Reflection of an Asian-American Woman
I used to wish I were white.
When I was little, I noticed that boys would always talk more to the blonde-maned, blue-eyed girls. My short, black, bowl-shaped hair didn't make the cut. My brown eyes were ugly. Having pale skin wasn't enough to be deemed deserving of their attention. I couldn't help but feel as though I was doing something wrong.
So I turned to American cinema for comfort. But in the American movies and cartoons, all the characters were more often white than not. If there was someone who looked like me, like Cho Chang in Harry Potter or Stacey Hirano in Phineas and Ferb, they were never the main protagonists. I assumed it was because they weren't pretty enough to be important.
So, on the eve of many birthdays in elementary school, I silently prayed that I would wake up the next morning to a head full of shoulder-length, blonde locks, a long, elegant nose, and large, double-lidded, electric-blue eyes so I might be the protagonist of my own story. Every birthday morning was always a disappointment. Rather, I found momentary bliss on Halloween in a sparkly Cinderella frock in kindergarten and first grade, and the classic Sleeping Beauty dress in second grade.
I could be pretty, deserving of attention.
Even then, I knew that being white meant being beautiful and more easily accepted by "everybody".
It wasn't until my sophomore year, when I became a role model for my class of Asian-American kindergartners at Chinese school, that I came to realize that owning my Asian-American identity was the path I should've always taken instead of irrationally wanting to wind down the path of whiteness. There had been no one to tell me otherwise, no one for me to look up to, no one who had a name like mine that I could see who radiated Asian excellence and beauty. A lack of representation, or, as I decided to call it, representasian.
From then on, I vowed to do everything in my power to make up for the lack of representasian, whether it be in casting and choosing Asian crewmates for my films, in uplifting the platforms of and openly listening to my fellow Asian creatives.
We need more Asian voices in the entertainment industry. So, as one of those potential, emerging Asian voices, as writer, a performer, an artist, and most especially a director, I will fight for representation to create a world in which no other little Asian kid has to wish they were white, or to think that they’re invalid, disposable, or invisible because the media has portrayed them as such for so long.
I will fight to make sure that no kid has to go searching for a face or a name like their own in the credits ever again.
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Below are the works in which I’ve explored my Asian-American identity and sought to uplift my Asian creative peers. Thank you to everyone who’s supported me on this journey of self-discovery and advocacy. Nothing will ever truly be able to pay back your faith in me in full. <3
"descendant" Acrylic on gessoed paper, 11" x 11.5" (left to right; top to bottom; each side is 8"), January 2021.
8-ball
My tendencies and behaviors have long contradicted traditional Asian social norms for women and the model minority stereotype. I preferred hanging out with friends over poring over extra books for school. I wanted to find myself and not be bound solely to the desires and expectations of those around me—individuality over herd mentality. I was too loud and not quiet enough. Too bold and not subservient enough. Too arrogant and not humble enough. Too masculine and not feminine enough. Too emotional and not stoic enough.
Too American and not Asian enough.
I couldn’t find the balance; I always had to choose one culture, one side of my identity, because most of the time, society didn’t allow enough room for both. But what I came to learn was that even though these false dichotomies existed to box me into an easily-identifiable, neatly-wrapped, and easy-to-understand package, I didn’t have to conform to those expectations. I could be free to fully be and understand myself. This is 8-ball. It also features a preliminary sketch I did to plan out my painting, empress.
Written, edited, and directed by me. With assistance from Richard Chen, my little brother.
PSP - Myth Busting: How the “Model Minority Myth” Harms Asian Americans and Other Minority Groups
Early in my junior year, I was faced with choosing a topic for a daunting assignment: a year-long research paper. I knew I'd hit the jackpot when I uncovered the model minority myth—the stereotype that locks Asians in a box of quiet, overachieving, hard-working subservience. I was finally able to put a name on this experience that I'd had to fight against my entire life as an outspoken, authority-challenging, forward Asian girl.
As I dove into my research, I came to realize that this one, little phrase, "model minority", had created a false racial hierarchy and still embodies decades of systematic racism ever since its emergence as a counterpoint to activists calling for racial equity and solidarity during the Civil Rights Era. As soon as I finished the paper, I sent it to everyone I knew. The response was overwhelmingly supportive—I'd never before seen that many people tell me I'd taught them something new.
It was through this paper I was truly able to discover my passion for research to fuel my artivism in racial and social justice, and I hope to continue that work wherever I go.
Should you feel the need to share this paper with someone, the link is: tinyurl.com/gracepsp.
"outside" Acrylic on canvas panel, 10" x 8", October 2020. In this piece, I drew inspiration from Bonnard's window pieces depicting domestic life simultaneously within a house and looking toward the outside world. Continuing with the theme of exploring my identity, I decided to paint myself within my home, my sphere of vulnerability. An orange, not a banana, and a box containing an unseen mooncake accompany a mug on the table before me (both are foods of good fortune and have deep meaning in Asian culture).
"freedom" Oil pastel on paper, 11" x 11", October 2020. This piece was actually based off of "First Love", another artwork I did (an oil pastel piece with an acrylic paint background of my friend in a cherry blossom tree). I'd really loved the perspective and detail I was able to summon in the piece, and so I decided to replicate it as much as possible with myself as the subject this time. I even went back to the same tree, climbed it, and took a picture in the same position. But when I was painting the piece, I changed the design of my shoe to emulate the scales of a dragon. Even if the dragon isn't physically with me, she's there in spirit.
"empress" Acrylic on canvas panel, 11" x 14", October 2020. As a young, Asian-American woman, I've always struggled with the social expectations that I must be quiet, subservient, feminine, and obedient when I am in fact the opposite: loud, assertive, "masculine" in that sense, and independent. The motif and manifestation of a dragon appeared in some of my previous works as a representation—alter-ego, if you will—of myself, due to its bold, masculine traits and importance in Taiwanese culture. In "empress", I've painted a self-portrait of myself fearlessly wearing my dragon as a scarf. I am the dragon, the dragon is me. Together, we are one and the same.
banana: an asian-american story
Banana (n): a derogatory slur referring to Asians living in Westernized society and countries as "yellow on the outside but white on the inside". Hurled by family and strangers alike.
This film, banana: an asian-american story, is my coming to terms, my full reclamation of my dual identity—abandoning the societal expectation that I only conform to one side of my identity—as a Taiwanese-American woman.
Written, edited, and directed by me. Shot by my Mongolian-American friend and collaborator, Khulan Erdenedalai. Featuring my friend Elizabeth Brown, a Chinese-American, and myself.
"LOST" Acrylic on canvas panel, 24" x 18", February 2020. I emerge from a sea of bananas as a dragon. They're a literal representation of the slur "banana", used by family and strangers alike, which refers to Asians living in Westernized society and countries as "yellow on the outside but white on the inside".
"REBORN"
"Head in the Clouds Triptych" Etched print on paper, 25" x 7", February 2019. My floating relationship with my identity is portrayed in my triptych of prints, Head in the Clouds. Inspired by Hokusai, I used his linework in the clouds of his pieces and attempted to emulate the fluffy, voluminous feeling they evoked.
Waiting For the Right Moment
Just a simple story of two distant friends who meet up and discuss their nostalgia for the past and reconcile for the future, but with an Asian-American woman in the leading role of this romantic narrative.
Directed and shot by me. Produced and co-edited by my friend Michael Escamilla, a Filipino-American. Co-written by my Cambodian-American friend and collaborator, Jasmina Tang, who is also featured in this film.