Art Nomad: Sh. Baatar and B. Khongorzul

Gobi Zokhiomj & Khangai Zokhiomj, Sh. Baatar

There were times over the last two years that I missed Mongolia simply because I thought it would be nice to have some down time.  Japan was my own personal wonderland, but I ran myself ragged.  Starting my master's with painting sent me on an art-making adventure that took up so much time that I didn't finish a single plushie until I got home that first summer.  I didn't have much of a social life, but that was a moot point because my weekends didn't exactly leave much space for friends (especially since mine weren't really the kind to drop everything at a moments' notice to take a train to the other side of Tokyo for festivals or otaku events).  I did manage to sit down and post a blog relatively regularly, although this was mostly thanks to the drink bar at Denny's on Saturday mornings.  I know that someone, somewhere has said something about how you can't do it all.  I can't think of what the exact saying is, or who came up with it, but the gist is that you have to make choices, and that was kind of the story of my last two years.

Well now, here I am, back in Mongolia, and I've hardly known what to do with myself the last two Saturday mornings.  There's no Denny's, and Shibuya is too far to drop in for a nihonga lesson.  This is compounded by the fact that I lived in Mongolia for five years last time.  If there's something to do here, I have, most likely, already done it.

Going gallery hopping is no exception.  In fact, a long, LOOOONG time ago I mentioned in a post that visiting UB’S art galleries was a good thing to do in UB when you're broke.  However, I realized during my course in multiculturalism that I hadn't really studied Mongolian art; in fact, I was in the middle of that course the last time I was in Mongolia, but I didn't get to see a single show, in spite of spending an entire day walking from one gallery to the next.  There are almost no resources on Mongolian art in English, but this has led me to the conclusion that this should be my raison d'écrire this go-round.  To the extent that I can, at any rate.  I mean, I'm not really an academic writer (too many swear words, for one thing) and I have few journalistic credentials.  And by few, I mean none, unless you could second place in a blog contest and publishing a few yearbooks.

Nutag-2, Sh. Baatar

For my inaugural post I decided to visit my old favorite gallery, the Union of Mongolian Artists Gallery.  They had a joint exhibition that ended yesterday, so I figured it should have priority over whatever else I might come across.   The gallery was divided into two discrete sections, but I found myself drawn to Shagdarsuren Baatar's work first.  It was characterized by earthy colors and energetic, flowing line work.  Although she draws on a lot of well-worn Mongolian imagery - horses, knot work, Buddhist iconography, deerstones, and Chinggis Khaan, to name but a few - her style keeps them from getting stale.  Many pieces shared the perspective seen in traditional Naadam paintings.  Nutag-2 is one example, showing the way her treatment makes for a fresh and interesting take on traditional Mongolia.  I was less inspired by her more polished portraits, such as Ezen; these more figurative works felt more pinned to reality by their treatment, losing much of the liveliness of other works.

Khair, Sh. Baatar

Her ability to play with historical Mongolian art forms was also brilliantly demonstrated in paintings on leather.  Some of these were done on remnants stitched and applied to canvas, but she also makes use of traditional wooden stretchers to showcase her work, resulting in a beautiful recollection of the past.

But perhaps my favorite, somewhat predictably, were her erotic works.  (Remember please that I was hentai long before I moved to Japan).  She had a series of monochromatic drawings all titled Tatalbar in - best guess - charcoal, depicting couplings within gers.  These stood out to me not only because of the exuberance of their eroticism, granted by her trademark linework, but the careful details included, such as the stitching in the felt rugs being frolicked upon.  A more subtle reference to classical Mongolian artworks was found in Khair and Orshikhui, in which the subjects are posed similarly to tantric Buddhist sculptures (a replica of which - fun fact - I found in the school cafeteria this week.  It wasn't particularly explicit, but I would be surprised if the high school boys hadn't picked up on it). 

Uya-2 & Uya-1, B. Khongorzul

The other half of the gallery was taken up with the somewhat impressionistic work of B. Khongorzul.  Her art consisted of monumental sized portraits and historic scenes, as well as some flowers.  I was first struck with the feeling that her portraits were reminiscent of John Singer Sargent's, somewhat loose brushwork effectively rendering the cloth of her subjects' apparel.  I never felt that Sargent portrayed people as they were, though, instead layering grandiosity upon them (to be fair, he was painting the filthy rich for money; they didn't exactly want to look like their everyday selves).  Khongorzul's subjects, on the other hand, are everyday Mongolians, and her depictions of them as they are grants a feeling of dignity to such everyday people.

Khun Gurnii Uilchid, B. Khongorzul

Her historical works, on the other hand, have nothing everyday about them.  Although these are grandiose - in a couple of cases even mythological - they are nevertheless grounded in reality.  The labels demonstrate the meticulous research that went into making these works believable, even when the scenes depicted, such as the women sewing a felt carpet of which only a fragment remains, may not have happened at all.  I can respect the hell out of that.

I have to admit that I may have been having something of an existential crisis since leaving Japan.  The artistic work I've done over the last two years has been firmly rooted in my experiences there, so I feel a small bit justified in at least some panicking.  Will I be able to finish my works in progress when cut off from their source, let alone begin new pieces?  I'm still trying to figure that out, but I'm holding out hope that the sum effect will be a positive one.  I've found myself struggling to decide whether or not my ideas have relevance, or if my appropriation of Japanese culture and imagery into my art is worth anyone's attention.  Maybe by going outside my context I'll figure that out; if not, I at least hope seeing the ways in which Baatar and other Mongolian artists own their own culture might inspire me.  Either way, at least I no longer have to live for the weekends.  Even though it's only been a week and a half since work started - three days with kids - I remember why I loved working here so much.  It didn't feel like work, and that's a wonderful thing.