Mina Kinukawa
Anticipation

This installation features scenic design elements from the three cancelled shows I was working on when the pandemic arrived in Minnesota--Cambodian Rock Band at Theater Mu and the Jungle Theater, Atacama at Full Circle Theater Company, and How Black Mothers Say I Love You at Penumbra Theatre. In the smaller window, you’ll also see some of the theater makers with whom I collaborated.

If these productions offer a reminder of some of what we have lost due to the pandemic, the supportive communities that have grown up around each of them demonstrate the enduring power of theatre and our bonds with one another. Thank you to the theatre communities of the Twin Cities and beyond, for giving me inspiration and a place and tools to heal, and for teaching me resilience.

How Black Mothers Say I Love You (Penumbra Theatre)

Atacama (Full Circle Theater Company)

Audio story Atacama by Camino Real Productions, LLC 

Cambodian Rock Band (Jungle Theater and Theater Mu)

Cambodian Rock Band Video Challenge by Theater Mu

Artistic Response from sara Ochs

Exploring the many ways collaborations occur and listening to the vital voices of our artists, the Jungle's SHINE A LIGHT pairs participating designers with area artists to create thoughtful responses to the installations. These audio commentaries will be available online throughout the event and add depth for the viewer's experience to help spark expansive conversation.

Transcript of Sara's Artistic Response

My name is Sara Ochs. I’m responding to Mina Kinukawa’s installation Anticipation. I’m so happy to have a chance to work with Mina and Mu in this way. One of the last meetings I had before Minnesota shut down last spring was with Mina and Lily, to discuss the set design for Mu and the Jungle’s co-production of Cambodian Rock Band by Lauren Yee. I was on the team as assistant director. 

The first impression Mina’s installation brings up for me is the power of representation--how the theaters of color she highlights take representation to a deeper level as they diversify the stories we consume. 

A more diverse representation of people and stories won’t create policy or change laws, it’s true. But they do affect how we view and absorb the world, often in ways we’re not consciously aware of. 

When Lily asked me to participate, I’d just read in the news that the real ‘Comrade Duch’, who is a charismatic villain character in Cambodian Rock Band, had died that morning in Phnom Penh. He was a senior Khmer Rouge leader and ran the death prison S-21, where an estimated 14,000 to 20,000 Cambodians were tortured and murdered during the Khmer Rouge’s genocidal regime that ultimately killed 1.5 to 2 million or more Cambodian people. 

Chadwick Boseman had just died. Millions of people lost their Black Panther and an artist who devoted his career to telling Black stories that gave back to his community. 

I’d recently read that Holocaust deniers are growing in numbers again, that only 54% of the world population even know that the Holocaust happened. 

I thought about the many genocides we’ve never heard of here in the U.S. How some stories are forgotten, if they’re even heard at all. I thought about my classmates when I studied Korean in Seoul, who asked if they’d be shot if they visited the U.S., because that’s what they saw in U.S. movies and TV shows, over and over and over. I thought about what I’d wished I had as a child. I wrote this:

==

If I’d had a superhero when I was young but all I had was Connie Chung

If I’d had a superhero when I was young
A Korean woman who was strong, saved lives, struggled and overcame
A leader
Valued for her heroism and deeds
over her china doll face
If I’d had a superhero when I was young
maybe I would have hated myself a little less
maybe today I would recognize my face in the mirror
and on the streets
and in my internal mind’s eye
But all I had was Connie Chung

I remember
Adults
Telling me
“You’re so pretty, like a china doll, you look just like Connie Chung”
I was a child
Connie Chung was an old lady 
who reported the evening’s national news 
and
to my child’s eye
Never
Smiled

She was 
Severe
Serious
Skinny
Beautiful, yes, but I knew
with my child’s truth
that I did not look like Connie Chung
Adults said that because she was the 
Only 
Famous 
Asian woman 
on tv

When I was a child
I knew adults were lying
They had no one else
So we all looked like Connie Chung
Later, we all looked like Lucy Liu

And don’t get me started on dolls
China dolls have breakable faces
Silent rosebud lips
Sightless slivered eyes
Painted fake white skin
How can you comfortably play with something that shatters so easily
I always hated dolls
I wanted action figures
Or books
I wanted to be a part of Voltron
A Skywalker
A superhero
Leaping headfirst into the wardrobe
Ready to save the world

Instead
I was a breakable doll
A serious old lady
Adults couldn’t see my face
They couldn’t see me

I thought I was invisible
Now
I’m the old lady
And I still struggle sometimes
to unhear these lessons I learned as a child

My generation
We grew up without superheroes to reflect our faces back to us
And tell us we too are heroes
Valuable
Beautiful
With all the potential in the world
To become
Greatness

The only path to be a hero
was to be white and beautiful

It’s different today
Slowly changing
But it’s not enough
Not yet

Give children
Actually –
Give us all
More superheroes
Beyond white and beautiful
Give us heroes
Of every skin, shape, story, and soul
Of all the beauty and promise humanity holds
Give us the multiverse
Limitless and free
To dream
Ourselves
Into the center of the story

==

The second impression Mina’s work leaves me with is a bright spot of hope. 

The artists she placed in the smaller room represent a deep community of people who, as Nautilus Music-Theater says, are our soul workers. Artists tell the stories that help us process emotions, that expose us to new perspectives, that expand our worldview and influence how we view our fellow human beings, that give us a break sometimes and let us be entertained. Artists all over the world are waiting for the physical spaces to reopen, but their work still continues. We’re all waiting. Changing. Adapting. Making do with what we can. Creating. Working on ourselves. Taking time to rest. Healing. Finding new ways to connect with each other. Doing what we can to make it through the collective anxiety of a global pandemic.

We’re going to come back to the theater changed in some way after this experience. Audiences, artists, staff, volunteers, everyone. Some of us will have scars. Some days the news is so grim, the isolation is too difficult--all you want is to hug your parents, your friends, and you can’t. Some days it’s too much. And that’s okay. Mina’s piece reminds me that everything is still there, in a slightly different space. On the other side of the pandemic, we’ll be ready to breathe in these stories together again. In a world that so often confuses charisma with real leadership, we’re going to need these stories more than ever. 

Thank you, Mina, for this hopeful reminder. We’ll be ready.