It may seem odd to use a painting with “Yankee Go Home!” in bright gold letters as the main visual for an exhibition titled “To Taiwan” (致台灣).
But on closer inspection, it actually says “Yankee Go Home with me,” a reference to the gender-queer rock musical Hedwig and the Angry Inch. The layered background is composed of overlapping and repeating symbols which, for artist Jason Cole Mager, represent the US, New York, China, Japan and Taiwan.
First visiting Taiwan in 2013, the American painter’s initial work drew more from his fascination with the nation’s complex history and identity politics. But as Mager began to increasingly see Taiwan as his home, he shifted to exploring his personal relationship with the country.
Photo: Han Cheung, Taipei Times
Mager tells the Taipei Times that the “Yankee Go Home” phrase is about him being overly sensitive about whether he can ever fit in with Taiwanese society, and the movie reference allows him to be playful.
“It’s also talking about something real; Americans are known to [go into other countries] and mess around with things, and that’s where that slogan comes from,” he says. “As an artist, is it patronizing for me to come in and talk about your history, and try to tell you about it?”
Visitors can decide for themselves at Mager’s first solo exhibition, which opens tomorrow at 99 Degree Art Center (九十九度藝術中心) in Taipei’s Beitou District. The selections trace Mager’s evolution throughout the years and runs until March 26.
Photo courtesy of Jason Cole Mager
DIGGING FOR SYMBOLS
With an MFA from New York’s Hunter College, the Indianapolis-born Mager’s work today is nothing like the more traditional figure paintings he made more than 20 years ago. He had wanted to move into more abstract experimentation, but found it difficult to find context to inspire the work.
Around 2005, he found some photos of his grandfather taken during World War II, and one particular image of their platoon dressed up in jest as German soldiers (probably after killing them) — complete with swastika armbands — stood out to him.
Photo courtesy of Jason Cole Mager
“It was such a powerful image, the idea of simple symbols lined up next to each other,” he says. “I spent a while trying to figure out how to use this. I was super uncomfortable using the swastika, and I ditched it after a year or so.”
Like many New Yorkers, Mager converted one of his bedrooms into a guesthouse for tourists. At the urging of a Taiwanese guest, he visited Taiwan for the first time in 2013, and it drew him in.
The idea of “simple symbols” came back to him here, first through things like personal name chops (he was excited to legally use his the first time last week when he got married). His studio overlooks the former Taihoku Prison grounds (Taihoku is the Japanese colonial era name for Taipei), where he eventually learned that 14 Allied soldiers were executed in June 1945, right before the end of World War II.
Photo courtesy of Jason Cole Mager
This connected Taiwan’s history to his personal experiences, and he began to dig deeper into the nation’s rich past and find more symbols such as emblems and flags that he could employ to explore “what is Taiwan and who are the Taiwanese.”
The symbols often cover the entire canvas like wallpaper and overlap with each other, sometimes requiring some scrutiny.
Mager often uses the plum blossom to represent Taiwan, as well as the Republic of Formosa tiger flag.
Photo courtesy of Jason Cole Mager
“The plum blossom did arrive after 1949 with the KMT, but it’s somewhat neutral,” he says.
The US shows up in the eagle emblem or the US Aid logo. China is a dragon, Japan a rising sun. Ming warlord Cheng Cheng-kung’s (鄭成功, also known as Koxinga) seal, as well as the Dutch East India Company logo also appear. And he’s planning a series that includes Indigenous motifs.
BECOMING TAIWANESE?
Mager’s earlier paintings were more direct, referring to events like the American bombing of Taipei’s Longshan Temple or the sociopolitics behind the ubiquitous peony cloth. A few have the Republic of China (ROC) sun emblem on them, such as Setting of the Rising Sun, which juxtaposes it with the Japanese Empire’s sun to show the transition between the two periods.
“Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) supporters have accused me of being critical of them, while Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) people say I’m glorifying the KMT,” Mager says. “You can take what you want from it; the whole point is to start a conversation.”
Corporate Colonization places 7-Eleven logos and the rising sun emblem side by side, with a giant smiley face that appears on plastic bags handed out by franchises in the US in the center. Mager says it’s just a humorous attempt to highlight that the most ubiquitous store in Taiwan is owned by a Japanese company.
After Mager read Taiwan’s 400 Year History by Su Beng (史明), he gained a deeper understanding of the identity politics between people whose families arrived before and after 1949.
“Where do I fit in here?” he said of himself. “How long do I have to be here before I can say I’m Taiwanese? It sounds absurd just to hear that, and maybe you just don’t?” he muses.
One painting has the Chinese words wailaizhe (外來者, “outsider”) on it.
“If you really want to get into it, unless you’re indigenous, we’re all outsiders,” he says. “Taiwan’s always been about people coming in and trying to set up.”
Mager’s latest creation, a Year of the Rabbit with the Chinese phrase, wo hun Taiwan de, (我混台灣的) sounds more sure: The tongue-in-cheek slang term of Taiwanese pride is hard to translate, but to Mager, it means, “I’m bound to Taiwan.”
For many people, Bilingual Nation 2030 begins and ends in the classroom. Since the policy was launched in 2018, the debate has centered on students, teachers and the pressure placed on schools. Yet the policy was never solely about English education. The government’s official plan also calls for bilingualization in Taiwan’s government services, laws and regulations, and living environment. The goal is to make Taiwan more inclusive and accessible to international enterprises and talent and better prepared for global economic and trade conditions. After eight years, that grand vision is due for a pulse check. RULES THAT CAN BE READ For Harper Chen (陳虹宇), an adviser
Traditionally, indigenous people in Taiwan’s mountains practice swidden cultivation, or “slash and burn” agriculture, a practice common in human history. According to a 2016 research article in the International Journal of Environmental Sustainability, among the Atayal people, this began with a search for suitable forested slopeland. The trees are burnt for fertilizer and the land cleared of stones. The stones and wood are then piled up to make fences, while both dead and standing trees are retained on the plot. The fences are used to grow climbing crops like squash and beans. The plot itself supports farming for three years.
The breakwater stretches out to sea from the sprawling Kaohsiung port in southern Taiwan. Normally, it’s crowded with massive tankers ferrying liquefied natural gas from Qatar to be stored in the bulbous white tanks that dot the shoreline. These are not normal times, though, and not a single shipment from Qatar has docked at the Yongan terminal since early March after the Strait of Hormuz was shuttered. The suspension has provided a realistic preview of a potential Chinese blockade, a move that would throttle an economy anchored by the world’s most advanced and power-hungry semiconductor industry. It is a stark reminder of
May 4 to May 10 It was once said that if you hadn’t performed at the Sapphire Grand Cabaret (藍寶石大歌廳), you couldn’t truly be considered a star. Taking the stage at the legendary Kaohsiung club was more than just a concert. Performers were expected to entertain in every sense, wearing outlandish or revealing costumes and staying quick on their feet as sharp-tongued, over-the-top hosts asked questions and delivered jokes that would be seen as vulgar, even offensive, by today’s standards. Opening in May 1967 during a period of strict political and social control, Sapphire offered a rare outlet for audiences in
RSS