Icons in Translation

Icons—the secular kind, at least—have a paradoxical character. They are by definition symbols of shared culture and history, yet they can also embody profound social divisions. Show a picture of Marilyn Monroe to a white American and a black American, and they will probably rattle off a half-dozen similar associations. Show the same two people a portrait of the equally iconic Thomas Jefferson, and their responses are much less likely to match. An icon’s complex dynamic takes on yet another dimension when it’s seen through the eyes of someone from outside its culture of origin. The outsider has to fit the image into his own cultural context, and some portion of its meaning is likely to be lost or transformed in the process. That process of translation is at work in the portraits that make up half of Daniel Lai’s current show at Estel Gallery. Lai is of Chinese descent, and was born and raised in Malaysia. He’s lived in the U.S. for eight years, and is currently director of Dangenart Gallery in Nashville. For Icon: An Exploration of Western Culture, Lai has chosen 10 famous figures to whom he was not exposed in his Asian childhood, and presented them in a way that is superficially familiar, yet subtly different from the typical Western treatment.

Lai creates what he calls “burnt” portraits, using a technique that involves delicately singeing and burning white canvas to create an image. Washes of color are sometimes added. The effect is surprisingly pretty. Several of the canvases here, especially one of Jean-Michel Basquiat in a romantic, angst-ridden pose, are simply beautiful objects in their own right. But a closer look at the portraits reveals some intriguing oddities.

First of all, there’s the curious mix of subjects. Six of Lai’s 10 icons are visual artists. Most of them have faces that are as well known as their work, but otherwise they have little obvious connection. Dropped in with Picasso and Frida Kahlo is a brooding, dramatic Cézanne, whose face is not universally recognized. Lai has clearly chosen artists that are important to him personally, feeling no burden to acknowledge any established pantheon of Western artists.

His remaining subjects are Jimi Hendrix, Bob Dylan, Abraham Lincoln and Frederick Douglass. All of them certainly qualify as icons, but it’s a little unexpected to see them thrown together. Here again, Lai isn’t nodding to any conventional idea about who belongs in which cultural niche. He has simply latched onto figures who engage him, bypassing category in a way that would be difficult to do within your own culture. His approach to his subjects is also slightly unconventional. Lincoln’s face is chopped into quarters with an American flag in the background, and accompanied by a caption that reads “Not So United They Stand.” It’s a vivid, truthful image, but it defies the accepted schoolbook notion of Lincoln as preserver of national unity.

The presentation of the portraits likewise subtly steps outside cultural norms. Douglass, Basquiat and Hendrix—the only black subjects in the exhibit—are hung as a group, mirroring van Gogh, Georgia O’Keefe and Cézanne on a nearby wall. To American observers, who are hypersensitive to race, this placement has an unsettling suggestion of segregation, yet it’s clear that Lai had no racial statement in mind. He was simply arranging the portraits in a way that is pleasing to the eye, without reference to this culture’s destructive obsession with skin color—something only an outsider would be able to do.

Lai’s small, whimsical sculptures make up the other half of the exhibit. His featureless clay figures are the antithesis of the iconic portraits. Little doughy Everymen, they are presented in a variety of poses, often accompanied by books, which seem to overpower or oppress them. “Potter’s World/Reality: Confused” presents a figure offering something that resembles an egg to a tower of books, as if in supplication or sacrifice. “The Cog” has three figures tumbling in circular cages, reminiscent of hamsters in a wheel. “Intellectual Acrobats” is a marvel of construction, with several of Lai’s little people cavorting on a loopy Ferris wheel of books. They don’t seem to be having fun.

Lai says these sculptures, unlike the portraits, are intended to express his personal emotions. He calls them “three-dimensional hieroglyphs of my experience.” They evoke a sense of deep feelings that are universal, and yet, like the portraits, they can also be seen as a particular response to the challenge of an unfamiliar culture. The figures look overwhelmed and helpless as they navigate the alien language and circumstances that confront them.

Icon: An Encounter With Western Culture is not a show that screams its ideas. Its insights are quiet, only to be found in the nuances of form and presentation. Lai describes his work as “contemplative,” and it seems to require the same meditative approach from the viewer. A hurried look offers little but pretty pictures and toy-like objects. It takes thought, and an understanding of Lai’s unique perspective, to see that his work is much richer than it might first appear.