The Oxford English Dictionary defines “home” as “the place where one lives permanently, especially as a member of a family or household.” Others define home in varying degrees such as a safe haven or rather than being a physical place, it’s where your heart belongs. But what of those who are still searching for a sense of belonging?
Along King Street in the heart of Chinatown, the Wing Luke Museum is a cornerstone in preserving and spotlighting Seattle’s Asian American community. In honor of Washington’s former Assistant Attorney, Wing Luke, the Smithsonian institution seeks to celebrate the legacy of Asian American and Pacific Islander (AAPI) figures and groups that have enriched the greater Seattle area with their culture, advocacy work, and more.
The “Lost And Found: Searching for Home” exhibit opened as a special feature in mid-November last year. It features the creations of 15 artists and examines individual journeys of cultural reconciliation, one’s desire to find belonging, and ultimately, the quest to define “home.” Various questions surrounding this idea will guide visitors toward discovery and reflection throughout the gallery.
“Where Do We Belong?”
“How Do We Recognize Home?”
For Lauren Iida, her art tells the story of “an epic journey” that many immigrants found themselves taking to find new opportunities and freedom in America. Taking inspiration from over thirty submitted personal histories and images of community members in Seattle, the 12-foot-long art piece made from intricately cut paper depicts the rich life and culture that is lost and torn apart in pursuit of a new “promised land.” Once grown and nourished in their motherland, one’s roots are ripped out of the soil and scattered from one land to another—displaced by war, poverty, and instability. However, even in this place that they now call home, there still lies the one at the beginning of their journey. Can they still call that place home? Iida believes so. Titled Under the Same Moon, this piece urges viewers to see that as long as the moon continues to set the motion of the ocean tide, what we leave behind cannot be lost; you’ll find it within yourself.
When I first saw this piece, I was in absolute awe of the details and delicate quality of Iida’s handiwork. Upon further inspection, I could see the care put into telling a seemingly universal
story of immigration; all you’ll lose but also gain to belong somewhere. A dangerous trek across the ocean by boat, a marriage torn by financial woes, a unity of solidarity. Sorrow and joy, pain and comfort. Lost and found. There can’t be one without the other. For the fortunate, you’ve always belonged as you are but for others, their undoing must occur before they’re allowed a glimpse of acceptance on foreign soil. Immigrants must build everything from the ground up with what is left. What is left behind is a home they may never see again but are still tethered to, and as the cheesy quote goes, “home is where the heart is” but how could you ever take that away from someone who’s lost nearly everything to hopelessly try and gain more? I don’t think that we all need to travel a long way to search for home. Home is closer than you could imagine. Look up at the everlasting moon, smell the cool night air, listen to the quiet pass through, and let home settle into your bones.
Continuing throughout the gallery, you’ll find this message woven into the creations of other artists. From a graph showing the ebbing waves of an immigrant father’s anxieties to a display case filled to the brim with snacks that reek of childhood. There are objects, physical and intangible that will lure you back to when home was all you knew. The longer I’ve sat with this exhibit, the more I’ve questioned the idea of belonging. Why must we belong? Do we need to belong? Should we find acceptance within ourselves first, or will we find that once we’ve been accepted by others?
Towards the end of the exhibit, you will find yourself in a hallway, surrounded by another one of Lauren Iida’s artworks. At first glance, your eyes will be drawn to the vibrant webs of paper streaming across the walls. However, if you take a moment to examine, you’ll find books, a butcher knife, flowers, and much more, caught in a flood of netting. Similarly to Under the Same Moon, the Memory Net was created from an entanglement of paper, displaying all that is “lost” within our minds but remains somewhere in us. If you can cast a net out into the depths of yourself, you’ll find pieces of what you thought you’d lost.
I left this exhibit with a sense of belonging. A round of applause, please. This gallery did what it set out to do and possibly more. I was able to see my reflection as I stared into the experiences of those who’ve led different yet so echoing lives of my own. I felt comforted to know that I wasn’t alone in my journey to reconnect with a part of myself that I felt I was so loosely tied to. However, my ties are stronger than I thought because my community is united. I couldn’t ever be lost as long as I’m surrounded by those who too were once lost but found home in one another.
There’s so much more to be said about this exhibit, truthfully the entirety of the Wing Luke Museum, but I’m afraid we’d be here longer than any of us would like. If you can spare an hour or two, I encourage you to get a first-hand walkthrough of the museum and see for yourself all the deep history that has been embedded into the core of Seattle’s Asian American communities. During your exploration, the exhibit doesn’t just ask you to take a look into a part of the artists' lives but also your own. This exhibit implores you, whether as an American-born, immigrant, or simply a person who’s strayed far from their roots, to where and what is home to you, what have you lost in the process of seeking your place in the world, and what you can still claim as yours. As you uncover these artists’ answers to belonging, perhaps you’ll find your own.
