Rainbows are often a symbol of hope and freedom. It’s a small miracle that we can even see them. Many cultures maintain that the rainbow is a bridge between two worlds.
Others see the rainbow as a foreboding message, and they must be avoided, hidden from.
Perhaps because it represents the destructive potential yet ephemerality of natural phenomenon completely beyond control of humans.
In Judaism, a culture I grew up with, the rainbow represents both divine wrath and its subsequent forgiveness, it represents the convenant God made to humans after the Great Flood, to never destroy the world again.
It represents the struggle for liberation of LGBTQ and other marginalized communities across the globe.
I had the honor to stay at Haraizumi last fall as an artist-in-residence, where I met local people born and raised in this tiny village, friends of Haraizumi Art Project, and residents of Kakegawa, the nearby town. HAP works to bring energy back into the region, activate spaces that have fallen into disuse, build connections and provide opportunities for local small businesses and people of all walks of life, artists across Japan, and around the world. I made wooden sculptures and prints that were exhibited in an old temple that had closed due to dwindling patronage as families moved to the town over the years. I was so moved by everyone’s kindness, generosity and energy, and the dedication with which volunteers made HAP possible.
This year, HAP’s director, Yuko Hatori, asked me to participate again. Of course because of Covid, there were bans on international travelers restrictions on travel restrictions within the country, limiting how artists could contribute to Haraizumi. The fact that I knew the area well meant that I could make site specific work despite my absence. I thought, how could I make art for Haraizumi from here in the US? What kind of purpose can art have in an epidemic?
When I designed the work, America was erupting in protests across the country, calling for an end to police brutality against black citizens. I was going to a protest several times a week. Covid was sweeping the nation, states were going into lock down in the face of mass deaths and hospitalizations. There were protests against these lock downs too, and some that were violent. Millions of Americans were out of work, many couldn’t (and still can’t) receive benefits. There were also violent attacks against LGBTQ people, particularly in my own city, against my friends and community. There was so much despair, all around the world, and I wanted to make a piece that could help heal the pain.
I tried to design a very simple sculpture. If you know me, you know there’s always something complicated. It’s about ½ a mile long (800 meters!), and consists of over 400 wooden poles, and stretches all the way from the local Forestry Cooperative (who processed and donated the poles) to the home base and welcome center for HAP. Each pole is painted a color of the rainbow, and spaced 6’ (2m) apart. Every few cycles of the rainbow, a pole is placed which is freely painted by volunteers who wished to do so.
The work I proposed was large and I had no way of building it myself, which made me nervous. Yuko suggested asking local children and teenagers to help with the artwork. If it was possible to collaborate, I wanted that to be meaningful. Children painted the poles that were donated and cut by workers of the Forestry Cooperative. They did it quickly and I was amazed! I hope that the kids and other volunteers for this project will see the rainbow as their work, really much more than it is mine.
The challenging part was to release control of the work and allow it to be modified with respect for the intentions and abilities of the community that built it. To do this requires trust. Trust from the community that the piece will work how the artist planned, and trust from the artist that the community will ultimately convey the artist’s intentions. Everyone coordinated so skillfully on my behalf and for HAP.