Yomi

A Portal to the Underworld Nestled in Seattle’s Historic Pioneer Square Neighborhood

Madeline Berkman

I walk the cobblestone streets in Pioneer Square, forest fire smoke still visible in the air. I pass a large tent community seeking shelter from the first rain of September. The line for the food bank extends down the block and around the corner, far beyond my vantage point. Construction workers on their lunch break form lines at restaurants operating through plexiglass, protecting their interiors from masked and unmasked passersby. Yellow vests are seen en masse, shouting at each other through the floors of gutted buildings; hanging by ropes which dangle from scaffolding around the century old structures on each corner. Every block is in transition.

Pioneer Square is home to many local galleries and working artist studios; filling the buildings that were erected following the Great Seattle Fire in 1889. As miners began to trickle through Western Washington leading up to the Klondike Gold Rush, Seattle architects rushed to rebuild the city over the ashes from the fire. The remains buried under Pioneer Square were left there by the same generation that is responsible for stealing land from the Duwamish and Suquamish people who occupied the region.

I feel myself filled with a sudden urgency as I glance at the time, and hurry toward Method Gallery for my noon appointment. Method Gallery is a non-profit, volunteer-run gallery situated in the basement of Tashiro-Kaplan Artist Lofts. Approaching the building from the top of the hill, I peer through the smallest window into the gallery and am met for the first time by their current exhibition, Yomi, a mixed media installation by Hanako O’Leary.

The windows to the gallery on the bottom floor of the building become larger as I descend the hill, my glimpse into the swirling vortex that is Yomi widening as I reach the gallery doors. Yomi embodies the space it is in, filling it completely. Large loops of lightly colored crocheted jute cast stark shadows on the delicately hung reams of cotton that surround the center of the vortex. The crocheted fibers seem to weave together effortlessly, despite their enormity, and imply a weightlessness that could never be achieved as a mortal being. The fibers create a canopy for you to enter, grounding you within a space the piece has created. There is an obvious center; the canopy almost touches the ground and in return is met with a hole that has been created with natural fibers, petals and absence of light. Before approaching the canopy, I crouch to examine a trio of ceramic vases, situated in a delicate nest of dried wheat. The unfired and unglazed vases vary in color and form, but all bear a similar opening. The mouth of one vase resembles a labia and vaginal opening, another, complete with a clitoris and hood. The third structure is unique. Small pine cones spill out of its petal shaped mouth and the curve of the base is marked with cascading rows of pinecones.

A short video accompanies the installation. The same crocheted jute canopy that sits before me in the gallery has been reimagined in an open field, nestled in a tall grass. The attention of the crowd is placed at the center of the canopy where a female figure is seated. Smoke swells into the air as sage burns in the hand of a participant and the bodies sway to the music. As melodic chanting coming from the video circulates the room, I enter the piece and see the shadows begin to cast on my skin; I become part of the installation. I move through the space, circling the center, listening to the voices repeating powerful words and sounds I don’t recognize, but in a tone that feels familiar.

Two ceramic structures await me through the folds of the canopy. One piece sits close to the ground. It is surrounded by the familiar nest of wheat, but unlike the trio of vases, this yonic structure is covered in thick hair like fibers and has been penetrated with dried plant matter, jetting out of the delicate flesh-like clay beneath the protective layer of hair. I come face-to-face with the last piece of pottery. It has four holes at the top, each filled with a chestnut, half in and half out of it’s spiked shell, protruding from the top one of three stacked spheres. The form itself stands about twice the height of the trio of vases, and is gently resting in a nest. The wheat and dried plant material from the nest has been pressed against the clay, presumably while wet, and clings to the facade. A single dried flower lies near the base of the sculpture at the edge of the nest. It’s bright purple color is a striking contrast in an otherwise neutrally toned installation.

Yomi translates from Japanese to “underworld”. Within Yomi, Izanami is the queen of life and death and the ruler of the underworld. Her love tried to rescue her from Yomi, and was so startled by her postmortem appearance, that he turned and fled. After the betrayal, we are left with no further stories about Izanami’s journey to the throne or reign as queen of Yomi. Hanako channels her connection to the godlike feminine power her body possesses. Yomi, the installation, is an exploration of the fear that many cultures across centuries hold against people who have in their womb the ability to create and deny life.

Just as Hanako’s carefully woven jute symbolizes the interconnectedness of realities across time, history, and our ancestral power, the portal to the underworld that has been intentionally nestled in the heart of historic Seattle also does just that. I couldn’t help but recognize the intentionality behind the use of a portal to serve as a metaphor in the very neighborhood where the buildings stand on the ashes of a city built by the very same hands that stole the land from the people of the Salish Coast. The cyclical movement of the installation implies a temporality, and in engaging with the piece you can’t help but absorb the feminine power it emanates through the use of light and shadow. Yomi remains lit at night when the Gallery is closed so passerby can peer through the windows and into the portal.

The ancestral power and connection to the land Yomi is exhibited on is evident through the shapes, structure and the natural, locally sourced materials found in the installation. In a time of forced separation during the pandemic, Yomi truly speaks to how interconnected and woven together our realities are. Visiting the installation evoked a sense of corporality and reminded me of the power I hold within my body and the power of the generations before me that existed on the very land on which I was trespassing.

• “About the TK”. TK Lofts. tklofts.com/tk-history/ (9/18/2020)
• “About Method Gallery”. Method Gallery. (9/18/2020)
• “Bio” Hannya Grrrl. www.hannyagrrrl.com/bio (9/18/2020)
• “Summary for 101 Prefontaine PL / Parcel ID 8566600000 / Inv #” Seattle Historical Sites. (9/18/2020)

The Vortex

Stefanie Fatooh

On the first real day of rain following this summer, I set out to Pioneer Square to visit METHOD Gallery and view their latest installation, Yomi by Seattle visual artist Hanako O’Leary. Given COVID restrictions, METHOD is tentatively open just two days a week, by appointment only. However, due to its location (somewhat of a basement studio with windows at street level that allow you to look down into the gallery with a bird’s eye view), passersby in Pioneer Square can view it from above, regardless of if they actually enter the gallery space or not.

I was greeted for my appointment by one of METHOD’s co-founders, Paula Stokes, who excitedly explained some of the challenges of the creation of Yomi. Initially intended to be a ceramic piece symbolically showing a portal from the underworld to our world, Yomi was brought to life in its current state out of necessity. When O’Leary was unable to work with ceramics due to COVID, she used what she had on hand, jute rope, to hand weave this exquisite netted piece.

While the woven sculpture is the main showstopper, ceramics did play a role in the final installation. There are five small ceramics pieces, clustered throughout the space. Somewhat rustic in appearance, made of natural looking materials, they are all evocative of the feminine: from more obvious representations of female genitalia disguised as somewhat traditional looking pieces of pottery to more abstract looking pieces. The more overt pieces are the first part of the installation that the viewer encounters upon entering. Sitting in the foreground on the floor, they are warmly lit by a small light that also serves to direct your focus towards the main part of the installation.

The net, which is the primary sculpture, is crocheted from natural jute cord and hangs across the entire width of the gallery. It would be overwhelming in the space if it didn’t feel so organic against the white confines of the walls. The edges of the sculpture are accented by white bedsheet-like fabric that is draped from anchor points on the gallery walls. The overall effect as you observe it from across the room is that it invites you in, and asks you to descend through the vortex it creates, giving a new meaning to the idea of a portal to the underworld. Another warm spotlight shines from above through the center of the piece, adding to the magnetic feeling the net gives. While the idea of a portal to the underworld may sound dark or intimidating, I was immediately struck by the fact that this piece feels more like a monument to the figure it is dedicated to: Izanami, the “primordial mother goddess of Japan”¹ and to the portal that we all move through when born into this world.

When I arrived, Stokes invited me to experience the installation from all angles, “even from the floor,” which I gladly took her up on, as I crouched down and sat underneath the piece from a few different angles. The large scale of the sculpture, combined with the quiet atmosphere and the warm light that cast shadows through the weaving and onto the floor, conjured visceral feelings of being enclosed in a womb, again reinforcing the story of feminine creation behind the piece. The other ceramics pieces in the installation were scattered around the central point of the woven work, and accented by natural grass like materials to help draw the eye towards their location on the floor.

I wrapped up my visit to METHOD by chatting more with Stokes and watching a powerful video that O’Leary created to accompany Yomi. The video was a documentation of a live performance that O’Leary did prior to the installation, with the finished woven sculpture set up on Chief Sealth trail and accompanied by live music and poetry honoring the ancestors that O’Leary dedicates Yomi to. The overall effect of the video and the piece was truly haunting in the best way possible, conjuring up the kinds of ancestral memories that O’Leary was inspired by, but also placing them in relationship to the ancestors of the land we all reside on in Seattle.

Yomi and its genesis also serves as a reminder that it’s still possible to create art for the Seattle public, even in a time when we may all feel isolated from one another. While it may be presented in an appointment-only gallery space, the ability to view the piece from the outside increases access to it for both intentional and unintentional viewers. Despite the unusual COVID circumstances, it was still possible to make an appointment to engage with it up close. It was a pleasure to be able to get a personal introduction to the piece from Stokes, and to not only be present in the space, but to also get the chance to be in conversation with her about the arts community as a whole. METHOD is currently working towards more online programming, with events like artist’s talks helping to make their exhibitions more accessible to those who may be unable to visit in person. If you are interested in visiting or learning more about their programming, make sure to subscribe to their mailing list.

1. O'Leary, Hanako. “CURRENT EXHIBITION.” METHOD GALLERY, 2020.

To Create or Deny Life

an essay on Hanako O’Leary’s exhibition Yomi at Method Gallery

Carol Roscoe

Entering the small partially underground studio space of Method Gallery, the impression of approaching a giant spider’s web strikes me instantaneously. Covering nearly half the gallery space, a large jute structure stretches in all directions from a central funnel that the viewer approaches laterally from the top. White fabric hangs down, like clouds, draping the interior of the raffia structure. Underneath, unfired clay vessels surrounded by organic material dot the space.

Closer to the entrance of the gallery, three unfired clay pots nestle near each other, like neighbors huddled for a discreet talk. The vessels are designed with what appear, from a distance, to be mouths, facing upwards, but on closer glance, more closely resemble specifically and lovingly sculpted female genitalia. On one jar, the lobes of labia provide a nest for two small nubs suggesting both the clitoris, and a pearl in a nest of open oysters.

Surrounding these vessels is a sparse circle of wheat stalks. Spikelets litter the ground. Are these stalks enclosing the vessels, or have they come from the vessels? Are they framing the vessels as offerings? All these questions are in my mind as I step towards and then into the work. Offerings, I decide, as I enter the space enclosed by the fabric and jute.

To enter the space the jute creates, it is necessary to crouch, to bow one’s head and enter the space humbly as one encounters the clay figures inside the structure. Images of female genitalia are repeated on each vessel, sometimes multiple times. The wheat motif continues, and one vessel is home to what appears to be a dozen horse chestnuts, or buckeyes - their spiked outer covering partially peeled away to expose the nut within and echo again female genitalia, connecting visually to the creative and regenerative processes of nature, but also, to food and to danger as, unlike sweet chestnuts, buckeyes are toxic to humans and animals. Surrounding this, more wheat spikes and spikelets. In the center, below the very bottom of the funnel, a small pile of ash lies encircled by more wheat. Is this the offering? Is this what has made it through the funnel. Is the funnel a canal connecting the two spaces and can one travel both ways? Creation and destruction.

In her artist statement about the piece, Yomi, Hanako O’Leary writes,

This work was created to honor the story of Izanami….According to legend, she mothered many gods and goddesses until she died giving birth to the god of fire….I came across this story in 2018 after experiencing an abortion. I contemplated the godlike power of my body. I was awed by its ability to create or deny life. I began to understand the fear our culture holds against those who possess a womb and dare to express autonomy over their bodies. In Izanami’s story, I realized the creative, destructive, and ancestral power that has always existed within me, buried under centuries of shame. Yomi is a meditation turned portal meant to serve as a sacred place where we could contemplate this power that exists within us and around us.

In this context, the funnel takes on the function of the birth canal, connecting the interior space of the womb with the external world. Looked at from another perspective, the funnel becomes a cervix taking in the heavens and delivering its creation into the space made by the offerings of wheat. The repetition of the female genitalia, framed by the wheat and the spiny exterior of the horse chestnuts, reinforce the creative and destructive power that it holds.

Outside, creative and destructive forces, sacrifices, shelters, and offerings are on display as well. The gallery sits near the heart of Pioneer Square, one of the oldest neighborhoods in Seattle, wedged between the bay and the International District and downtown. Walking from the car to the gallery, I pass the Union Gospel Mission serving the homeless around the corner from advertisements for condos and lofts in buildings which used to house low-income residents and artists but now seek inhabitants for their “stylish, upscale, urban community.” The sidewalks are covered in trash, dried vomit, and other unidentifiable stains outside bars and nightclubs, offerings of urban life.

Many storefront windows are boarded up and painted in murals that trend, almost exclusively, towards the political. Seattle’s proclaimed progressive values, democracy, representation, and justice, are on display - calling out Black Lives Matter, Defund the Police, Dismantle the Patriarchy, Indigenous Women Have Rights, Unlock Democracy. Not all of the murals can be clearly seen or read, standing, as they do, behind the tents and shelters erected on the sidewalks. Passing one tent, whose doorway is zipped open, offering a glimpse inside the curved walls of the shelter, I see a sterno cooker, a couch, and two cots pressed together under the arched blue canopy. I wonder what the people who live here think of the murals or the muralists. Or if they, themselves, are the muralists.

Since moving to Seattle in the late 90s, I’ve associated Pioneer Square with art, but, truthfully, only as a neighborhood to purchase art. Based on my informal impressions of the city, this was where the majority of art galleries were located, and until today, I thought of those particular spaces only as commercial, spaces which focused on selling art, not housing it. Finding Method, and discovering it was but one small space in a larger building filled with non-commercial arts organizations and other similar spaces, I realized that a gallery might also offer a place for an artist to display their work and share it to the public, something I had unconsciously ascribed only to museums until this point.

How often did the public in the stylish urban lofts, or in the crush of nylon tents on the street, enter the space? How frequently did others leave their suburban family neighborhoods to make the drive to the old center of the city to encounter all of its urban contradictions? Pioneer Square took on a new dimension for me today, not as a place only where history and artistry were commercialized, but also space to nurture and home it. Leaving the gallery, I passed a building in which a sculptor I knew had once lived. Dozens of artists have lived and worked in that building, the high ceilings and exposed brick walls creating ideal spaces to live and create. Side-stepping alongside a row of tents, I wondered where those artists called home now.

• O’Leary, Hanako. (n.d.). Artist Statement. Retrieved September 19, 2020, from www.methodgallery.com

Hanako O’Leary’s Yomi, METHOD Gallery, and Pioneer Square

Kati Simek

My first impression of Yomi was through a ground-level window as I approached the gallery from the bus stop. I was actually startled, disoriented by the juxtaposition of the reflection in the window with the portal-like hanging inside at my feet. When viewed from above, the huge roll of hand-woven jute had a hypnotic, disorientating effect, much like black and white spiral illustrations or a large winding staircase might. I got the sensation I might fall through and get stuck, as if in a fish trap.

Yomi by Hanako O’Leary, as seen from the sidewalk outside METHOD Gallery in Pioneer Square, Seattle. All photos by the author.

Outside, Pioneer Square was buzzing with sounds of traffic and construction, even though crowds were thinner than they might usually be. No doubt the lingering smoke from regional wildfires had kept some people indoors; that and the pandemic going on. I took the bus because fares were still free, masks and social distancing measures in place. I cringed at the cliché of “the new normal.” It was noon on a Friday in September 2020, six months into a ban on large gatherings. I was meeting a classmate who had made the reservations necessary for us to see Hanako O’Leary’s installation at METHOD Gallery.

The gallery is nestled into Seattle’s first neighborhood, in a building dating back to 1907 that is now home to galleries, bookstores and artists’ lofts. The sidewalks outside have purple glass tiles embedded that bring up memories of history lessons and old photographs. There was a great fire. Pioneer Square and Downtown were subsequently regraded with fire hoses and dirt from neighboring hills, and afterward sat a full story higher. Ground floors became basements, and skylights became sidewalks. Concurrent with its rich history and culture, Pioneer Square is home to a number of people who sleep on those sidewalks, and I couldn’t help but question the connection between the neighborhood and those neighbors.

Inside I was offered another orientation and perspective to the neighborhood as Paula Stokes provided context to the piece, as well as the gallery itself. She is one of the co- founders of METHOD Gallery, which opened seven years ago, and is one of the volunteers that runs the space today. The gallery is 100% volunteer artist-run, and they have an operations budget of only $15,000 annually, most of which goes to rent. They offer exhibition space to visual artists for 7 weeks or so at a time, at times with a live performance component. Yomi is scheduled through Oct. 17.

Jute and Pottery forms: the Feminine Imagery and organic materials of Hanako O’Leary’s Yomi.

The small corner unit that METHOD occupies has asymmetrical, street-level windows along one wall that provide natural light, supplementing the gallery lighting inside. The result is a fascinating array of textures and shadows that change depending on the conditions outside and throughout the day. Paula said they even keep the lights on at night, so passers by can appreciate the space from outside.

The focal point of Hanako O’Leary’s piece is the massive article of hand crocheted jute, an organic grass-like material. It is surrounded on three sides by draped white linen, and nestled on the floor among beds of grain on the old marketplace tiles are the artist’s air dried, handmade pottery. The vessels are hand-crafted using patterns taken from around O’Leary’s Rainier Valley home and feminine imagery. “Orifices everywhere!” remarked Stokes.

Interaction with the exhibit was encouraged by the artist and gallery alike, and getting up close intensified the impact of the work. The jute smells like straw, and they clay earthen. The loops that made up the centerpiece were large enough to slip your hand through to the wrist, and I thought again of woven fish traps. We learned that it had been hung completely differently at an outdoor showing previously, upside down relative to how it hung presently. I wondered if the intent was to create a portal to the underworld or heavens, or both depending on context.

Hand-crocheted Jute as a portal to other worlds.

Needless to say, the Covid-19 pandemic has forced METHOD Gallery to adapt to unusual circumstances. Paula Stokes described technical challenges, temporary closures, and modified public arts events. The gallery always had limited public access, being open only on Fridays, Saturdays, and First Thursdays, but now they were taking additional precautions, including allowing visitors by reservation only. Their online presence and archive has grown though, facilitating access. First Thursdays and Seattle Arts Fair have become online events. Fewer in-person visitors, according to Stokes, meant that attendees had a vested interest in the work, rather than in the social elements of an opening.

The relationship between METHOD Gallery and Pioneer Square is as complicated and layered as the neighborhood itself, and it’s a fitting setting for the installation of Hanako O’Leary’s Yomi. Access to the gallery space is limited, and covid restrictions are in place. They’re open Fridays and Saturdays, noon-4pm, and visits can be scheduled online. No reservation is required to enjoy the art from outside though, and the lights are on all night.