Sweden followed us from a distance, as the train from Helsingør Station pulled along the coastal tracks toward Humlebæck.
We were going to the Louisiana Museum of Modern Art to see the Picasso exhibition, along with the acclaimed architecture and beauty of the museum. I was with [Y.], a Taiwanese-Japanese student from IPC (International People’s College/Den Internationale Højskole). He spent most of his time in the studio, working on unseen pieces of art — a talent, he said, he had just recently discovered. Weeks ago, he and I had found a common language through Mandarin-Chinese and a common admiration for Hayao Miyazaki. He always thought it was a little strange that he was speaking Mandarin to an American, and I always thought it was a little strange that he considered me an American.
Before coming to Denmark, or more specifically IPC, I never saw myself as just an American. I grew up in a traditional Chinese family, where only Mandarin could be spoken within the household; English was to be spoken outside, where the U.S. really was. Because of this, I identified more with my Chinese heritage than I did with my “American heritage.” But I suppose you never notice how acclimated you’ve become to a culture until you’re outside of it. Even my parents, who have now moved back to Taiwan, see themselves as more American than Taiwanese — simply because Taiwanese people see them acting and thinking like Americans more so than the traditional Taiwanese culture.
For a couple of weeks at IPC, it was frustrating to see the segregation between the Americans (DIS students) and everyone else (the IPC students) grow bigger and bigger. Even the Chinese students lumped me in the loud, obnoxious, and arrogant American stereotype, until I firmly asserted in Mandarin that I keep up with my heritage as much as they do and being an American doesn’t make me any less of a person than they are.
“It’s not just that the DIS students are American,” [J.], one of the Chinese IPC students told me. “It’s more that Americans have a tendency to act like they are still in the States, which quite frankly, you’re not.”
Fair enough, I thought, because my own family would always complain about how I would sometimes act “too American.” And there had been times when my own friends and I would have conflicting views on something, simply because I was raised in fairly traditional household. But here I was in IPC, trying to be culturally sensitive to over 30 countries from Uganda to the Czech Republic to Colombia. Although the United States is known as the land of immigrants, we hardly even think about treating each other differently according to each cultural background. It can be both a good and bad thing. Some can say we accept everyone just the same, others can criticize us for being culturally blind.
As we all know, stereotyping is an easy trap to fall into, but that’s why a place like IPC exists. It’s unique in that people from all over the world can come together and learn from each other. Every other weekend, IPC hosts Cultural Evenings, where students introduce their own culture by bringing in food and putting on skits. Just a few nights ago, it was Latin America cultural evening, and I now have more souvenirs from Brazil than I do from Denmark. Living in IPC is basically being in multiple places all at once — which can be both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, you get a taste of so many different culture, and on the other, you get several slaps across the face of stereotypes and prejudices.
“Do you ever struggle with your identity?” Y asked me in Mandarin, as we were following a large group of Danes from the train station towards the museum.
The sun was shining — a rare event in Denmark — and it seemed that everyone took the opportunity to soak in its rays.
“I used to,” I said, truthfully. “But I think I’ve just accepted that I have parts of both worlds — Taiwanese (or Chinese) and American.”
“I used to not think about it,” Y said. “But ever since I started traveling around the world, I started wondering who I really was…Taiwanese or Japanese. Because you know, my parents are from Taiwan, but I was born and raised in Japan. I just think it’s so strange to have a sort of split identity…”
We approached the Louisiana, which was cleverly hidden from the streets and surrounding neighborhoods. One thing I noticed about Denmark is that nothing is ostentatious. The Louisiana touts some of the most beautiful architecture and modern art, yet it hides shyly behind the branches of the trees and bushes.
Pictures would not be able to do the Louisiana justice. Most of the museum overlooks the sea and lets in rays of sunshine with its high windows and glass walls. Times like these, I wish I knew more about architecture — but I don’t think you need to know the jargon to know that you are standing amidst a great contemporary structure. Art was not only inside, but on the outside as well. You were standing inside a fine piece of art.
After purchasing our tickets, we met up with another DIS friend of mine, V. Y, cocking his head, would slowly examine each Picasso piece, while V and I half-heartedly glanced at each one.
“I don’t really like Picasso,” V confessed. She was an art history major, so I felt she had more reason to say so than I did.
I only took one class of art history in high school, but I wished I had taken more at Cornell. But I merely shrugged and kept moving through the exhibition, wanting to see more of the architecture and scenery more than I did Picasso.
Y lingered in the Picasso exhibition, admiring every detail and brush stroke, while V and I made our way around the museum. We walked through a long hallway of glass windows; the sun illuminated our every step, and we admired the green gardens outside. We then walked through works by Walton Ford, who immediately became one of my favorite artists. Then I remembered that my visiting mom (like a host family, but instead visits you), H, mentioned that her son — who went by the name Tal R — had a few pieces featured in the museum.
I only found one sculpture but later saw a poster in the gift shop with his artwork featured on it:
I fell in love with the poster and wanted to buy it as a souvenir. But like everything in Denmark, it was too expensive. Who would have thought that posters can cost up to $50? But then again, I never would have thought that water costs $5 (except in Disneyland — perhaps the two supposed happiest places on Earth are just expensive in general).
When Y finally caught up with us, we sat in a part of the museum where there were sofas facing the sea. For a moment, we sat in silence, just taking in the vast beauty of the Scandinavian waters.
Looking back, I remember how much I used to dislike modern art. Whenever I’d go through places like the Chicago Institute of Art or the Norton Simon (Pasadena, California), I’d wince and complain that I could have done something like that. But the problem was, I didn’t. And after a while, I realized that was the hidden beauty of modern art. Someone else did it before you because they thought of it first.
And the best part about it is that you don’t have to follow conventions or rules of art. Art is a form of self expression that can communicate a number of messages. Art is the powerful force that breaks down cultural and language barriers — anyone, no matter where they are from, can interpret it how they choose to. They don’t need to know about the context or history of the artist to understand the art. Art welcomes everyone.
But of course, just as how some people are unwelcoming to avant-garde contemporary art, there will be some prejudices that may get in your way while you’re traveling.
When you’re in a different country, stereotyping is almost inevitable. People will judge you based on where you’re from, and you will catch yourself judging others based on their own nationality. Treating everyone equally does not mean you should not be culturally aware or culturally sensitive. There are those who grapple with their identity because of the different places their from. Like I said, I, too, have struggled with the two different traditions in my life.
But while you’re abroad, you have to remember that you are acting as a representative from your country. Do not badmouth your own country and certainly do not let others badmouth yours. You can complain all you want about the wrongs of your country when you’re actually in your own country. While abroad, people will lose respect for you and your country if you don’t even respect it.
Denmark is actually just recently dealing with issues of immigration. Being a largely homogeneous society has helped them with regards to maintaining a social welfare state, but has hindered them when it comes to accepting diversity and, well, change. But like my Danish teachers say, Denmark is learning — but aren’t we all?