We are the Other - Young Girl Wrapped in Dora the Explorer Blanket, South Minneapolis, MN (2012) I think the meanings of a photo are the least clear when I’m actually taking it. I was photographing members of Light of Faith and Hope in Jesus Christ, a small storefront church where most, if not all, of the members are Latino. There were a variety of after-the-service-activities that I shot, including a birthday party, a pinata smashing, and basement buffet, before I saw this girl wrapped up in a cartoon character who really resembled her (as much as a real person can look like an oversimplified caricature of a human being). Over the years I’ve come to realize that I’m attracted to photographing the various ways people are mirrored (or not mirrored) culturally. I’ve never watched any episodes of Dora the Explorer, but when I was growing up there weren’t any Asian cartoon leading characters, so I related to white characters like Jonny Quest and his father Race, rather than his brown exotic sidekick, Hadji. The World of Disney, I’m sure, had a lot to do in shaping my world and my view of myself. How long did it take to finally have a major cartoon character like Dora that reflected America’s now-minority-but eventual-majority Latino population? Changing Lenses is the product of an ongoing conversation between eminent sociologist Doug Hartmann, Ph.D. and myself. In each post, we exchange what’s seen behind a camera lens and what’s seen through a sociological lens to get at the diversity of perspectives and cultivate a unique look at the human experience. Below is my perspective. Read Doug’s reaction here.
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We are the Other - Young Girl Wrapped in Dora the Explorer Blanket, South Minneapolis, MN (2012)

I think the meanings of a photo are the least clear when I’m actually taking it. I was photographing members of Light of Faith and Hope in Jesus Christ, a small storefront church where most, if not all, of the members are Latino. There were a variety of after-the-service-activities that I shot, including a birthday party, a pinata smashing, and basement buffet, before I saw this girl wrapped up in a cartoon character who really resembled her (as much as a real person can look like an oversimplified caricature of a human being).

Over the years I’ve come to realize that I’m attracted to photographing the various ways people are mirrored (or not mirrored) culturally. I’ve never watched any episodes of Dora the Explorer, but when I was growing up there weren’t any Asian cartoon leading characters, so I related to white characters like Jonny Quest and his father Race, rather than his brown exotic sidekick, Hadji.

The World of Disney, I’m sure, had a lot to do in shaping my world and my view of myself. How long did it take to finally have a major cartoon character like Dora that reflected America’s now-minority-but eventual-majority Latino population?

Changing Lenses is the product of an ongoing conversation between eminent sociologist Doug Hartmann, Ph.D. and myself. In each post, we exchange what’s seen behind a camera lens and what’s seen through a sociological lens to get at the diversity of perspectives and cultivate a unique look at the human experience. Below is my perspective. Read Doug’s reaction here.

We are the Other - David and Lou, South Minneapolis, MN (2012) They were like an echo. Whatever question I asked one would answer and then the other would nod in agreement or repeat the answer. They met seven years ago when Lou (right) moved here from Chicago. “I don’t ever want to go back,” he said. “It’s hard for a young black man there. Mofos robbing each other.” David lives a block away in the house he grew up in. They are “brothers from another mother” they said. Some other things they are: “We love women.” “Real recognize real.” “We’re two bosses, entrepreneurs. We’re always gettin’ it.” “Whatever gets the money, that’s what we’re into. And family. That’s about it.”
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We are the Other - David and Lou, South Minneapolis, MN (2012)

They were like an echo. Whatever question I asked one would answer and then the other would nod in agreement or repeat the answer. They met seven years ago when Lou (right) moved here from Chicago. “I don’t ever want to go back,” he said. “It’s hard for a young black man there. Mofos robbing each other.”

David lives a block away in the house he grew up in. They are “brothers from another mother” they said. Some other things they are:

“We love women.”

“Real recognize real.”

“We’re two bosses, entrepreneurs. We’re always gettin’ it.”

“Whatever gets the money, that’s what we’re into. And family. That’s about it.”

We are the Other - Urban Knitters, StevenBe, Mpls, MN (2012) A utility box has never looked this good, sweatered in a kaleidoscope of flower-patterned yarn, hinting to the unbeknownst passerby that treasures lie in the ordinary building it fronts. This yarn kingdom, known far and wide by fiber enthusiasts from Mendota Heights to Hollywood (Mischa Barton and Jennifer Aniston are said to be fans), is ruled by Steven Berg, aka Glitter Knitter Extraordinaire. StevenBe: A Yarn Garage Workshop was born three years ago on the corner of 35th Street and Chicago Avenue South after Steven suffered a bout of what he termed as “Marilyn Monroe syndrome,” or a seven year itch. Although he had a yarn store in Rosemount that he started in 2003 with his sister Monika, he envisioned an urban oasis that would weave specialty classes, fashion shows, catered lunches, massage therapy, and classical concerts—all under a decadent chandelier where “his knitting divas can transcend and fiber the day away.” There are about 70 members, mostly women (one twenty-something male found his passion in college after reading Knitting With Balls: A Hands-On Guide to Knitting for the Modern Man). Some members found their way there after encountering Steven on the knitting cruises that he conducts to the Caribbean, England, and Iceland. Next up is South Africa. Many talked about their flamboyant guru with a mirthful reverence. One woman struggled to express the StevenBe experience. “You come just…because.” She paused, searching, and then said in a definitive voice, “Just. Because.” The knitter next to her nodded knowingly. His mother, who raised him in rural Wisconsin, spoke about his origin matter-of-factly, barely looking up from her needles: “I pressed him into it. Didn’t want him to run with the wild boys, smashing mailboxes and bragging the next day about how many they ruined.” Steven walked by. “Fiber is what binds us.” He is constantly spinning yarn aphorisms, such as, “Yarn is my medium; knitting is my technique.” “There are no mistakes only variations.” And when I mentioned that I noticed college students knitting during lectures at Carleton, he replied quickly, “Studies show that knitting helps people concentrate more instead of looking at Suzie’s ass.”
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We are the Other - Urban Knitters, StevenBe, Mpls, MN (2012)

A utility box has never looked this good, sweatered in a kaleidoscope of flower-patterned yarn, hinting to the unbeknownst passerby that treasures lie in the ordinary building it fronts. This yarn kingdom, known far and wide by fiber enthusiasts from Mendota Heights to Hollywood (Mischa Barton and Jennifer Aniston are said to be fans), is ruled by Steven Berg, aka Glitter Knitter Extraordinaire.

StevenBe: A Yarn Garage Workshop was born three years ago on the corner of 35th Street and Chicago Avenue South after Steven suffered a bout of what he termed as “Marilyn Monroe syndrome,” or a seven year itch. Although he had a yarn store in Rosemount that he started in 2003 with his sister Monika, he envisioned an urban oasis that would weave specialty classes, fashion shows, catered lunches, massage therapy, and classical concerts—all under a decadent chandelier where “his knitting divas can transcend and fiber the day away.”

There are about 70 members, mostly women (one twenty-something male found his passion in college after reading Knitting With Balls: A Hands-On Guide to Knitting for the Modern Man). Some members found their way there after encountering Steven on the knitting cruises that he conducts to the Caribbean, England, and Iceland. Next up is South Africa.

Many talked about their flamboyant guru with a mirthful reverence. One woman struggled to express the StevenBe experience. “You come just…because.” She paused, searching, and then said in a definitive voice, “Just. Because.” The knitter next to her nodded knowingly.

His mother, who raised him in rural Wisconsin, spoke about his origin matter-of-factly, barely looking up from her needles: “I pressed him into it. Didn’t want him to run with the wild boys, smashing mailboxes and bragging the next day about how many they ruined.”

Steven walked by. “Fiber is what binds us.” He is constantly spinning yarn aphorisms, such as, “Yarn is my medium; knitting is my technique.” “There are no mistakes only variations.” And when I mentioned that I noticed college students knitting during lectures at Carleton, he replied quickly, “Studies show that knitting helps people concentrate more instead of looking at Suzie’s ass.”

We are the Other - 38th Street & Nicollet Avenue, Minneapolis, MN I love wings (pun intended). The best for my money was Shorty & Wags Original Wings, which had been on this corner for over 30 years. The tired-looking owners (perpetually behind the counter and in the kitchen) were white, the clientele mostly black, and I was always the only Asian in the room. There are few things that transcend race, a really good chicken wing joint being one of them. They closed several months ago and I’ll really miss them. A couple of weeks ago after returning from my China trip, I was startled to see this grinning signage. The former Shorty & Wags had been stripped of its façade to reveal an image from the previous original wing joint (Art Song’s, which I vaguely remember). The coolie hat wearing, cross-eyed buck-toothed Chinaman seems a holdover from the not-so-long ago, nostalgic pre-post racial era of my youth. We’ve come so far. In popular culture we’ve evolved from Mickey Rooney-esque caricatures to kung fu classics, nerds and geeks who never get the girl, and crazy, naked Asian guys who jump out of car trunks. Thank god for Jeremy Lin.
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We are the Other - 38th Street & Nicollet Avenue, Minneapolis, MN

I love wings (pun intended). The best for my money was Shorty & Wags Original Wings, which had been on this corner for over 30 years. The tired-looking owners (perpetually behind the counter and in the kitchen) were white, the clientele mostly black, and I was always the only Asian in the room. There are few things that transcend race, a really good chicken wing joint being one of them. They closed several months ago and I’ll really miss them.

A couple of weeks ago after returning from my China trip, I was startled to see this grinning signage. The former Shorty & Wags had been stripped of its façade to reveal an image from the previous original wing joint (Art Song’s, which I vaguely remember). The coolie hat wearing, cross-eyed buck-toothed Chinaman seems a holdover from the not-so-long ago, nostalgic pre-post racial era of my youth.

We’ve come so far. In popular culture we’ve evolved from Mickey Rooney-esque caricatures to kung fu classics, nerds and geeks who never get the girl, and crazy, naked Asian guys who jump out of car trunks. Thank god for Jeremy Lin.

We are the Other - Heilongjiang Provincial Museum, Harbin, China (2012) Does Speaking Chinese Make You Chinese? The trip of a lifetime for any child of immigrants is the one back to the Motherland. Mine did not come until two years ago. It was made possible by the joint efforts of Arts Midwest (a Minneapolis based-organization that facilitates international artist exchange programs) and the U.S. Embassy in Beijing, working to promote visual artists as cultural ambassadors. They organized an 80-piece retrospective, culled from eleven of my photographic projects, that is traveling throughout China for two years. I arrived in Beijing for the exhibition opener in December 2010, my first time in China. I am the first one in the Huie lineage not born in the Middle Kingdom. I went from Minnesota, a place where inside I felt like everyone else but at times stuck out in appearance, to a place where I looked like everyone but really felt like a foreigner. Especially when I opened my mouth. The meager Chinese language skills I once possessed have long since eroded, but people there of course assumed differently. And so it was with a bit of shame and cultural guilt that I had to repeatedly shake my head and say, “Wǒ bùzhīdào” (I don’t understand). There were a variety of reactions from audiences at the several lectures I gave, perhaps crystallized by one university student who stood up and remarked in confident English, “But you are showing us images of what America really looks like, not the rich paradise that we know it is!” Indeed. Perhaps America’s most influential exports are the idealized images churned out by Hollywood, marketing and the media, driving the gap between perception and reality. But are we any less susceptible here to all that glossy illusion? My traveling retrospective was in six cities last year (Beijing, Hangzhou, Guangzhou, Xian, Wuhan, and Dalian). Last week I was back in China, in Harbin, where the exhibit opened this year at the Heilongjiang Provincial Museum and will travel to several more cities. Over a million people will have viewed it by the end. This northeast capital and the tenth largest city in China, known for its bitter winters and ice festivals, has a sister city relationship with Minneapolis. Because of this fortuitous coincidence I was not only an artist serving as cultural ambassador, but also an official emissary, delivering a letter from the mayor of Minneapolis to the Vice Division Chief of American and Oceanian Affairs Harbin Foreign & Overseas Chinese Affairs Office, and other officials. My opening lecture (I gave eight lectures in five days, mostly to universities) was preceded by media interviews (millions would be seeing this on state television), speeches, and a ceremony in which museum officials and I placed our hands on an electrostatic globe (a standard ritual for such important events in China I was told) that danced with tiny lightning bolts to the touch, and was partially eclipsed by the barrage of flashes from the camera-wielding audience.  At one point my interpreter leaned and whispered, “Are you overwhelmed?” I was. It would be difficult for me to capsulize (and understand) the myriad reactions to my photographs. Sometimes the audience didn’t seemed engaged or didn’t ask any questions, and other times there were so many questions that we had to cut people off because of time. I wondered how many factors played a part: cultural issues that didn’t translate well, size and age of the audience, English-speaking capabilities, interpretation issues, Westernized knowledge, my fluctuating energy level, shyness, reluctance to question an authority figure, and so on. Throughout my lectures though, one aspect remained constant: everyone wanted to have their picture taken with me afterwards. There were quite a few responses that stood out, and here are two. One middle-aged man was hoping that I could shed some light on an ongoing debate among Chinese photographers between the pristine landscape aesthetic of Ansel Adams and the social documentary of W. Eugene Smith. “Who is more relevant?” he wanted to know. I gave a not well thought-out, diplomatic answer. Another was from a young university student who was born and raised in Canada and then went to high school in the deep, rural American south. She had only been in China several years and talked about her shifting cultural identity and the difficulties of being perceived as different. Her plan was to stay after graduating with the hopes of a career as a Chinese journalist. Even though she is fairly fluent in Chinese, however, she still feels she sticks out. That sometimes she is still treated as a foreigner. I asked her, “Does speaking Chinese make you Chinese?” She thought for a moment and then shook her head no.
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We are the Other - Heilongjiang Provincial Museum, Harbin, China (2012)

Does Speaking Chinese Make You Chinese?

The trip of a lifetime for any child of immigrants is the one back to the Motherland. Mine did not come until two years ago. It was made possible by the joint efforts of Arts Midwest (a Minneapolis based-organization that facilitates international artist exchange programs) and the U.S. Embassy in Beijing, working to promote visual artists as cultural ambassadors. They organized an 80-piece retrospective, culled from eleven of my photographic projects, that is traveling throughout China for two years.

I arrived in Beijing for the exhibition opener in December 2010, my first time in China. I am the first one in the Huie lineage not born in the Middle Kingdom. I went from Minnesota, a place where inside I felt like everyone else but at times stuck out in appearance, to a place where I looked like everyone but really felt like a foreigner. Especially when I opened my mouth. The meager Chinese language skills I once possessed have long since eroded, but people there of course assumed differently. And so it was with a bit of shame and cultural guilt that I had to repeatedly shake my head and say, “Wǒ bùzhīdào” (I don’t understand).

There were a variety of reactions from audiences at the several lectures I gave, perhaps crystallized by one university student who stood up and remarked in confident English, “But you are showing us images of what America really looks like, not the rich paradise that we know it is!” Indeed. Perhaps America’s most influential exports are the idealized images churned out by Hollywood, marketing and the media, driving the gap between perception and reality. But are we any less susceptible here to all that glossy illusion?

My traveling retrospective was in six cities last year (Beijing, Hangzhou, Guangzhou, Xian, Wuhan, and Dalian). Last week I was back in China, in Harbin, where the exhibit opened this year at the Heilongjiang Provincial Museum and will travel to several more cities. Over a million people will have viewed it by the end.

This northeast capital and the tenth largest city in China, known for its bitter winters and ice festivals, has a sister city relationship with Minneapolis. Because of this fortuitous coincidence I was not only an artist serving as cultural ambassador, but also an official emissary, delivering a letter from the mayor of Minneapolis to the Vice Division Chief of American and Oceanian Affairs Harbin Foreign & Overseas Chinese Affairs Office, and other officials.

My opening lecture (I gave eight lectures in five days, mostly to universities) was preceded by media interviews (millions would be seeing this on state television), speeches, and a ceremony in which museum officials and I placed our hands on an electrostatic globe (a standard ritual for such important events in China I was told) that danced with tiny lightning bolts to the touch, and was partially eclipsed by the barrage of flashes from the camera-wielding audience. 

At one point my interpreter leaned and whispered, “Are you overwhelmed?” I was.

It would be difficult for me to capsulize (and understand) the myriad reactions to my photographs. Sometimes the audience didn’t seemed engaged or didn’t ask any questions, and other times there were so many questions that we had to cut people off because of time.

I wondered how many factors played a part: cultural issues that didn’t translate well, size and age of the audience, English-speaking capabilities, interpretation issues, Westernized knowledge, my fluctuating energy level, shyness, reluctance to question an authority figure, and so on. Throughout my lectures though, one aspect remained constant: everyone wanted to have their picture taken with me afterwards.

There were quite a few responses that stood out, and here are two. One middle-aged man was hoping that I could shed some light on an ongoing debate among Chinese photographers between the pristine landscape aesthetic of Ansel Adams and the social documentary of W. Eugene Smith. “Who is more relevant?” he wanted to know. I gave a not well thought-out, diplomatic answer.

Another was from a young university student who was born and raised in Canada and then went to high school in the deep, rural American south. She had only been in China several years and talked about her shifting cultural identity and the difficulties of being perceived as different.

Her plan was to stay after graduating with the hopes of a career as a Chinese journalist. Even though she is fairly fluent in Chinese, however, she still feels she sticks out. That sometimes she is still treated as a foreigner. I asked her, “Does speaking Chinese make you Chinese?” She thought for a moment and then shook her head no.