On View
Bienvenu Steinberg & C
Yellow Earth
June 27–August 31, 2024
New York
A series of sealed aluminum tubes filled with radioactive soil, quietly glowing under soft lights compose the central installation in Michael Wang’s latest show, Yellow Earth, at Bienvenu Steinberg & C. Though safe to handle, the potentially-contaminated earth samples of Yellow Earth (2024) allude to the daily reality of those living near uranium mines. By placing these radioactive remnants at the heart of his exhibition, Wang transforms the gallery into a contemplative space that forces viewers to confront the ongoing, pervasive dangers linked to the nuclear era.
Influenced by his geophysicist father, Wang makes work that seamlessly bridges the realms of art and science. Growing up in suburban Wisconsin and later outside Albany, New York, he developed a deep empathy for the natural world and its precarious state. A childhood incident where he witnessed the torture of garter snakes by neighborhood kids sparked an intense empathy for non-human life and a keen awareness of its fragility.
In Yellow Earth, Wang employs uranium, a material shrouded in mystery and danger, alongside aluminum and stainless steel—key materials in nuclear technology. This combination creates a poignant dialogue about the invisible yet potent presence of nuclear energy. Drawing inspiration from land art, especially the works of Walter De Maria, Wang juxtaposes the aesthetics of power and violence with the delicate balance of nature. His work Containment Structure (Uraninite) (2024), encloses tiny fragments of uranium minerals within stainless steel forms inspired by the shapes of uraninite crystals. These structures, acting like Pandora’s boxes, conceal the dangerous minerals while preventing the release of radioactivity, making the invisible presence of uranium both palpable and safely contained.
Wang’s exploration of nuclear energy extends beyond mere historical context, emphasizing its profound impact on marginalized communities. In works like Demon Core (Open) (2024) and Demon Core (Closed) (2024), Wang evokes the catastrophic impact of nuclear weapons on Asian people and Pacific Islanders. These sculptures, which both resemble a nuclear bomb and contain yellow uranium glass nestled within, highlight the disproportionate burden borne by populations from communities like Hiroshima and Nagasaki to the Bikini and Enewetak Atolls. Their forms are inspired by the “demon core,” a sphere of plutonium originally intended for a third atomic bomb to be dropped on Japan. When it went unused, it was repurposed for scientific research following the Second World War and was subsequently involved in several horrific accidents where researchers died due to mishandling the material. Wang’s works suggest the safety reflectors placed around this plutonium, underscoring its dangerous legacy in the development of nuclear technology.
Referencing not only the Diné people’s word for uranium ore—leetso, meaning “yellow dirt”—but also invoking a racialized logic of color, the show’s title, Yellow Earth, is deliberately open-ended. “Yellow” has historically been used as a derogatory term for East Asian people, and Wang revisits this term to draw attention to their historical and ongoing suffering due to nuclear weapons. The exclusion of Asian perspectives in mainstream narratives, such as in the recent film Oppenheimer, which humanized the bomb-makers while ignoring the victims, underscores this erasure. Wang’s personal connection to this history—being of Asian ancestry with a father born in Shanghai—intensifies his critique of how representation interlinks with real-world violence.
The color yellow also appears in Wang’s “Yellow Painting” (2024) series, where he draws inspiration from De Maria’s Yellow Painting from 1968. Referencing the yellow of excavators and heavy machinery used in mining and construction, De Maria referred to yellow as “The Color Men Choose When They Attack the Earth” in a small plaque inscribed with this line attached to the work. For Wang, this title also takes on an apocalyptic tone. By speaking to many Indigenous miners and their families who have been harmed by hazardous conditions and lack of information about the dangers of uranium exposure, Wang conjures their collective sense of despair. His “Yellow Paintings” insert archival images of uranium waste into powder-coated panels in John Deere yellow, the same color De Maria used. The images depict the aftermath of uranium processing, including dust collected from processing plants, mill tailings, and depleted ingots. This yellow, also the color of uranium oxide, parallels the destructive force of nuclear technology, aligning with De Maria’s vision of men attacking the Earth through industrial and technological means. The human cost of uranium mining, particularly on Diné lands, forms a critical part of New Mexico’s nuclear legacy.
Through Yellow Earth, Wang not only pays homage to land art but also critiques its historical associations, bringing attention to the intertwined legacies of identity, energy, and environmental degradation. He challenges the narrative that the atomic bomb was necessary to end any wars from past to present, asserting that the human devastation inflicted upon non-white, non-Western populaces served in part as “tests” to observe the full effects of these new weapons. Yellow Earth emphasizes the inhumanity of such actions, and urges a re-evaluation of nuclear history and technology.
