Strange Fire

InHae Yap: How did you initially discover photo-making, and what was your path to getting to where you are today?

Jarod Lew: I only took one photography class in college – my background is mostly in graphic design. But In 2009, when I graduated, the economy was going down the shitter and graphic design was changing: everyone was transitioning to web design. So I graduated from college without a job. Living in the midwest, it’s like, how many graphic designers do people need? 

I was dating somebody at the time whose grandparents owned a recognized portrait studio. Her grandmother calls me one day and says, “I had a dream about you.” And on the phone, I’m just like, “What? What are you trying to say?” And she says, “I had a dream about you working at the photo studio, Jarod, it’s nothing weird. But would you be interested in working in our studio?” I immediately said yes and that was my intro into image-making with a camera, doing high school, sports, and military portraits. 

The economy continued to go down in Michigan so they eventually had to let me go. But I was so fascinated by the medium that I kept taking photographs. I wanted to explore what it was like to be outside of the studio, too, so I started doing a lot of research using Google and YouTube. I was looking at Magnum and all those sorts of agencies, at all the white dudes that were doing these sorts of projects. 

IY: Were you thinking about their whiteness while making the work? Or that came later while reflecting upon it?

JL: It definitely came later. I was just so fascinated by the medium that I didn’t think about anything but the camera and how to get that certain kind of quality in the image. While going down the rabbit hole and looking at other image-makers making photographs of Detroit – they were mostly white rich men, like Andrew Moore, making photographs of dilapidated buildings and ruin porn. And I thought, well maybe I can do a little bit better than this.

IY: Your desire to do “better” – is this because you were born and raised Detroit? And these communities, they’re your friends?

JL: Yeah, I lived here practically my whole life. In the “South of Heaven” project, which was in the suburban neighborhoods that surround Detroit, some of the photographs take place in neighborhoods that resemble the neighborhoods that my friends and I grew up in. Because those places were so comfortable to me, I was able to mess up completely and be okay with it. As I got really comfortable with photography and lighting and what the medium is like, that’s when I started noticing Detroit in the headlines.

At that time, Detroit was completely re-identifying itself. It was like, okay, Detroit is gentrifying, it has this new identity, it’s not this dangerous place to be in anymore. Which, me looking in, I thought that was a complete lie; like actually, no, this is just a tiny little pocket that’s being gentrified. But what about the communities that surround Detroit that are not?

So, for the second series, “Maybe I’ll see you there,” involved me driving into Detroit, parking my car where I saw a lot of folks hanging out, and walking and conversing with people. And the interesting thing about that was that everyone wanted to be photographed, but nobody wanted to give me their name or address so I could send them a print. It was very strange. They were just like, “I want to tell you this story, but I don’t want to give you my information. I just want to give you that nutshell, that tidbit.”

IY: Do you think that’s because Detroit and its residents were so often the subject of national headlines?

JL: Yeah, totally. I think because Detroit is known for a certain image, they wanted to tell me a different side of it, a more personal side of it. But because of that I started questioning my privilege: it’s like, am I the one who is supposed to release this information? So it took me a while to actually show those pictures.

Eventually, Buzzfeed saw the photos through a fellowship I was in for local Detroit photographers called Facing Change: Documenting Detroit, and wanted to promote the images. And I was a little skeptical about it, but I was like, what the hell, I’ve been doing this for a long time, and I’ve gotten positive feedback from folks I’ve photographed, and the mentorship I was in. 

So I put it out there, and when I saw the comments on my Facebook page, I was getting a lot of shit from African-American friends, who said, “Oh, you’re just some other dude photographing poor black communities.” They were saying it in a way where they thought I was white, though. And that completely shocked me. So I was really bummed out about that article. But then a couple of days later, I got anonymous emails from folks that live in Detroit, saying, “We’ve seen the comments that have been made, I just want to tell you that the photographs you’re making are exactly what I experience; I’m glad you’re using your platform to describe Detroit as it is and not this gentrified ‘new Detroit’ that’s often described in the media." So that made me feel a lot better about that project as time progressed – but.

IY: How did you respond to those comments?

JL: It was weird because everybody who had negative comments were African-American friends who lived in the suburbs like me. But people who lived in Detroit were giving me positive feedback on what I was trying to say with my pictures. So it was this weird tension – and I was living in the suburbs, too, so that added to that tension.

IY: Can you elaborate briefly on why there’s tension between metro and suburban Detroit? Is it racial, class-based, or something else?

JL: A lot of businesses, creatives, and ordinary folks from the suburbs use Detroit as a "brand" to help promote themselves. At the time, a man called Dan Gilbert, a rich white billionaire living in the suburbs, was buying up all the property and gentrifying different neighborhoods within the city, destroying communities and local businesses.  At one point, his company did a promotion of what "New Detroit" would look like on the side of a building and it featured all white people.

IY: And what were you trying to say with those images? From that series, "Maybe I’ll see you there.”

JL: I was trying to understand what it was like to be left out. A common saying that I kept hearing from Detroiters, and even suburban folks going into Detroit to hang out at these fancy spots, was, “maybe I’ll see you there.” Because they didn’t know if they would see each other again, because communities were being torn apart by gentrification. So I wanted to understand that feeling of being left out while living in this city that was supposedly one of the worst but up and coming in America.

I also wanted to understand what it was like to re-imagine and have a renewed identity as a major US city. Those images are very cinematic, but they look that way because they were - they were these cinematic moments in the everyday lives of Detroiters. And the media was just focused on these positive, feel-good stories like Dan Gilbert’s, which just didn’t feel truthful to the whole story. And at the time, like I said, I didn’t know anybody that was doing anything other than ruin porn.

IY: When I think back to images of Detroit at the time, ’08, ’09, a lot of it was empty or abandoned houses. Which were certainly evocative, but the lack of people was really startling – especially when I look at your work, which is pretty people-centric. Abandoned houses and so forth are of course part of the narrative, but there’s people too. And I just love the title of the series, especially in the context of that moment, that very uncertain future. 

I did notice, with your projects, you don’t include much text. Is that on purpose?

JL: I think now it’s more on purpose, but during the early stages, I just didn’t know how to contribute text to those images. And that’s one of the critiques I got a lot at the Portfolio Review in Santa Fe. Many photo editors were from the New York Times or NPR, and they were asking, “Where are the captions or the texts to these images? You should be doing interviews and recordings and combining them with your photos!” It’s a bit of a cliche thing, where I’m a visual person and I don’t like to deal with text, but a part of me thinks it’s kind of true, I’d like to contribute text to other projects now that I’m more comfortable with the work.

IY: The reason I’m asking is that with your first two projects, my immediate reaction is, “Oh, I really want to know more.” Some subjects, especially – there’s one image of these two people hugging and it’s just so lovely, I want to know the context. Like, why were you there, what were you doing? Why were they having that incredibly visceral moment?

JL: Yeah! That moment, I was near the university in Detroit, Wayne State, and it was one of those times where I just parked my car maybe a mile away and just walked. I had a medium format camera, just strolling down the road, not thinking I would make a picture.

I see them standing there, exactly like that. I practically run towards them and I ask, “What are you guys up to?” And they’re just like, “Oh, we just got out of school and we’re waiting for the bus.” And to let you know, the bus system in Detroit is messed up. People wait a long ass time to ride on the public transportation bus. So they were just waiting there, and I asked, “Do you mind if I make a photograph of you guys?” And they said, “No, we don’t care.” 

So we just sat there and I made maybe three frames? The first two I fucked up because I didn’t realize my exposure was set up so it was completely blown out. But that last one, where you see of them just hanging out and waiting for the bus – holding each other. It was very surreal and beautiful moment that I saw walking down the road.

IY: It’s kind of magical, really! But regarding context, your latest series, “Please Take off Your Shoes” (shortlisted for the 2021 Aperture Portfolio) – it’s not on the street, there’s more interiors, it feels more quiet and contemplative? I don’t feel like I need context for that one, for some reason. I don’t know if that rings true for you.

JL: Hundred percent true. When I was photographing Detroit, I realized at one point that the images were becoming repetitive. And I took a break from making pictures at that moment to re-evaluate how I want to make images.

At that exact moment, I was introduced to Corky Lee. He introduced me to Paula You, who wrote a book about Vincent Chin. And [Paula] found out my story about Vincent Chin, how my mom was engaged to him. So I’m a “character” in her book, where there’s a vignette of me discovering who Vincent Chin is and me confronting my mom. And while I was doing work with her, I was also trying to reevaluate what it means to be an Asian in America.

When “Please Take off Your Shoes” (PTOYS) started taking off I was so gung-ho on making portraits and finding a community – because I didn’t have a community. I grew up in a very white, suburban neighborhood, practically had all-white friends; the only Asian friends I had were my family. And the honest way of expressing our Asian American experience was inside the home. So I wanted to re-evaluate that, and the similarities – if there were any – with other Asian Americans.

I focused predominantly on the suburban landscape, at least initially. So some of the photographs are very documentary-style where it could be anybody’s home. But there's other photographs where it becomes more complicated after I become closer with the person I’m working with – like the image on the Aperture page, of a mother handing a plate of oranges to her son, Eugene.

I really thought about what it meant for Asian parents to love their children without expressing it. Because of the historical traumas many Asian American parents go through, they can be overly protective and overbearing, micro-managing their kids’ lives, breaking their boundaries and need for privacy. So I used the frame as this boundary that Eugene’s mom “breaks” by forcing a plate of oranges during the photo shoot.

It’s those kind of images that are really satisfying to me, as an Asian American creative making pictures. I want to have that sort of dialogue, I want there to be a relatable-ness that other Asian Americans may see in the images. Like you! 

IY: I’m smiling right now because when you talk about handing sliced fruit, that is just the most Asian parental expression of love … like, “Oh, I won’t outright apologize for the argument we had. But here’s a plate of sliced pear. I peeled it for you.” Every Asian who sees that instantly just … laser beams on!

JL: Yeah, and it’s funny, two days ago my aunt called me out of the blue, because my mom told her I was shortlisted for the Aperture prize, and she was going on about this picture of Eugene. She’s like, “I looove the oranges, it’s so Chinese to have oranges in the picture!” And I’m like, “OK, cool! It can relate to another generation too.” Because they don’t even see it as love, they just know it’s an object that’s in our experiences. Like oranges. You get it after a meal at a Chinese restaurant. Your parents cut it for you. It has multiple meanings.'

IY: That’s a really interesting point, in terms of the generational gap. On Subtle Asian Traits, there’s always jokes about, “Oh, she gave me fruit as an apology, or, instead of saying I love you.” But for an older generation, cutting fruit is just something they do.

JL: Yeah! Totally. I remembering questioning my mom, saying, “Why are you cutting me fruit?” I knew it was because of her love. But she was just like, “I don’t know. Why not?”

IY: Most of the people I see in this portfolio are younger people, in their twenties and thirties. Is there a reason for that?

JL: I think initially it was just the people I reached out to. Because I wanted to understand what it was like to be a first-gen, second-gen Asian American, where your tie to Asia is not so, I guess, prevalent in your life. So as I’m making these portraits, I was asking people to take me to the space they felt most comfortable in, and it was usually in their bedrooms. After making several portraits I realized that it didn’t really speak to the complexity of our experience, and I wasn’t sure why, until I went to someone’s house and realized that their public space – like living rooms or dining rooms – had Asian ornaments all over: vases, scrolls, everything. But then you’d go into this first- or second-generation AA’s bedroom – bare! There’s nothing. The most Asian thing in that room was me and the person I was photographing, and the Pentax camera on my tripod.

Noticing that contrast, it was, that spoke to me when it came to how complex our experience can be within the interior home: having the American objects next to the very ornamental Asian objects.

IY: One of my absolute favorites in the series is the drying pig next to the window. Or is it a roast duck? Hanging by its tail or leg.

JL: Yes! It was a movie prop, the actual duck is a movie prop that my cousin got in New York. It was on sale at some prop sale, so he bought it. I thought it was so funny to see that thing next to the little wooden duck cutouts.

IY: But that’s kind of what I mean, of – well, in this case it’s a prop, but I could perfectly well see someone hanging it up. Like, yeah, it needs to dry so I’ll just put it there by the radiator.

JL: Yeah! That’s what I initially thought, because, walking into their home, I didn’t even have a camera on me. But I thought, I have to come back with one, ‘cause it’s hilarious. 

It was just hanging there. I thought it was a real duck. I was like, dude, that’s kinda gross that you have a roast duck hanging off your window sill …

IY: But if it was real, that would also not be totally un-ordinary.

JL: Exactly. I was also thinking about Anne Cheng’s book, Ornamentalism, which we’ve discussed, when making pictures that were outside of my friends’ private spaces, bedrooms.

[Cheng] was focusing more on cheongsams, porcelain pots, relating that to femininity. But I just sort of wanted to re-examine what those ornaments meant to us, the younger folks, as this tie to our identity. I was thinking about Cheng’s definition of ornamentalism, and thinking about how ornamental objects for second, third-gen Asian Americans that are further away from Asia, becomes this way of sort of surviving and keeping our identity.

So I wasn’t really critiquing or talking about femininity, exactly, but I wanted to look at the ornaments. Because I overlooked these things growing up. I was living in a very white area, sometimes being told that these things are ugly, that you don’t need these things in your home anymore because we live in America, etc. Now, as an adult, I appreciate these objects a lot more, and I want to photograph them and look at them, for a long time. 

So that was kind of my thought process that led to incorporating these ornaments in the portraits and also questioning the whole feeling of alienation: what it means to be the least Asian thing in the room and the most Asian thing in the room.You could be the least Asian thing in your parents’ house, and then you go out into white America and you’re the most Asian thing. I thought that was kind of a powerful way to describe that.

I didn’t think much about my race until one of my [high school] friends, a white dude, he said something like, “Yo, Jarod, I’m so glad we’re friends and everything, but I just wanna let you know that I don’t even think of you as Asian.” Which was like the biggest compliment he can give me. And now, as an adult, I know this is a cliche thing that people say to Asian Americans. At the time I was like, “Cool! Yeah! I’m like you!” But I started questioning, “Oh, well I am different. But this person doesn’t see me as different? So that must be a good thing?”

IY: Something I’ve noticed is that for Asian Americans, across different backgrounds, there often isn’t a strong racial consciousness until college or even after.

JL: Yeah, I’ve noticed that too. I’ve also noticed that there’s a full circle effect when it comes to our experience. Like, we’re born, we go to school, at some point during school we hate the fact that we’re Asian, and then as we’re traveling around this circle we realize how cool or how amazing it is to be Asian, and then we fully love ourselves. [Laughs] Or maybe not fully, but there’s an appreciation for our experiences.

IY: I remember reading the Joy Luck Club (1989) in high school. One of the mothers was talking about her daughter, and she said, “When she was little she hated learning Chinese. Refused to learn. And now that she’s old, she wants to learn because being Chinese is cool again.” Thinking about that now, it’s like, oh my god.

JL: Yeah! And book was written a long time ago, right? And we still feel that. My mom speaks Cantonese and I felt the same way – I didn’t necessarily want to learn it. And my dad also, he was born here and grew up in San Francisco, moved to Texas, eventually came back to Michigan. But he’s also Chinese-American, and in that generation, when you were born here – well, he didn’t want me to learn Cantonese, out of survival. He said, “You’re going to be criticized and laughed at." And he’s saying that from his own experiences in the sixties and seventies. So he told my mom, “Jarod doesn’t need to learn, he should just concentrate on English.” Now as an adult, I wish I could speak it!

IY: This all makes me think of the Aperture article, “Why Aren’t There Any Famous Asian American Photographers?”, where photographers Mary Kang, Tommy Kha, Jessica Chou discuss gatekeeping in the photo industry, decolonizing visual narratives, and what diversity and representation mean from an AAPI perspective. What aspects of their discussion struck you the most?

JL: Yes! I really agree with everything everyone said in that article, like Tommy, Mary, and Jessica. However, the thing that struck me the most is that all of those creators are based in New York and LA. And being a midwest photographer or artist, we’re often forgotten, and I just don’t have a lot of commercial work – I haven’t had the opportunity to evolve it. So I focused mostly and all on my artistic practice, which gave me a lot of freedom to explore what I wanted to do, without worrying about these gatekeepers critiquing my images.

IY: Can you elaborate on what you mean about gatekeepers with regard to developing your work?

JL: I have mixed feelings. There's so much freedom in not having the pressures of curators, gallerists, photo editors, or MFA professors trying to push your work in a direction they think is best. You're allowed to mess up and explore your own ideas on why certain things worked or didn’t work. 

On the other hand, not engaging with these gatekeepers has meant fewer opportunities to receive constructive feedback. I think you need gatekeepers to grow as an artist. Though, I also recognize that the term “gatekeepers” intends to critique exclusionary practices in the arts. I understand that my work might not get recognized as “good art” according to some traditions and tastemakers. The irony is that working without gatekeepers in mind has gotten my work some of their attention. I’ve been fortunate to work with very encouraging and supportive “gatekeepers,” such as Aperture. My only wish is that these big firms and organizations can recognize the talent of artists of color in the midwest.

IY:  What was it like to apply for the Aperture Portfolio prize? Because that is very heavily New York based. 

JL: Aperture is such a well known name in photo circles. In the past couple years I didn’t apply to it because I didn’t think my work was ready. And I’m not the best writer, so I had to really think about what it was that I wanted to say, and also I wanted to fully feel emotionally ready to apply. This year, I said, okay, I think I’m finally ready. 

So the deadline was coming up, and that’s when all these Asian hate crimes started happening. It was like, weirdly synchronistic, and I felt kind of weird applying, because I don’t necessarily want to use that. You know what I’m saying? That’s not my intention at all.

IY: This reminds me of what Kha said in the Aperture article, about how we’re always going to be seen as Asian American photographers. We’ll always be pigeonholed, put into that box.

JL: For sure. It’s inevitable. But as I started exploring my Asian American identity and being an artist, I feel like I’m becoming more okay with folks who pigeonhole me as an Asian American artist. It’s an emerging field, and we have so much freedom to play and discover. We as Asian American creators should explore that and pull out as much as we can – because if we don’t, who else will? 

I’m also so inspired by Black image makers like Deena Lawson, LaToya Ruby Frasier, John  Edmonds, Zora J Murff, and their exploration of decolonizing the lens. I want to explore that same thing within my community. So I say, go ahead and pigeonhole me! Because once you enter that pigeonhole, you’ll realize how vast it is. 

IY: There’s a lot to do, within the box.

JL: Right! And I’m excited.

IY: So what’s next for you?

JL: Well, I’m not completely done with PTOYS. I’m still making photographs. I feel like there’s still more that I want to explore with that. And there’s other sub-projects that I’m thinking about that stemmed off of that work. 

Right before Covid, I was photographing my [Asian] friends eating. I was thinking about meals and the dance that goes along with cooking dinner for a large family, to even just the conversations that are made at the dinner table. I wanted to hear these conversations, to capture them using photography or mixed media. Even if I might not understand the mix of English and other Asian languages, there’s still some sort of familiarity with these sounds, which I think is powerful.

Currently I have a few projects and collaborations that I am trying to get the ball rolling on. I'm really excited to see if they come through! One of them deals with a group of Asian American men who are striving to become professional bodybuilders. Because of the pandemic, they moved their workout equipment into their garage and they've been lifting there. It's interesting to see their body transformation and body image during the pandemic!

[Ornamentalism summary: “Focusing on the cultural and philosophic conflation between the ‘oriental' and the ‘ornamental,’ Ornamentalism offers an original and sustained theory about Asiatic femininity in western culture. This study pushes our vocabulary about the woman of color past the usual platitudes about objectification and past the critique of Orientalism in order to formulate a fresher and sharper understanding of the representation, circulation, and ontology of Asiatic femininity.”]