Does it make any difference where we see art? For one multidisciplinary artist and feminist, it’s crucial—not just because of who sees it, but what stories get told. Meet Amanda Phingbodhipakkiya. Born to Thai and Indonesian immigrants, she studied neuroscience at Columbia and worked at an Alzheimer’s research lab before becoming a full-time artist, educator, and activist. Today, she chooses to display her work in reclaimed urban spaces and to champion the experience and stories of underrepresented communities. Discover what drives her passion for using public art as a tool for change, proudly displayed outside the walls of traditional museums.
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Transcript
Amanda Phingbodhipakkiya:
You just have no idea where folks are on their healing journeys. And I think creating art that has many access points, that can be widely relatable, and also massively visible, is important for this time. And I’m very much trying to use art to present a future.
Barron B. Bass:
Welcome to Frame of Mind, a podcast from The Metropolitan Museum of Art, about how art connects with wellness in our everyday lives. What does it mean to belong? Why does representation matter? And what’s art got to do with it?
Amanda Phingbodhipakkiya has some answers, and they might not be what you expect. Working at the intersection between art, activism, and science, she makes art that explores microscopic universes, celebrates underrepresented communities and challenges how we think about the world. Basically, her work will catch your eye and make you think.
Amanda believes the best way to make the invisible visible is to create it outside of museum walls. Today, in cities across the U.S., you can see Amanda’s larger than life murals on the walls of public spaces. Listen in as Amanda tells her story, reminding us why we should all see ourselves represented in art spaces, inside and outside places like The Met.
Amanda Phingbodhipakkiya:
I grew up in the kitchens of my dad’s restaurants. And that meant I was surrounded by a bunch of aunties and chosen family, since our family was far away, in Thailand and Indonesia. But surrounded by this community, by these colors, and smells, and spices, and sounds. And I saw how the local community came to love, not just our food, but us, too.
I just take that inspiration of inviting folks in, into my work today. My parents definitely fostered my sense of curiosity. You know, they would get me a microscope and a sketchbook at the same time. So then I would figure out how to, you know, use both to kind of observe the world and question what was happening around me. And that’s why I decided to study neuroscience.
So, if you were to look at my art, the main themes center around feminism, and justice, and science. I think what connects these together are that they aren’t necessarily what’s openly supported or celebrated in our society.
I’m working on a public art series called Findings. It is ten murals around the United States that highlight the research of badass women in STEM, and really depict women as I see them in the world. Which is vital and luminous, and harnessing their power to shape our future.
I did have a group of teenagers stop by and take a photo with it. They were just talking about how this mural gave them like, goddess vibes. I think that’s the power of murals that are actually representative of folks in the neighborhood.
We are in D.C. and in D.C., we are in Eckington, right across from the dog park. We are looking at a 77-foot mural that is based on the research of Dr. Ayana Arce at Duke, who studies among many things, proton collisions. And we see two women of color, reaching towards each other, almost like they’re soaring through space and time. And it is a flurry of shapes and color, almost like an explosion of excitement. Their faces are kind of full of power and vision, and it’s like they’re manifesting the change that we want to see in the world.
Two images of Amanda Phingbodhipakkiya’s murals from her Findings series. Images courtesy of the artist
And I think in some of these communities, young women haven’t seen themselves depicted in this way before. And sometimes men need to be reminded that women are incredibly powerful and we most often harness this power to fight for our shared future.
What I think my work is about is really revealing the unseen. So, my practice is about making the invisible, visible, whether it’s microscopic worlds or the far reaches of outer space or the depth and beauty and complexity of marginalized communities. And, you know, this is part of the reason why I focus so heavily on public art.
And when we kind of put our work so visibly out into the world, you know, if it’s a large canvas inside a gallery, somebody outside of the gallery might not see it. But if it’s on the side of a building, anybody passing by will see it. You don’t have to pay an entrance fee or you don’t have to be someone who’s particularly “cultured” to experience or enjoy public art.
What is often challenging in white-halled institutions is that the art is not necessarily inviting or accessible, you know, just by its very nature. I feel like many institutions like The Met, you know, this certainly isn’t unique to The Met. They feel like imposing, colonial spaces where oftentimes when folks of color step inside, we question whether we belong. We question whether our voices are valued here. We’re often shuttled into the multicultural day. Or maybe our work is plucked into the collection for seemingly tokenizing reasons, perhaps.
Oftentimes when we are asking huge mammoths to change, it just takes time. And the right folks to also, you know, shepherd this change, too. And I think museums are more and more wanting to amplify marginalized voices because they understand that their role as sort of stewards of culture is to actually steward culture, which involves every single pocket across America.
My work as an AAPI activist, Asian-American Pacific Islander, covers I Still Believe In Our City, which is a public art series that I co-created with the New York City commission on human rights as artist-in-residence.
Some of the pieces in I Still Believe In Our City are portraits of Asian-American women, intergenerational portraits that show our faces, paired with phrases. And we did an entire takeover of all the ad space at Atlantic terminal.
Photograph from Phingbodhipakkiya’s series I Still Believe In Our City featured on the Atlantic Terminal’s exterior in Brooklyn, NY. Image courtesy of the artist
It has also appeared on the sides of buildings. It has appeared on the Department of Transportation display cases. In the financial district. It was responding to the violence against AAPI elders. And, you know, it was really shaped by my personal experience and the experience of my parents.
When I was getting on the subway before the city shut down, I experienced some harassment. It wasn’t physical assault, but I got on the train and the man next to me looked at me and said, “Ew, gross,” and then ran down to the other end of the car. And I was just kind of shocked and appalled in the moment that somebody would actually say this to me.
And then reflecting on it later, I thought about, you know, what I might’ve said in the moment. Because I was, I honestly, I was silent. I just couldn’t believe it had happened in the moment. So, I started writing out phrases. Like I’m not your scapegoat. I didn’t make you sick. And you know, you see these phrases kind of make their way onto the posters, boldly declaring our belonging.
Neuroscience research has shown us that a sense of belonging can prompt the brain to release dopamine and oxytocin. And you know, these are good hormones and just make us feel great. But when we’re bullied or experience social rejection or are shunned, or just feel like we don’t belong, our brains respond as if we had experienced physical pain, so physical harm.
So it’s that sort of like indelible trauma that just sticks with us. And we may not process it in the moment, but it’s always there. You know, you walk around and you just keep on getting paper cuts. They’re small. They don’t necessarily kill you, but they all bleed.
I think it’s often difficult to talk about trauma. It’s often difficult to talk about the violence against AAPI communities. It’s difficult to talk about science and the inequities in the scientific field. But if we do it in a way that invites people in, with bold colors, and engaging visuals, and beauty and hope, then we are able to create a space where conversations can be had. And where folks can feel comfortable asking questions that they might not dare to before.
The beauty of so much change needing to happen is that you can literally start anywhere, and make some small change and it would make a difference.
Barron B. Bass:
Thank you for listening. This has been Frame of Mind, an art and wellness podcast from The Met. To find out more about Amanda and the artworks mentioned in this episode, please visit The Met’s website at www.metmuseum.org/frameofmind, where you’ll find bonus articles, features, resources, and videos on the endless connection between art and wellness.
Frame of Mind is produced by the Metropolitan Museum of Art and Goat Rodeo. At The Met: Head of Content Sofie Andersen, Executive Producer Nina Diamond, Associate Producer Bryan Martin, and Production Coordinators Harrison Furey and Lela Jenkins. At Goat Rodeo: Rebecca Seidel is Lead Producer. Megan Nadolski is Executive Producer. Production Assistance from Char Dreyer, Isabelle Kerby-McGowan, Cara Shillenn, and Max Johnston.
Senior producer is Ian Enright. Story Editing from Morgan Springer. Series Illustration by Sophie Schultz. I’m your host Barron B. Bass. A special thanks to our guest on this episode, Amanda Phingbodhipakkiya. This podcast is made possible by Bloomberg Philanthropies and Dasha Zhukova Niarchos. If you liked this episode, please leave us a rating or review and share it with your friends.
Next time on Frame of Mind...
Joshua Livingston:
I’d always held the idea that community spaces like barbershops, cafes and those type of places, are naturally occurring “academic” quote, unquote spaces. They don’t hold the same level of pretension that academia does. Sometimes those spaces are locked. You know, you don’t get a chance to go inside there unless you have a particular GPA in high school or whatever. But there are a lot of people who have expertise from lived experiences.
and Dasha Zhukova Niarchos.
