Rowena Federico Finn

Working On Gallery

Vol. 6 - No.7

Guest: Rowena Federico Finn
Guest Editor: Luisa A. Igloria
Introduction: Naoko Fujimoto

It’s incredibly empowering and liberating to be a part of this moment in history and to use whatever power I have to strengthen those voices.

- Rowena Federico Finn

I welcomed Luisa A. Igloria as a guest editor for this issue.

She was an early guest of Working On Gallery when I started interviewing writers and artists in 2020. She wrote about her writing and creating art during the middle of the pandemic. She was indeed very creative during the difficult time. In addition, she has been writing poems daily for nearly 14 years.

Essay, nov/2020

Luisa A. Igloria also introduced two artists to Working On Gallery. Heather Beardsley and Katrina Bello were both internationally established, contemporary artists. She is definitely one of my creative role models like my previous guest, Jesse Lee Kercheval. I am truly elated to continue working with her.

About Rowena Federico Finn

Luisa A. Igloria

The first time I met Rowena Federico Finn must have been at a cultural program or event. I can’t remember which, exactly. I know we set a coffee date and talked for hours. We met again other times after that, sometimes at the Chrysler Museum of Art, where she often volunteers and leads art classes. Connecting with her felt like connecting with an old and trusted friend, one who is creative and attentive in all the best ways.

And then I came to know more about her award-winning multi-disciplinary work, and the depth and breadth of her experience as an artist, educator, and community member. She has taught art for many years at the Governor’s School for the Arts, served on the Virginia Asian Advisory Board, the Virginia Art Education Association, and the WHRO Community Advisory Board.

Some of her recent recognitions include grants from the Barbara Deming Memorial Fund, a Hambridge Center Creative Arts and Sciences Residency, and a NAEA (National Art Education Association) Equity, Diversity, and Inclusion Scholarship.

I love Ro’s watercolors which show off her expertise with color; but I am so excited by her most recent works which have already gone on exhibit, because they explore themes of history and identity that resonate deeply with me. In a recent exhibit at a gallery in downtown Norfolk, I was riveted by the powerful statements she manages to convey with seemingly simple elements, because of their recontextualization of the ordinary against the weight of historical expectation.

For instance, her piece “Building Blocks” arranges skin whitening soap blocks, aluminum leaf, & wood, with carved letters on the blocks spelling out the Filipino word “ganda” (beauty)— a tiny commentary on how colonized people have historically been made to feel their beauty inferior to Western (white) standards. As part of another series, Rowena embeds capiz (windowpane oyster) shells in the center of a coconut coir doormat to spell out the word “Welcome” in high relief. The response it evokes in the viewer is at one familiar and domestic, and startlingly visceral as one imagines the potential for wounding despite the proffered welcome. For “Anitos (Ancestors) Quilt,” she pieces together painstakingly cut capiz shells, charcoal and paper gravestone rubbings she made from her grandparents’ graves from a recent trip to the Philippines, with fabric trim and embroidery floss.

These are only some of the ways in which Rowena Federico Finn makes art that is both a tangible embodiment of thought as well as feeling-experience.

Rowena Federico Finn

Art Interview:

LAI: Luisa A. Igloria (IG@poetslizard)
RFF: Rowena Federico Finn (IG@rowenafinnartist)

LAI: Can you describe your most recent projects and what sparked your interest in regard to these?

"BALUT SERIES" by Rowena Federico Finn

RFF: I’ve had two solo shows in the last six months: the first at the Offsite Gallery in Norfolk, VA called Foreign Bodies; and the second at the Perspective Gallery at Virginia Tech, called 7000 Pieces of Me. The work for both exhibitions began as an exploration of my Filipina American identity, trying to reconcile these two cultures that shape who I am, but also often feel completely foreign. Being an artist is a lot like being a researcher: you ask a question and follow wherever it leads. Creating artwork is very much autobiographical, whether or not the artist intends that, so I simply embraced the idea that this new direction in my art was going to get very personal.

The questions that feature heavily in my work are universal experiences, even though the materials and quirks of the art are specific to my Filipina heritage. These works were about exploring the ways we’re foreign to others, but also how we can be foreign to ourselves, and all the different pieces and experiences that make us who we are. Not everyone is conscious of their true selves; social norms and culture can overwhelm us like a tsunami, trying to wash away any vestiges of one’s true self to fit a family’s and community’s expectations. It takes bravery and vulnerability to delve inward and truly understand yourself, but it’s also the only way to become the best version of yourself and reach your true potential.

I’ve always felt outside of the Filipino American community I grew up in (around Virginia Beach), and I avoided it for most of my life, because I felt like I never fit in. But as my husband and I raise our three children, I have become increasingly aware of a gaping hole inside me. I realized I wanted to embrace the Filipina part of me, to understand exactly how colonialism, patriarchy, and catholicism had affected my life.

What had I been missing out on by ignoring this part of me and only embracing an American lifestyle? I started by sourcing materials indigenous to the Philippines: capiz shells, sinamay, and piña fabric. I just let myself experiment with the materials, learning what their strengths and weaknesses were, figuring out how to use them, and letting them guide me in my art-making.

The only question I asked at the time was, “What can we accomplish together?” It felt sacred, as if I were reaching out to ancestors unknown, to find the primordial part of me that remembered how powerful women were— how powerful I truly am— before religion, colonization, imperialism, and capitalism came along and tried to eradicate our strength.

"BALUT SERIES" by Rowena Federico Finn

LAI: What does being a teacher/art educator bring to your experience of making art, and vice versa?

RFF: It wasn’t until I became a mother that I realized being a parent automatically turns you into a teacher. I had never even considered teaching before then, and I sort of stumbled into it. I’m very fortunate that my husband, who’s been a band director for nearly twenty years, has helped me a lot as I figured out how to craft curricula and manage a classroom. And even though I’d been teaching workshops for years, teaching at the Governor’s School for the Arts in Norfolk has truly been a gift. I was so lucky to work with high school students who were passionate about art-making, and this opened the door to a lot of wonderful opportunities, not just for teaching, but also for learning.

When I started there, I only taught drawing, but over the years, I seized the opportunity to create new classes, or to teach longstanding classes in new ways. Some projects were developed simply because I wanted to learn about something in particular, too, so the students and I learned together. I’m most passionate about teaching foundational skills like drawing and color theory, but two of my favorite classes were Modern Art History and Drawing at the Museum. Drawing at the Museum was a class I created with the Chrysler Museum for Governor’s School students. Twice a week, they had the unique opportunity to use the entire museum as their own visual library and studio classroom.

I created the class because I wanted students to fall in love with the museum the way I had, examining masterful paintings and sculptures up close by drawing in my sketchbook, just as artists have done for hundreds of years. In Modern Art History, I encouraged students to examine broad themes that tie art movements and historical events together. This allowed students to discuss how art shows up in everyday life and current events, and more importantly, how to listen to one another and have respectful, constructive debates over the tumultuous events happening around them right now.

"BALUT SERIES" by Rowena Federico Finn

It took me a few years to get my bearings, but once I felt like I had a good handle on how to teach, I was able to hone my teaching philosophy. One of the most important things I do for my students is to share both my accomplishments and my difficulties. I believe very strongly that art— whether I’m making it or teaching it— isn’t just a job I can walk away from at the end of the workday; art is in the very fabric of my life. I’ve learned to show my students that the person I am as their teacher is exactly the same person I am as a professional artist, mother, and wife. The art I create is directly affected by what’s happening in my personal life and what I glean from teaching and learning from my students.

Being able to find a balance between being the teacher in charge of a bunch of teenagers and being a fellow artist on her own journey just like them, makes for a unique relationship.

Teaching Modern Art History in particular became a game-changer for me because I gave my students a lot of freedom to follow their interests and intuition. I encouraged them to choose artists, historical topics, and art movements that align with their own interests, and I pushed them to see how many different ways they can connect their research and artwork to the broader themes we discussed in class.

As I pushed them, it also pushed me into new forms of art-making. Making them practice asking questions and sharing observations improved my own ability to talk and write about my art with increasing clarity.

In fact, those class discussions directly led to my making a major breakthrough in my work. After decades of struggling to find my voice and the drive to create a full body of work, in less than two years, I’ve had two successful solo shows, an invitational group show, two grants, and two residencies; and now I’ve got another invitational group show and solo show lined up for early 2025. I have to give my students kudos for really rising to the challenge of the tough discussions we had, and figuring out how to incorporate these into their own work.

"QUILT SERIES" by Rowena Federico Finn

LAI: How does being the daughter of immigrants inspire your relationship to your work and the subjects of as well as materials you use in your work?

Watercolors by Rowena Federico Finn

RFF: For most of my life, I distanced myself from my Philippine heritage and leaned into the American culture I was born and raised in. I’m very fortunate that my parents worked so hard and provided a comfortable life for us as I was growing up, but the flip side of that was not being supported in my interest in art, as is still common among Asian immigrant families. I have Asian students who clearly want to be artists, but whose parents do not support that passion.

Growing up, I discovered art for myself through books and public school classes. I don’t remember my family going to art museums, and any other exposure probably came from travel and educational programs on TV. It wasn’t even until I was about 30 when it dawned on me that I grew up subconsciously believing that there was no such thing as a Filipino artist. I had never heard of such a creature, had never seen artwork from the Philippines, and had certainly never heard of any Filipino American artists in high school or college. And even though I declared my intention of being an artist early in my twenties, I don’t think I truly believed it in my heart until more than a decade later.

It’s been a long journey, and there’s something about being not just Filipino or female, but being Filipina, that makes it harder to plant your feet firmly in the ground, shine as brightly as possible, and declare your ambitions without fear. There are expectations for Filipinas to be quiet, gentle, and subservient. I have never exhibited those traits, and I blame Jose Rizal’s invention of Maria Clara, along with Catholicism, for this skewed version of Filipina women. When you go back past colonization and Christianity, you see a long line of strong, intelligent, fierce, and highly respected matriarch-warriors. These are the unknown ancestors I needed to find to feel truly Filipina and truly myself.

It was only this past year, while making this kind of artwork, that a lot of emotions and memories have been unearthed. I realized that one of my deepest wishes as a little girl was to be the kind of artist whose work was in museums. It was buried so deeply I forgot all about it, and I realized I’ve spent the last twenty years trying to be a different kind of artist—not just one who could make a living with an Etsy shop, selling small products locally, and staying in my lane. To be clear, that is a perfectly legitimate way to live as an artist, but as I become increasingly unshackled by parental and societal expectations, I’ve been able to declare, “that’s not for me.” This may be an easy thing for an American to say to their parents, but it’s a lot more difficult for an Asian female. There’s always going to be a part of me that wants to be the good, obedient daughter who makes my parents proud, but not to the detriment of me doing everything I want to do and accomplishing as much as I possibly can in my lifetime.

Yes, I’m female, I’m short, I’m Asian, and I look younger than people think, so I sometimes have to deal with people (and well-meaning family) underestimating me because of all the preconceived notions that go with that; but I’m also an intellectual and a fighter. I’m a social justice activist and I speak up and shut haters down whenever necessary. My weapon of choice is my artwork. Even if that doesn’t translate into a slew of sales, it’s truthful; you can’t make great art without honesty. And I’m happy to say that museums are beginning to notice my work.

Finding the Filipina in me has been such a challenge. It’s terribly uncomfortable trying to embrace a part of you that always made you feel like something was wrong with you. The meditative process of working with my hands and creating the unique work that is mine alone has helped me bridge the divide inside of myself. I’ve finally come to realize that this Filipino heritage and community belong to me as much as to anyone else whether they think I fit in or not. That realization has been a gift and strengthened my resolve to keep doing what I’m doing, to keep reaching out and trying to build bridges, because there are so many people like me that don’t feel like they fit in or belong to the mainstream (FilAm or American) community. I say it’s the community’s loss if it can’t figure out how to embrace and grow stronger through everyone’s unique gifts. Filipinos heavily favor the performing arts, but visual art— and writing, for that matter— are constantly overlooked, yet they’re incredibly important forms of storytelling, and it’s culturally crucial we continue to support these art forms.

LAI: What or who do you consider some of the strongest influences on your work?

"BALUT SERIES" by Rowena Federico Finn

RFF: Definitely Pacita Abad and Carlos Villa— both incredible modern artists of Filipino descent. I’m agog over Pacita Abad’s prolific career. Her background is so different from mine, and she created these incredible, massive works inspired by her connections with people and cultures around the world. She was an activist very early on in her life, traveled all over the world, and created art all the way up until her death.

Those are all things I want to do. I’m also obsessed with Carlos Villa because as the children of immigrants, we’re both asking the same questions about our heritage and identity more than half a century apart. Have Filipino American artists made progress? The jury is still out. Pacita Abad’s work made a huge splash at the Venice Biennale this year, but she died a decade ago. Carlos Villa is mostly unknown. The more I research, the more Filipino American artists I find, but it seems like there’s only regional recognition. Who’s going to be the first FilAm artist to become well-known in popular culture? I don’t care if it isn’t me— I highly doubt it would be— but it needs to happen. I’m always looking for representation, because as a teacher, I’ve seen the impact it has on my students. Just discovering these artists in the first place has had a major impact on me, too, and given me a better understanding of Filipino American art history.

I also follow a lot of haute couture designers including Filipinos Rajo Laurel and Puey Quiñones. I love the work of Iris Van Herpen, too. Their meticulous craftsmanship and mastery of materials definitely inspire me as I move toward three-dimensional work and explore identity and the body. I admire anyone with such a high level of skill, and it pushes me to learn everything I can about the history, structure, and even chemistry of the materials I work with. Again, I’m very lucky in that my husband and I share a passion for strong foundational skills and lifelong learning. I love being able to talk with him about the connections between music and visual art, and everything else around us. It has helped me develop a much richer visual vocabulary to incorporate in my work.

LAI: You've recently been featured in several successful shows/exhibits— can you describe your vision for each of these, and share some of your process?

RFF: Sometimes I create artwork without fully understanding yet what I’m trying to say— I just know I need to get it out of my system, out of my head, and into the physical world. As the work progresses, meaning begins to reveal itself.

Other times, I know exactly what I want a particular piece to look like and mean, but still, it evolves as I work. The overall themes that keep coming up in my work have to do with identity, being able to show up authentically, but also feeling the tension of wanting to belong when you don’t fit in. Everyone wants to be seen. Everyone wants to be loved and valued. Everyone fears rejection and not belonging.

I want my work to be distinctly Filipina American, and using indigenous materials in a contemporary way feels right. I feel like I have a duty to create art as raw and authentically as possible, but also that I’m working very intentionally to open the door for younger FilAm artists like me. If the work I make today screams “Filipina American,” maybe that will give other FilAm artists the freedom to create the work they’re meant to, work that doesn’t necessarily feel so tied to their identity. We’re living in a moment where identity desperately needs to be talked about, so that’s the conversation my artwork is helping to promote, but hopefully it will also allow other FilAm artists to tackle other important subjects without feeling the burden that “identity-centric art” can sometimes be.

It has taken more than a hundred years for BIPOC American artists to develop work that isn’t only tied to identity. Heck, teaching about the Harlem Renaissance is still relatively new, and you’re just now starting to see Black and Indigenous artists being recognized for addressing topics other than their identity, even though there’s a long history of such artists covering a range of important social issues in their work.

This is a sensitive topic, I know, and it’s not to say that there aren’t a lot of artists discussing identity in their work, but again, it has to do with our culture accepting the idea of BIPOC, female, and LGBTQ+ artists fully expressing themselves, rather than being forced by the art world to take on a two-dimensional label like “Black artist” or “gay artist.” So in my work, I began with the use of indigenous materials with a contemporary approach, but I’ve been pleasantly surprised to discover that I am in love with these materials. That gaping hole inside me is shrinking because I’ve found my own way of connecting these parts of me, and I finally feel whole and grounded.

LAI: Are there any differences in your approaches to large-scale work, versus smaller and more intricate pieces?

RFF: I’m not much of a sketcher. I write more than I draw in my sketchbooks when I’m fleshing out ideas. One thing I’ve learned about myself is that I tend to let ideas cook on the back burner for a long time, sometimes more than a year. I’ll make a note or two about the basic gist of it, materials I want to incorporate, any important detail I’m afraid I might forget, and then I just go on about my life. While I only have the general outlines worked out, I keep myself open to any tidbit of information I come across, whether it’s in a song, a book, or the news, and then I’ll add to my notes to help shape the artwork in my mind.

It’s the same with materials: I keep myself open to what I’ve already got in my studio, or anything I happen to come across, to help the artwork evolve. What generally keeps me from starting on a piece is having some kind of unresolved problem about it, like not yet knowing exactly how to construct it, or not being able to reconcile the different layers of meaning I want to imbue. I know people will always read their own experiences and emotions into a piece, and that’s part of the magic for me, but I don’t like walking into a piece that has too many themes going on.

I think that if I try to convey too many heavy concepts in one piece, they’ll all compete for the viewer’s attention and dilute its power. Sometimes I get an idea and start forming a work around it, but then I discover that my research was too thin, and I’ve misinterpreted a main idea, so I need to step back and rethink it.

Once I’ve got about 90% of the idea and details worked out, I feel like I can start working on the piece. This method tends to work well for most artworks, but I’m getting into installation and larger, sculptural works. Those definitely require more sketching because there are more logistics involved, and concerns over balance or weight.

Honestly, one of the reasons I’ve worked in smaller dimensions is simply that I don’t have the studio space to work larger. When my kids were toddlers, I worked in watercolor because it was compact and easy to clean up quickly, but working in mixed media has rekindled my desire to work as large as I possibly can. I’m lucky to have a studio space in my house, but it isn’t nearly large enough to accommodate my ideas!

"CAPIZ WAVES SERIES" by Rowena Federico Finn

LAI: What do you hope for viewers to experience in your work?

"Building Blocks" by Rowena Federico Finn

RFF: I want people to linger over the details. We’re living in such a fast-paced world, and social media has made it incredibly difficult to focus on any one thing for more than a few seconds. I myself have fallen victim to not being able to sit still and read for long periods of time like I used to. The world needs to collectively say, “Enough!” We need to give ourselves permission to slow down and appreciate what’s right in front of us. When I was painting watercolor botanicals, I realized that drawing and painting are really just a means for studying something so intensely that you become intimately acquainted with every curve and color in an object, beauty as well as ugliness. I became more enamored with flowers that were beginning to wilt than with blooms at their peak of perfection. The wilting ones were just more interesting and had more to say.

I think the same of people. I’m not interested in over-filtered images of people with picture-perfect lives because that’s just not real. I want to see the crinkles at the corners of someone’s eyes. I want to see the silvery strands in someone’s otherwise dark hair. I want to have real conversations with strangers and get way beyond talking about the weather.

I’m interested in people’s struggles because I’ve struggled, and there’s strength in knowing you’re never really alone. Struggles and failures are so human and natural, I’ll never understand why we’re so obsessed with the veneer of a perfect life. It just doesn’t even exist! The only way to break free from that lie is to slow down and be present— to really see one another clearly.

When people talk to me about my work, I’m always pleasantly surprised that this comes through to them in my work; they can see the effort and the long hours it takes me to create a piece. At the end of making it, I’m so exhausted I might forget how it felt to be present and focused while I worked. That’s also one of the reasons I love using the capiz shells: they’re translucent, so you can make out something from a distance, but you’ll never really see the artwork clearly that way. You must be up close and patient. I think that’s how Americans also need to function in order to get back to some level of normalcy and decency.

Exhibition by Rowena Federico Finn

LAI: What's up ahead/what excites you in terms of your work?

"QUILT SERIES" by Rowena Federico Finn

RFF: I’m looking forward to working on new pieces for two shows that open early next year. The Charles H. Taylor Visual Arts Center in Hampton, VA has invited me to show work with several other artists for a book-related exhibition in honor of the building’s library origins. I’m creating a series of capiz-quilted baby blankets representing a feminist/decolonized take on a fairy godmother’s gifts that ought to be bestowed on a baby. I think about Disney’s Sleeping Beauty in particular. Its singular animation style has always been my favorite, but when I look back at the gifts given to Aurora, and how much meddling Flora, Fauna, and Merriweather did, even when it came to Phillip’s supposed heroics, it all rings hollow. There’s a better story to be told, and a higher duty a fairy godmother ought to feel in helping a loved one reach their happily ever after.

I’ve also secured a new solo exhibition called Pieced/Pierced at the Stone Tower Gallery in Glen Echo Park, MD which opens in March. It’s my first out-of-state solo exhibition, and a great opportunity to share my work with a whole new audience. We’re living in a moment where marginalized groups are finding our voices and our agency, and we’re able to do so in a raw, authentic way. It’s incredibly empowering and liberating to be a part of this moment in history and to use whatever power I have to strengthen those voices. I’m encouraged by the positive reception to my work and the conversations I’ve had with people who resonate with it. I spent so many years doing different kinds of art and feeling like I never quite found my voice. It’s a weird feeling to know you weren’t exactly on the right path, but you kept going anyway, and then once you found it, you realized you had been on the service road that runs parallel all along, but was almost completely obscured by the trees. And by trees, I mean what everyone else in your life said you ought to be doing.

So even though I needed literally months to decompress and recover from all the work I produced for the last three shows, I’m excited to have deadlines again. I’ll have one kid in elementary school, one in middle school, and one in high school this fall, so I’ll at least have a few quiet hours every day to work in my studio at home. I’m not teaching this year so I can focus on my family and my artwork.

Art by Rowena Federico Finn

I’m looking forward to using some new materials and creating more 3D work, taking advantage of the sculptural qualities of sinamay (a Philippine straw-like material), and combining them with favorite materials like capiz shells, glass beads, and genuine gold leaf.

It’s a wonderful feeling, at the age of 47, after so many stops and starts at trying to be an artist, working unfulfilling jobs, devoting myself to raising my family, to finally see everything come together. As frustrating as it is to think about not being supported when I was a younger artist, I never would have met my husband or had three wonderful children— this family that challenges me, loves me, and supports my ambition. I never would have met the friends and artists who support me and make me feel seen. I never would have gone through the incredibly difficult and heartbreaking struggles my family has faced (and continues to face) that gave me the joy, empathy, and the armor to fight for equal rights in both my life and my artwork.

One of the expectations I was raised to believe was that I needed to get a job that had benefits and a retirement pension so that I could “do what I wanted after I retired.” But I realized a long time ago that I couldn’t wait until my children were grown and gone, or until I retired from some random job before I started making art. Even when my kids were still young, I felt like my soul would just shrivel up and die if I couldn’t make art now. I value my time and flexible schedule. It allows me to be home almost every day when my kids get home. I get to enjoy a cup of afternoon tea almost every day with my husband.

For me, being an artist is my life, not just some job. If I’m lucky, I’ll be making art well into old age and I’ll die with works in progress. I don’t want to ever retire from being an artist. I’m not rich by any stretch of the imagination, but I have autonomy and love, and I get to be exactly who I am every moment of every day. Who could ask for more?

"QUILT SERIES" by Rowena Federico Finn

September 2024