Secret Asian Man- Art in America

Took a walk the other day.  Searching for seeds of optimism.  Not surprisingly, I found some within a few blocks.  Tucked away in artwork displayed on the curb.

Found these outside a house. Maybe this was a summer project.  Maybe a summer parent, a month into summer, trying to keep her kids away from the screen. But it was a nice little display. A sign that the kids are watching. The kids are hopeful. They’re making plans.

 

Then I found another artist.

This is Malvin.  He makes art.  And he’s made art since he was 9 after he saw a Vincent Van Gogh exhibit.  His family couldn’t afford to get him any oil paints, but he had a job sweeping out a general store for a holocaust survivor. That Christmas he found a box of paints under the tree. Without any training, he’s been painting ever since.  

He was planning on going to college, but got called away to Vietnam at age 18. He didn’t think he was going see 19.  Three days after he returned his dad was killed in car accident.  So it was up to he and his brothers to care for his mother.  

He met a caucasian woman and fell in love. They were disowned by parts of both sides of their families, but got married anyway.  He planted a tree in the front yard of his house and has stayed there for 40 years.  

After 29 years with a local bank, his job was outsourced to India.  He retired 2 months ago.  

“You know, I could probably be angry about a lot, but with guidance from friends and God, I’ve mellowed out. People ask me if I’m religious and I tell them, ‘Well, I believe there’s something guiding us. I’ve spoken to the angels and I think that God and I are pretty close. None of us own anything thing in life.  We’re just renting this space. So, I watch my grandkids, I tend my garden and I sit on my porch and I paint what comes out of my head. I got a whole basement full of stuff. I think the best way to sell it is just put it out in the yard and see what sells.  I’ve met the most interesting people just walking by!”

Also, he’s sumo wrestling fan. “It’s the championship today!  I’m gonna knock off early and catch it on NHK TV!”

You can find more of his art on the corner of Indianola and Milford in Columbus, Ohio  or at…

www.artbymmarcus.com 

Losing My Religion

There are two interesting thing that I have discovered since being here.  Well, there are far more than two, but these are the two that I will talk of now.  

The first is this.  Your religion matters here.  Even though 88% of the people are Muslim, one needs to proclaim this at very frequent and rather odd times.  Very foreign when coming from a country where one’s religion is often (should be?) none of anyone’s business.  

Where, you ask, does this matter?  Wherever your information is collected, that’s where.  Say, for instance, you’re buying a SIM card for your phone.  They ask your name, your address, your passport or ID number and then your religion.  

Or better yet, when you apply for a grocery store frequent buyer card.  I have no idea why it matters, but there it is on the form, right under D.O.B.  “What is your Religion?  They always have the same choices…. Islam, Hindu, Buddhist, Christian, Other.  If I’m Hindu and I buy hamburger, will I be reported?  

What is even more amazing and perhaps a bit scary is this.  The everyday, run-of-the-mill, counter clerk has the ability to gaze into your soul and tell what your religion is without even asking.  

Because, despite the question being on the form, they never actually ask it.  They ask about the DOB and the ID number but when they come to the religion question, they pause, they lift pen from paper and briefly gaze at you and then tick off “Christian”  Just like that. It is like they can sense the tongue of flame that burns above my head.  It is remarkable.  

I am bound and determined, though to get asked formally. I’m going to tick “Other” and write in Pastafarian.  Just to see what happens.  Extra discount on semolina wheat products, perhaps?