タミコ・ニムラ

(Nimura Tamiko)

タミコ・ニムラさんは、太平洋岸北西部出身、現在は北カリフォルニア在住の日系アメリカ人三世でありフィリピン系アメリカ人の作家です。タミコさんの記事は、シアトル・スター紙、Seattlest.com、インターナショナル・イグザミナー紙、そして自身のブログ、「Kikugirl: My Own Private MFA」で読むことができます。現在、第二次大戦中にツーリレイクに収容された父の書いた手稿への自らの想いなどをまとめた本を手がけている。

(2012年7月 更新) 

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Wisdom Grown Wild: A Conversation with Filmmaker Rea Tajiri — Part 3

Read Part 2 >> TN: Do you think you make art as a way to fill in those gaps or to speak to these silences that are created by the lack of having these these artifacts or heirlooms? RT: Yeah, probably that, and certainly my father had a lot of stories that he would share. And honestly some of them were really like “what?” I was probably too young to handle some of these but they left a very intense mark on me. So I think part of it is just trying to recover what the hell…it was his sense of heaviness and why the hell was he telling me this story, like “I didn&…

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Wisdom Grown Wild: A Conversation with Filmmaker Rea Tajiri — Part 2

Read Part 1 >> TN: I’ve been starting to think about what it is to write memoir and I’ve really felt so strongly that you [the writer/narrator] are the portal to this larger thing but at the very least you have to get your audience, in your space, in your doorway before they get to these larger things but the better you can get the portal prepared for your audience, the better the connection is, the better the relationship is. In another interview you talked a little bit about when you thought you realized you were making this film, and one point was when you were with you…

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Wisdom Grown Wild: A Conversation with Filmmaker Rea Tajiri — Part 1

In Rea Tajiri’s documentary Wisdom Gone Wild, an elderly Nisei woman is sitting outside in a wheelchair. An installation of golden yellow streamers is billowing around her, as she’s joined by children running and playing through the space. The woman is laughing in delight, as the streamers and the children are constantly changing the way she’s seeing the world—and how she’s seen. The elderly woman has dementia, and she is Tajiri’s mother. The film reframes two intensely creative processes—filmmaking and caretaking—and asks viewers to consider…

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Notes on Hoarding

My mom tells me that when my oldest Nisei auntie died in 2016, there were so many boxes in the shed next to her house. Fruit crates, to be exact. Corrugated white cardboard, insulated. Interlocking flaps on the top—enough to let the air circulate over and around the Bartlett pears, Concord grapes, freestone peaches. Some release and some relief, a pleasure to close the boxes as the flaps locked into place, a slight struggle to open. What we hoarders recognize as a Really Good Box.  The boxes my auntie left behind, though, were empty. So many empty boxes, and I wonder about these. …

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A Partial and Personal Timeline of Asian American Men on Stage and Screen

Teahouse of the August Moon (1979) I’m dressed in a long dyed-purple tunic that comes down to my knees, with a wide white sailor collar. I am in third grade in Roseville, California. My dad Taku has refused to let the costuming department dye my hair. My hair is still auburn, though I’m supposed to be an Okinawan child in the late 1940s. Together my dad and I are in a college production of Teahouse of the August Moon at California State, Sacramento. In my memory, I have two lines penciled into the script: “Wasureta,” and “Kita yo.” I forgot. Here they c…

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