Horatio Law

Tell us about the Chinese history you found.
Between 1850-1880, there were a lot of Chinese migrant workers in Portland. They were from a very poor part of China, and they were basically indentured servants. They worked in the gold mines, on the railroad, doing household and manual labor, and clearing land for the city of Portland. They had farms on the outskirts of the city, and they provided food for themselves and other residents — they were performing a lot of the important work at the beginning of the city’s history.

However, they were segregated, both in life and in death. If they left the U.S., it was very difficult to return, especially after the Chinese Exclusion Act passed. So, many Chinese people died here. Most wanted their remains to be shipped back to their hometown for a proper burial, but until then, there was a temporary burial site on the east side of Portland called Block 14. Many, but not all, remains were exhumed and returned to their villages in China.

By the 1940s, Chinese immigrants were allowed to purchase land. Portland’s Chinatown thrived and remained vibrant for a long time, with restaurants, grocery stores, and more. More recently, it’s become kind of dangerous for a variety of reasons and has been emptying out. I wanted to find a creative and artistic way to reconnect the Chinese community and the history of Block 14.

Walk us through the performance of “Serenading the Dead.”
I partnered with the Portland Chinatown Museum to create the performance. The museum has a tea house — a traditional place Chinese people would go to talk to their friends, family, and community, make music, and tell stories.

The livestream took place from the museum’s tea house and included Chinese opera music from a Cantonese singer, stories from Chinese youth who recorded their family’s immigration history, and more. We projected it at the Double-Nine Festival, which is traditionally a time when the family would go to the gravesite to clean it and give back to the ancestor. There’s a QR code at the Block 14 cemetery so that anyone can observe the performance on their mobile device.

What do you hope someone experienced with this project?
A little bit of mystery. I was asking people to think creatively, and I hope they enjoyed what they saw and learned a little bit about Chinese history in the area. I hope it reconnected the fractured and splintered Chinese community in Portland.

Do you have any reflections on this project and your own path as an immigrant?
My family and I emigrated in the 1970s from Hong Kong to New York City. I was 16. I lived in New York, Baltimore, St. Louis, and now Portland. Everywhere I went, I had to learn how to connect with the community to be a part of something. In most places, except New York and San Francisco, the Chinese community is very small.

When I moved to Oregon 30 years ago, I started doing research on the Chinese community and found that a lot of them were in Eastern Oregon. I drove out there and found myself very connected to the landscape itself. I found out that in that early phase of immigration, the people who settled there were from the same region in China that my parents came from. It’s like their faces look familiar to me, even though we’re not related, even though I’ve never been to that part of China. I have this sense of kinship. It’s helped me connect to this place even though I don’t have ancestors in this region. Because of the Chinese workers, I feel like I belong here, too.

How has the award made this work possible?
It’s been wonderful to have the validation and trust to develop work with an award like this. It’s allowed me to think more extensively and open up to other projects, like the street photography Instagram project I’m exploring now.

What have you learned from being a public artist?
One of the most important things I’ve learned is how to connect with community. I think the idea of public art has evolved quite a bit — it used to be “what budget do we have to buy a sculpture from a well-known artist?” Now it’s more about engaging with the community so that whatever you make is connected in some way.

I often do little art projects with the community, sometimes it’s just crafts like hand-cut snowflakes that I turn into a larger work later. Sometimes I don’t even call them “art projects” because that can make people automatically say no, but when you call it a craft, that eliminates some anxiety. While we’re making, I can eavesdrop and ask questions and we can all share ideas and get to know each other. It strengthens the connection.

What’s your advice to students and artists finding their place?
First, find your artist community. For me it was through a residency program in Portland. Deepen your connection with the place, understand the history of the place. Understand why you would like to stay, and why you would not. Use art as a way to find out why you’re attached to a place. Do more research and talk to others, and that connection will deepen.

What was your experience at WashU like?
I was in my 30s when I was applying to graduate school. I thought I’d stay on the East Coast, but a professor I met recommended WashU. Even then, the printmaking area at WashU was very interested in having a diversity of students. We had a regular critique with the whole department, undergraduate and graduate students, and we really appreciated and respected each other. It was very congenial, exciting, and comforting. My philosophy about teaching came from my experience at WashU as a very open and accepting place.

I studied printmaking at WashU, and that’s informed a lot of my work. In printmaking, you spread the ink in layers. In my art practice today, I still think in layers.

As an alum, I got to spend four months in Paris, twice, through the Cité internationale des artes residency. Those things helped me be connected with WashU — something I appreciate since connection is what’s really important to me as an artist.