Ming Fay describes New York artists with the metaphor of martial arts swordsmen.
"New York is the place where every school of 'swordsmen' comes together," he says. It has 'training schools' (like arts institutes) and 'places of the gods' (museums). The galleries serve as the stages where the heroes display their martial prowess, each in ceaseless competition with the others for attention.
And the artists, like swordsmen of yesteryear, teach or learn the old methods, or even strike out on their own to found new schools.
But amid the bustling stages, Ming Fay is absolutely alone.
Born in 1943 in Shanghai, Ming Fay moved with his parents to Hong Kong. He went--alone--to the U.S. at eighteen, and studied industrial arts at the University of California. He then went to Kansas and earned an M.A. in sculpture, staying on to teach. His path finally led him to New York.
From his difficult childhood to his life as a wandering 'swordsman,' he describes himself as "suspended in time and space," existing, but belonging nowhere.
He has twice returned to Hong Kong to teach and promote the arts, and Hong Kong people wish he would stay. But the prodigal son still carries his burden, and Ming Fay each time has returned to New York to 'sharpen his sword.'
"Twenty years and still drifting," says he, in a voice tinged with a Shanghai accent. He is dressed in black, hair cut short and sharp. "It seems some instinct for existence has kept me alive."
The speaker is sitting in a comfortable Soho home, with his wife and child never far from his side. Clearly, what he is seeking is a spiritual home.
Stepping out of hectic Manhattan and into the Fay home, everything slows down.
Upon entering the living room one is faced with plump, mouth-watering oranges, pears, hot peppers. . . but there's no point in getting a knife and fork--these are all big enough to wrap your arms around! And on the walls a water caltrop or a seashell or ginseng.
Ming Fay favors still lifes, because one can really examine them in detail. "Of course the point is to communicate sculpture, not to communicate fruit."
"Ultra-simple" works were part of a trend in the 1970s known as "super-realism." But as to whether Ming Fay's pieces fit in this category, he says, "On this point I absolutely refuse to concede." He notes that super-realism seeks lifelike duplication, but his sculptures are to express his feelings and understanding of the object. "My scale clearly tells people, this is not real, and therefore, it is not super-real."
Ming Fay's eye came to rest on a darkly colored, strangely shaped seed. Ming Fay's work desk is covered with all sorts of such items, from nuts to fish bones to withered fruits.
Ming Fay collects a bit of nature and every day looks at it, photographs it, draws it, writes about it, studies it, thinks about it; but what comes to mind? With seeds he comes to think of trees, with fish bones of the sea.
"I'm not a biologist," he disclaims. "I just use vision and touch and feelings to try to understand it." He opened his sketchbook and inside were drawings, notes, Zen poetry. . . . The book was called "Sprouts."
His studio is full of natural objects, papier mache, molds, and some of what resemble finished products. Pointing to these things Fay says, "You see, from here to there everything is in progress. It's like a novel--you have to work on it a long time."
Notes, drawings, sculptures, all are parts of a process. All "help me think about things." Ming Fay says that some things can get out of the studio in a few months; others stay around for years.
While the whole room is "sprouting," the master himself has grown with time. Early on he studied industrial arts, but over four years he was unconsciously drawn to love sculpture. But he notes that his training has given him practical wisdom to be efficient, to save money, and to achieve the greatest effectiveness.
In his two years of sculpture courses, he learned techniques of soldering and brass casting and used machines to make a series of meticulous geometric shapes. But he prefers his two hands as tools: "My purpose is not to glorify machines; I like the flavor of hand crafting."
Where does he go from here? Not even he knows. "Artists have to be able to constantly break through and should continually move forward."
From plump fruits to withered seeds; in the eyes of old friends, these reveal turbulent emotions. Hong Kong artist Wang Wu-hsieh was Ming Fay's classmate, and for him the works are the expressions of a survivor, toughened in New York's highly competitive environment but still possessed of vitality.
Living in New York makes for a tireless artist. Ming Fay likens himself to a juggler, juggling three, then four, then five balls. Maybe he drops one or two, only to pick up one or two new ones and press on. He says, "You will discover the world's endless variety, and that what you see and hear is just a tiny part. Man after all has only two hands, but how much can he juggle?"
He even has his own conception of time: "In the past time was just a big watermelon cut into four big parts--spring, summer, fall, and winter. But today the watermelon is a watch, and people are eaten by time." Ming Fay says that people in the twentieth century live in "wheels"; our time is round, and the wheels of our machines are round. But in the twenty-first century the wheel will be discarded. "My son wears a digital watch; the time is numbers and straight lines--his way of thinking is already different from ours!"
Ming Fay gets a little anxious: "We must do well. If we don't, when the twentieth century passes, if things are not good they will be discarded. They will be eaten by time. And after death there will be nothing left."
This wanderer, floating for years and years, is really seeking--eternity.
[Picture Caption]
What story is this hot pepper on the window-sill. telling? (photo courtesy of Ming Fay)
The wanderer in his happy home.
The world's most expensive root--ginseng. Doesn't this work of Fay's look like it's flying?
Some of Ming Fay's "sprouts."
The wanderer in his happy home.
The world's most expensive root--ginseng. Doesn't this work of Fay's look like it's flying?
Some of Ming Fay's "sprouts.".
