of abstract ink and relentless efforts to promote the artists forged a legacy that ineffably binds us. Never too late.
My friend Don, an artist, 6 or 7 years ago, told me prophetically that I would become involved with art. I just laughed at the thought. I wish my father and Don could witness this unexpected passion and its ensuing paths. Where have they led?
I have become a regular at Asia Week in NYC visiting galleries and museums in search of contemporary ink art, even adding to my father’s collection. This interest segued into aquaintances, even friendships, with Chinese art historians and curators (including my father’s now retiring former students), art dealers, collectors, and, most importantly, artists. To be invited into their studios has enabled my deeper appreciation of their artistic evolution of which one painting represents but a single timepoint. Together with Margaret Chang (Hung Hsien), my art godmother, we visited the Freer Gallery (Smithsonian) storage to view the Bada Shanren collection of Chan (original Chinese zen) paintings and Chao Mengfu’s ‘Sheep and Goat’ on which my father wrote a monograph. What a reprise to view a late Yuan (1200’s) painting from inches, just as he once did. Recognizing Margaret Chang’s neglected legacy as the only woman in the avant garde 5th Moon group (Taiwan 1960s and 1970s), I began to take an oral history from her 2-3 hours a week during COVID. This led to my first invited art talk to the UW-Milwaukee art history department on Margaret’s artistic career. This in turn fueled my efforts towards initiating a belated solo, retrospective show of her life’s work. With the help of three curators, this is taking place in April 2025!
And when you come to visit my new townhouse in Colorado, you will see a gallery (also Tai Chi studio) paying homage to my father's impact on contemporary Chinese ink paintings.
This art full-circle has connected me to my father, my Chinese culture, my Asian-American identity, and to a budding aesthetic self replete with immense learning, mindful enjoyment and profound meaning.
Who woulda thoughta?
