ARTIST REVEALS NEWFOUND CONNECTION IN ONE-MAN EXHIBIT
by Pamela Holechek
A return to Manzanar War Relocation Center in Owens Valley, Calif., held poignant moments for artist Arthur Towata. He suddenly saw the underlying essence of his lifelong work.
Photo by Kate Morgan/John Holechek
Arthur Towata, '62 BS, '71 MFA, was not born into art, nor did he initially study its subjects. His college beginnings were focused on economics.
Still, to know that his head for figures quickly took shape in ceramics, rather than in supply-and-demand graphs, is not unthinkable. The anomaly is rooted in his upbringing.
Towata's family charged the gifted youngster in this way: Use your own ingenuity to occupy your mind and day. His parents, aunt and uncle patiently answered myriad questions and guided his steps, but he was positively encouraged to discover truths personally. When asked about his most emphatic parental lesson, the jovial, white-haired man replied, "To make the most of every situation."
Soon, the first one-man show at Jacoby Arts Center in Alton, Ill., will chronicle Towata's latest work. The March 2 opening of "Echoes from Manzanar. If Walls Could Talk" features a social commentary of paintings and cutting-edge ceramics, reflecting an ordeal that derailed the calm of his childhood.
The now-acclaimed master potter is a Japanese-American who was born in Los Angeles, yet ended up incarcerated at Manzanar War Relocation Center in eastern California, shortly after the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. Towata, then age 8, spent the next three and a half years in confinement with his mother and nearly 2-year-old brother. His father, through United States edict, was detained separately by the Department of Justice. The family never heard from Itsuji Towata again.
"Through the guidance of an intuitive mother," said the soft-spoken man with kind brown eyes, "I was protected from the negative reality of our situation. I was instructed to entertain myself through the exploration of our new environment. She did not entrap me within an emotionally negative circumstance, but invited me to glean from it another opportunity to learn."
Even as an impressionable child in disorienting surroundings, Towata obeyed and respected his mother's prudence. He quickly accepted those factors that had first shocked him: Armed guards in towers, regularly firing live rounds between the perimeter's double-barbed-wire fences to discourage thoughts of escape.
Then, the row upon row of black buildings appeared odd. He had never seen "homes" completely covered in what he learned was putrid-smelling tar paper. Strangely, the wall-and-floor boards gapped, allowing clouds of grit to permeate the interiors with every hot or bone-chilling wind.
Once past these startling obstacles, Towata began studying details that kept him close to Nature and the landscape. He concentrated on the jagged, often snow-covered peaks of the Sierra Madres; the blueness of the clear sky and the diamond-dotted night heaven; the unique patterns found in few plants that clung to life in the bleak terrain; and the movements and sounds of desert creatures. He, of course, discovered how to safely catch and make pets of the unusual fauna.
"I was merely entertaining my senses," Towata recalled of those fateful years. "I was trying to capture, in a small degree, the experience of being forced into that camp."
In the few times when Towata's rapt attention waned, he realized the atmosphere was always punctuated by a staccato of murmurs.
"No more than six people could gather at a time, and the guards were always watching," said Towata, a United States Air Force veteran who was stationed at Illinois' Scott Air Force Base. "We weren't allowed to congregate, nor talk to anyone outside of our family. When they could, people spoke quickly, in hushed tones, so guards wouldn't be alerted. Given the situation, you were never sure who was your friend or who was a camp informer ready to turn on you."
Life, such as this, leaves a mark upon the soul.
The 73-year-old Alton resident, ironically, never perceived its hold upon the evolution of his lifelong work. Had he not returned to Manzanar in 2006, at the urging of his loving companion Kate Morgan, Towata would have missed the obvious.
"I still didn't see the connection after we arrived," admitted the forward-thinking Towata. "Kate had to place one of my pots on the ground
within the former camp and point out how it immediately blended with the natural landscape."
Clarity, after 65 years, now lies at the heart of "Echoes from Manzanar . If Walls Could Talk." It's all there for one to examine; the texture, color, form, associations.
The pots, at first glance, seem to mimic the parched, craggy ground of the detention camp. This seemingly earth-encrusted result is achieved through an undisclosed glazing process, which Towata painstakingly perfected. The paintings, entitled the Black Wall Series, conceal details when viewed from across the room. Only the close observer will discern striking juxtapositions within each of these mediums.
One will also see that everything is a reflection in time, captured during constrained moments that, astoundingly, couldn't squelch the buoyant spirit within.
The artist and teacher, who earned a Master of Fine Arts and a Master's in Education from Southern Illinois University, will relate his experiences in a gallery talk during the opening reception, from 5 to 8 p.m., that first Friday in March. The exhibit and talk are free and open to the public.
Visitors may continue to view this significant project through April 15, as well as hear the artist speak again at Jacoby on Sunday, March 25 at 2 p.m.
The Alton show is intended as a springboard for an Echoes tour throughout this country and Japan. At each stop, the work will stand as a tribute to Towata's family for their tremendous strength and courage.
The Jacoby Arts Center, home to the Madison County Arts Council, is located at 627 E. Broadway. Phone 618-462-5222 or log onto www.jacobyartscenter.org for further information. Or, arrange for a private tour of the Towata Gallery in Alton by calling 618-462-5926.
