In the Shadows

Of course we are in the shadows--

Of Hiroshima. Nagasaki.

As we have been (separately and together and differently and in so many different ways and along so many different fault lines) since 1945. And these past few days those shadows are in relief, have reared their heads, become loud, intrusive. For those of us who have been able (have had the privilege) of forgetting. Or simply living as if we can. There are those who remind us, have reminded us. Just like the post-earthquake, tsunami reactors are reminding us too.

I am thinking of Iri and Toshi Maruki (their after-Hiroshima paintings). For more than  30 years painting day after day echoes of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, for more than 30 years painting what started a few days after the first bomb when Iri and Toshi went to Hiroshima to look after their family. For the past few days, I have been remembering them, their work, my trip to Saitama, Japan, in 2006, when I stood in front of panels so large I couldn't even begin to take them in. And I wondered how anyone could even begin to paint something so large and not be overwhelmed by the very act of doing it. But I wasn't there. Maybe they were overwhelmed but had that rare willingness to stay in that space and keep going. Because they needed to. Because they couldn't put it out of their minds or bodies. Because they had made a commitment to keep putting the topic in the spotlight.

I remember that day. Sitting with my friend from the past (from my undergraduate life in Ellensburg, Washington), Tetsuya, who was living far from home back then after being transplanted for six months to a funny little city in the Pacific Northwest that was the home of the "Rodeo Grandmothers." Before our trip that afternoon in 2006, he had never been to the Maruki Gallery either. Indeed,  as we walked from room to room and came upon paintings that continued to grow in size, we were both lost. Terrified. Stunned. Walking gingerly on the sharp edge of grief fed by trauma for which there is no words.

I feel like there aren't words today. Even as I write. Even as I engage in such cliches about not having the language to write what I think I want to say.

I can't take it all in: everything that is happening right now in Japan. I wonder how anyone could or what that even means. I am powerless and hoping for the best and acknowledging how feeble that word "hope" actually is.

So tonight I am remembering those moments of friendship outside on the back porch of the Maruki Gallery overlooking the river where every year lanterns are sent along its waters in endless gestures of farewell. I am remembering that and the years of work and resolve of Iri and Toshi Maruki who painted and kept remembering.

Painting Ghost. Fire. Water. Rainbow. Boys and Girls. Atomic Desert. Bamboo Thicket. Rescue. Yaizu. Petition. Mother and Child. Floating Lanterns. Death of American Prisoners of War. Crows. and Nagasaki: all of these words titles of their memories.

http://www.aya.or.jp/~marukimsn/english/indexE.htm