Master fiber artist brings expertise to show

By Victoria Gail-White
Advertiser Art Critic

•	'New Work: Paper-Linen-Wood' Reiko Mochinaga Brandon Through April 17 10 a.m. — 4 p.m. weekdays, 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. Saturdays Koa Gallery, Kapi'olani Community College 734-9375

In 1974, after receiving her master's of fine arts degree from the University of Hawai'i, Brandon became a fiber artist. She is one of the leading proponents of contemporary fiber art in Hawai'i and the Pacific. She began working at the Honolulu Academy of Arts in 1975. For the past 20 years, she has been curator of the Textile Department. With the support of many volunteers and past gallery directors James Foster and George Ellis, she roused the academy's incredible textile collection from its slumber in storage.

The work in this exhibit is a series of visual fiber-poetic sculptures. As a master, Brandon knows and speaks the fiber vernacular. As fine wine takes time to open up on the palate, Brandon's exhibit requires time to breathe, and with time it lingers on the memory palette.

Brandon isn't talking pretty here, she's breaking down the house. "The pieces in this exhibition began with an urge to visualize a struggling time of my recent life," Brandon writes in her artist statement. "Trying to express frustrations, fears, and fury, I squashed, ripped and splashed paint on shoji screen paper from Japan. I broke, twisted and jammed together banyan twigs that showered over our roof."

These aren't the words of the Brandon to whom we are accustomed. But, after a serious five-month struggle with a condition that threatened her health, a different artistic temperament emerged. "I started doing something very different from my usual work, which is usually more meticulous," she says.

The three sculptures (of paper, linen, banyan twigs, newspaper and sumi ink) in "Broken Memories" went through many stages. "Those poor pieces were abused," says Brandon. "I let out my frustration and then recovered from them completely."

Usually, she starts with a simple concept and takes a long time to finish her pieces. Upon completion she is often surprised. "The beginning idea changes as it goes through my creative process," she says. "It ends up as something I wasn't expecting. In this case, I started with rough, rugged pieces that emerged into a certain order." Nestled atop each bundle of broken twigs is a tiny gold square. For Brandon it's symbolic of sanity, hope and the prize for holding it all together-a golden jewel.

"Anticipating the Unknown" is a ramshackle pile of white Japanese handmade paper and linen balls with a red tail (or tentacle) emerging from each. In Japan, red and white are auspicious colors for the New Year. This sculpture evokes many interpretations. The red feelers are like blood lines, budding from eggs seeking a life source — or like rage, sickness and disease leeching out of the puffed-up spheres. Brandon originally planned to present this piece in a more controlled manner, but it evolved into disorder. Because she conceived and completed this work while undergoing her own personal war, she can see correlations with the difficult situation we are all in now.

Moving with the air currents in the room, "The Season of Intrusion" is 24 panels of shoji paper hung from five wooden poles that have been painted in gradations of red, burned with holes and highlighted with sumi ink.

This piece is a "juxtaposition of celebratory things and destruction," says Brandon. "At the time it was emotional. I can see the journey I went through. This show is different from other shows. I didn't mean to have a new direction. It was about survival."

The holes take on a new objective, as the viewer moves from side to side, as if new solutions might wind through the burnt patterns with each new perspective.

Two "Untitled" intimate sculptural pieces and "Two Degrees of Separation" use similar materials (cotton, silk, paper, copper and gold leaf) to communicate the delicate balance between what is masked by a vulnerable softness and what is woven together and exposed.

"Turning Aside," three blocks of maple wood arranged with many long sheets of indigo dyed paper, is suggestive of a river or stream of water stopped in its flow by something solid — a tree or a man-made dam. It is also reminiscent of a body, lying in bed, backed up against another body that is not responding.

The installation is pleasantly uncrowded, giving each of the seven offerings more space for their lyrical impact. Although more rugged than usual, Brandon feels they reflect a peace and a salvation.

"This show made me realize that there are so many different venues I want to explore," says Brandon. "I want to stretch my horizons, take a risk. Usually I am a careful artist, but yeah, I want to have fun."