What does it mean when two cultures, separated by oceans and decades of history, find common ground through art? The new exhibition 'Ongoing / Pacific Crossings' in Richmond isn't just a display of paintings or sculptures—it's a conversation across time, geography, and identity. Personally, I think this collaboration between Japanese and Canadian artists is far more than a cultural exchange. It's a deliberate act of reclamation, a way to stitch together fragmented histories and ask: What happens when we let art become the bridge between memory and the present?
Let’s start with the obvious: 11 Japanese artists and one Canadian artist are showcasing work in a gallery that sits on land steeped in Japanese Canadian history. But here’s what fascinates me—this isn’t just about nostalgia. The curators, Makiko Hara and Nozomu Ogawa, are positioning this exhibition as a challenge to the status quo. Hara’s emphasis on 'alternative creative spaces' in Tokyo feels like a direct jab at the commercialization of art. Why? Because when you look at Tokyo’s art scene, it’s dominated by galleries that cater to global markets. But these alternative spaces? They’re where the real rebellion happens. Artists there aren’t just making art—they’re questioning who gets to define 'mainstream' in the first place. What makes this particularly fascinating is how that ethos is being transplanted into a Canadian context, where diasporic communities often grapple with their own cultural erasure.
Richmond, as a city, is a paradox. It’s a hub of Japanese Canadian heritage, yet it’s also a place where that history is often overshadowed by the relentless march of urban development. Shaun Dacey, the gallery director, points out that the exhibition is happening in a 'key centre of Japanese Canadian history.' But I wonder: How many people walking past the Richmond Cultural Centre even know that? This feels like an intentional act of visibility. The exhibition isn’t just about the art—it’s about making sure that history doesn’t fade into silence. And in doing so, it’s forcing us to confront a uncomfortable truth: Cultural memory is fragile, and it needs constant tending. Otherwise, it withers.
The partnership between the Richmond Art Gallery and Tokyo’s Art Center Ongoing began in 2019, a time when the world was still reeling from the pandemic and global tensions were at a boiling point. Ogawa’s visit to Vancouver seven years ago wasn’t just a professional trip—it was a seed planted in fertile soil. What’s remarkable is how this collaboration has evolved into something deeper than just shared exhibitions. It’s created a network of artists, curators, and organizations that are now part of a trans-Pacific dialogue. This isn’t just about showing art; it’s about building a community that transcends borders. And that, to me, is revolutionary. In an age where nationalism is on the rise, this kind of cultural solidarity is both rare and necessary.
But let’s talk about the 'alternativeness' angle. Hara mentions creating spaces for 'free expression, gathering, and exchange.' That’s not just buzzword fluff. It’s a direct challenge to the way contemporary art is often commodified. When you walk into a gallery, you’re expected to consume, not to engage. This exhibition, however, seems to be asking audiences to participate. To think. To question. What does it mean to be 'alternative' in a world that thrives on conformity? I find it interesting that the exhibition is framed around this idea, because it’s a reminder that art isn’t just about aesthetics—it’s about resistance. And resistance, in any form, is always political.
As for the future, I can’t help but wonder: What happens when this kind of collaboration becomes the norm rather than the exception? Will we see more exhibitions that blur the lines between diaspora, history, and innovation? Or will this remain an anomaly, a fleeting moment of cultural curiosity? The answer, I suspect, depends on how seriously we take the lessons embedded in this exhibition. Because if we reduce it to just another art show, we’re missing the point entirely. This is about creating a framework for dialogue—a way to ensure that the stories of marginalized communities aren’t just preserved, but actively reshaped.
In my opinion, the true legacy of 'Ongoing / Pacific Crossings' won’t be measured by the number of visitors or the critical acclaim it receives. It’ll be measured by how many people leave feeling that their own stories matter. That’s the power of art: It doesn’t just reflect the world—it has the potential to redefine it. And in a time when we’re all searching for connection, that’s a message worth hearing.
