Art in Conversation
Pictures in Bronze
An Analysis of Photography and Relief Sculpture
There is perhaps no greater reminder of our history than the art through which we choose to represent it. Photography and sculpture are simply two examples of this — two mediums of art that may seem as distant as art mediums can be, but in actuality can be two of the most agreeable in regards to certain subject matters. Both are examples of mediums that emphasize the preservation of our history as a learning experience, rather than a glorification of our tarnishes and mistakes. Nowhere is this more apparent than the photographic documentation of the Japanese-American internment during World War II and the resulting memorial artworks that followed years later. Arguably one of the most recognizable images from the time period — taken by Dorothea Lange — shows the Mochida family awaiting evacuation. This image was one of many images that American bas-relief sculptor Heidi Wastweet used as inspiration for her bronze relief depicting the Japanese-American internment. And while both are excellent pieces individually, I argue that photography — particularly the one of the Mochida family — tells a more honest truth about the subject matter than bronze relief sculpture, due to an elimination of the artist’s hand — and therefore their own biases, emotions, or predetermined feelings regarding the situation — on the piece of art itself.
Our journey begins on May 8th, 1942, when Lange took the picture of the Mochida family outside their residence before a bus arrived to take them away. Tasked with documenting the internment process by the War Relocation Authority, Lange’s job as a photographer was to capture images of the process in a way that hid the ugly truth behind the inhumane act. In the process of doing so, however, Lange’s photography evolved into being unanimously against the unjust — and frankly unnecessary — racist policy set in place by the government during WWII. Her images came at a crucial time after all, just after the bombing of Pearl Harbor, and they served as visual protests against the war propaganda that surged the US into the fight against the axis powers. As a result, the US government impounded her images and censored them due to them being against the internment process. Most of the public did not even see the images until 2006, when the government released the images to the public after setting them in the National Archives.
The decision to censor her images was understandable at the time, especially compared to the photographs of Ansel Adams, for example. Unlike Dorothea Lange, who documented the Japanese-American Internment for the government, Ansel Adams captured images of the environment and scene by request of his friend who happened to be a camp director. This collection of images directly contrasts the collection of images that Lange captured. Consider this from NPR writer Adrian Florido:
Adams’ images do not look depressing or dark like Lange’s images, and instead, look somewhat beautiful. Viewers of the images may not have been able to even distinguish that it was a detention center.
Lange’s photographs — without even needing to be compared to Adams’ — highlight the importance that photography has in its relationship with public information, especially sourced by the government. The fact alone that the government wanted to hide Lange’s images is evidence enough of how impactful photography can be in terms of portraying raw truth. Furthermore, the power that photography has as a visually protesting medium is unmatched. Due to the ease of production, particularly the ease of mass production, photographs were simple vessels of information and propaganda that the public has easy access to. Compared to a public monument or a small sculpture, the photograph is much more easily censored, especially when it is issued by the government in the first place.
Looking now specifically at the image of the Mochida family, we see that the content of the image contrasts what we expect to see based on the horrible situation that the individuals were forced to be in. Instead of solemn looks and very blatant sadness, we see that the family is dressed in very nice clothes, they are standing tall, and — most importantly — they are smiling. We smile out of habit when someone points a camera at us — especially in older times. Phrases such as ‘say cheese’ and obviously ‘smile!’ are examples of this custom — a custom that is embodied here by the older gentleman in the photograph. During the process, the individuals did their best to find happiness and beauty in their otherwise bleak situation. However, the smiles and the content of the image goes beyond a simple optimism. Smiles were superficial — and that may be a bit harsh — but they were a very dignified people, so the smiles wore worn in an effort to perhaps hide their true feelings. The family smile and wear their best clothes in order to maintain their dignity and not to succumb to the humility of being kicked out of their own society.
Wastweet’s own bronze piece was developed out of anger and confusion as to why this crucial piece of American history was not taught to her in schools. She was invited to create five pieces for a memorial wall, as was another artist, who ended up with the project. Of the five panels, this one stuck with her and she wanted to continue and create it for herself. In researching it, she thought it was something that needed more public attention, especially since she didn’t learn anything about it in school. It wasn’t until she moved to her studio in Seattle’s international district, that she became aware of the history.
Heidi Wastweet directly refers to Lange’s photograph as being a specific inspiration for her bronze piece and its subjects:
I would read stories about people re-telling their stories and remembering the day that they were forced out of their homes. In Lange’s photograph, the little girl’s expression was very telling — that even at her young age, she had a knowing look on her face — as if she knew that was happening was wrong. And the grandpa, I wanted him to represent the inherent dignity of their culture. The aunt represented the visceral sadness.
It’s worth noting that Wastweet is not of Japanese-American descent, but eloquently states her feelings towards creating the piece nevertheless.
I felt intimidated to talk about the subject, like I didn’t have enough authority. But ultimately, I felt like that shouldn’t hold me back when talking about something that I really believe in. And it was part of my neighborhood at the time. I felt like I could offer my voice to the people who didn’t have the same platform that I did.
Her relief sculpture differs from the photograph in many ways, most notably of which is the decision to leave out the smiles and replace them with the young girl’s face as the main focal point. Specifically, the young girl’s very telling expression as mentioned earlier is transformed into one that exhibits a loss of innocence. Suddenly, kids could no longer be kids and were thrust into an entirely new life, not of their choosing. By choosing to cut her coat into the negative instead of it having it come out like in a more traditional classical relief sculpture creates a play of shadows, resulting in the piece looking and feeling more like a painting than traditional sculpture. This same technique is found in Polish sculptures as well, of which Wastweet studied and learned from in her education, dubbed a push-pull method of sculpting. Another aspect of the bronze sculpture that is notably left out of Lange’s photograph is the soldier at the bottom of the piece, his back turned and rifle down, guiding the individuals to their new lives. Traditionally, the soldier would never point their rifle at the ground, but as an artistic decision, Wastweet chose to depict him with his rifle down in order to represent the reluctance of the soldiers to carry out their duties.
Art can either glorify or tear down the most significant of historical events, and if we’re not careful, it can destabilize an entire generation’s education.
Today, we have a very crude — and frankly romanticized — image of soldiers as being very inhumane people who were very rude and mean and harsh to the people in the internment camps. However, the truth was that the soldiers were extremely sympathetic to the individuals and often engage with the families and children in a friendly way to perhaps ease the trauma. Many were simply following orders given to them and had no say otherwise in the matter. That is not to say that they must be exempt from their roles in the horrible event, but instead, they should be treated and remembered as humans themselves.
The main argument behind the two works of art — Lange’s photograph and Wastweet’s relief sculpture — is the fact that the sculpture has an inherent bias behind it that comes from the artist’s own emotions and predetermined feelings regarding the situation or event they wish to portray. Wastweet herself admits that “[she’s] sure [she] was biased when creating the piece because [she] was angry about it not being more widely known, and especially at the time of its conception, it was at a time when there was talk of removing Muslims from our society as a ‘safety measure’ which was the same excuse we used for the Japanese during WWII.”
At first, I believed that Lange’s photograph was exempt from this kind of bias due to photography being an effective snapshot of a moment without alteration to the subject matter, such as the raw, historical context of the situation. However, in researching more and more about the photograph and in interviewing Heidi Wastweet, I learned that there is always an inherent bias behind every work of art, no matter the medium or genre. Lange’s photograph was taken as a result of her strong opposition to the internment process and Wastweet’s sculpture was created as a result of her strong desire to make this piece of our history more well-known, due to her lack of knowledge on the subject when she was a child.
What’s important is that both works are effective mediums that invoke the audience into feeling ‘something’, whether it be confusion, empathy, guilt, or anger. Sculpture — as a medium in general — is effective in that it invokes the pathos of the audience; it tugs at the heartstrings by intensifying the emotions portrayed. It allows the artist to focus on one aspect of a concept and flush it out in its entirety, such as the emphasis on emotional recognition in the faces of the characters — or even one character in particular in the case of Wastweet’s piece.
Photography — as a medium — is effective in that it is a timeless form of art, being especially important in the digital age, where everything is replaceable, everything is tangible, and everything stays online forever. The ultimate ‘victory’ then is not the elimination of one art form over another, nor is it the bias towards one art form over another at depicting the same subject matter. Both mediums are effective in evoking a reaction out of the audience, as well as effective in representing our history in a fair and humane manner. Albeit the two mediums accomplish this task in different ways, with one being an instant capturing of a moment and the other being an artistic representation of the source material.
The ultimate ‘victory’ comes from the unveiling of either art form, with Wastweet stating that “when the sculpture was unveiled, there was a number of attendees who lived through the internment experience, and to have them be so complimentary regarding my interpretation of their emotions was the ultimate victory. Because not every artist gets that feedback when they are portraying something historical”. Wastweet’s sculpture is not better nor is it worse at portraying the historical event, but rather, it is simply in a dialogue with Lange’s photograph, building on the source material Lange provided by bringing to light new aspects of the story, and exemplifying the importance that we should place on having an intelligent and broad mindset when it comes to our history.
Today, the Japanese-American internment mirrors the growing paranoia of immigration. Certain themes are the same, including racial stereotyping, political tension and uneasiness, and an overall sense of fear of outsiders based on what our media shows us. Some of these fears are logical, but most are not, and art forms such as photography and sculpture have a responsibility to circumvent the growing propaganda and to tell a story of emotion, of humanity, and of truth.
I would be remiss if I did not attribute this same concept to the famous quote originally by writer and philosopher George Santayana: “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” We must be more aware of our art when it comes to our history, for it is arguably our most important vessel of learning from it. Art can either glorify or it can tear down the most significant of historical events, and if we’re not careful, it can destabilize an entire generation’s education. It reflects our society’s socio-cultural and political values at different time periods, acting as a voice for the voiceless. It is for this reason why we must not only support the creation of historical art but support the knowledge of art as it relates to other art. Otherwise, we risk being caught in a doomed cycle of ignorance, born ceaselessly into the past over and over again.
