In a small Wisconsin town where his family was the only Asian household, James Clar grew up struggling to embrace his Filipino American identity. Today, his work beams across continents—through sculptures of light, culture, and belonging.

Fresh from the opening of his mid-career retrospective “Powers of Ten” at the Frederick R. Weisman Museum of Art in Los Angeles, Clar opens up about why he’s against neutralizing one’s identity in an ever-evolving contemporary art world, and why it took him so long to fully embrace his Filipino roots.

A transnational nomad of sorts, Clar has crisscrossed the globe, spending more than half his life in New York, Dubai, Tokyo, and Manila, all the while grappling with his “third culture” Filipino American identity. 

While his studio practice has been defined by his intelligent use of light as both subject and medium, his personal journey has been marked by constant displacement and a search for his own sense of self within a complex, global terra incognita.

In this context, Clar’s mid-career retrospective at the Frederick R. Weisman Museum of Art in Los Angeles holds particular significance. As a space dedicated to exploring the intersections of identity, culture, and contemporary art, the Frederick R. Weisman Museum of Art provides a fitting platform to trace the arc of Clar’s creative evolution as a Filipino American light artist.

At the retrospective, Clar chose not to feature his sociopolitical works primarily due to the logistical challenges and high costs of transporting pieces from private collections in the Middle East. As a result, the curator chose to focus on works based in the US, especially those that would resonate with local audiences in Los Angeles and the film and video game industries.

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Clar started out in film at New York University (NYU), but like so many artists chasing the pulse of the now, he pivoted—hard—into new media art. Since then, he’s worn many hats: a media artist, a curator, a grad-level teacher at NYU, and even a thesis advisor at the MIT Media Lab.

“Film was my entry point into visual storytelling, but I became more interested in the system that creates the cinematic experience, essentially a light system. So instead of working within that fixed system, I wanted to break it apart and use light as a sculptural and experiential medium,” shares Clar.

“For me, light is fundamental. It defines how we see the world yet it’s immaterial… My early works focused on light as a sculptural medium, exploring its physical properties to express movement, time, and space,” he continues.

“But over time, and depending on where I was living, my focus expanded. I started thinking beyond light itself and looking at the cultural systems and technologies that shape perception. 

In his body of work, Clar draws on Philippine folk imagery—such as the parol, the country’s iconic Christmas lantern—using it as a symbol of a cultural north star. One notable example is his piece “Parol #6,” featured in this year’s Art Basel Hong Kong Kabinett sector. The Filipino American artist’s tribute to the Philippines reflects his ongoing pursuit of a deeper, more visceral understanding of his Filipinoness.

“I didn’t use the term ‘Filipino American’ in my artist bio until I started showing work in the Philippines around 2019 with Silverlens. Before that, I just identified as American because I didn’t want to claim a Filipino identity if I didn’t fully understand it. That was one of the main reasons I relocated to Manila—I wanted to engage with Filipino culture firsthand and have conversations with the artists here,” shares Clar.

After years in limbo, Clar—arguably one of the most visible and internationally exhibited Filipino American contemporary artists today—now fully owns his ‘third culture’ identity, breaking boundaries with his thought-provoking light art and redefining what it means to be Filipino American.

Could you provide a brief overview of “Powers of Ten” at the Frederick R. Weisman Museum of Art in Los Angeles?

The solo exhibition “Powers of Ten” brings together works from the past two decades, tracing how my practice has evolved in terms of scale, concept, and the use of light as a medium. 

The title references the 1977 experimental film by Charles and Ray Eames, which explores the relative scale of the universe, and is reflective in my own approach to using light and technology as a way to expand or compress perception. The exhibition includes early works that deconstruct light as a sculptural form, revisits an exhibition from seven years ago I did with Japan’s top professional video gamers, and debuts new works created at the Eames House, an iconic structure of modernism.

How important is it for a Filipino artist to stage a retrospective at a Western institution such as the Frederick R. Weisman Museum of Art?

I think it’s important for a Filipino—whether locally born or part of the diaspora—to have the opportunity to present a retrospective in a Western institution like the Frederick R. Weisman Museum of Art.

The institution’s location in Southern California, home to a large and diverse Filipino community, creates a powerful context for the work to be seen and understood.

For me, it’s a way to participate in a larger global conversation while also affirming the value of different Filipino perspectives—whether rooted locally, shaped by the diaspora, or informed by a third-culture experience—within contemporary art.

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Seeing your body of work from the past decade gathered for a major institutional retrospective, what have you learned about your own studio practice?

When I look back at my early works, I can see how I was already exploring themes of time, space, and the influence of technology on our perceptions. What’s changed is the way I approach them—moving from physical sculptural works to installations that incorporate data, motion, and interactivity. It’s also made me more conscious of the relationship between my work and the shifting technological landscape.

Since we’re in your studio, I’m drawn to this geometrically complex piece–where a triangle is placed within a square, a square within a pentagon, a pentagon within a hexagon, and so on. Based on how you’ve structured its composition, I feel that the piece explores how the infinite progression of geometric shapes ultimately returns to the dot.

This actually ties back to the “Powers of Ten” retrospective. In this piece titled “All Sides Same Length,” each shape builds on the previous one—starting with three equal-length lines forming a triangle, then adding another to create a square, then a pentagon, and so on, each nested inside the next. If you were to continue this infinitely, you’d eventually reach a circle.

At its core, this piece is about the fundamentals of image-making. You begin with a blank canvas, place a dot, extend it in any direction to form a line, and from there, you can create a triangle. It’s about how basic shapes evolve. But I’m also interested in looking at this from the opposite direction—how technology replicates natural forms. It’s important for us to understand how the organic world is reconstructed through electrical systems because they leave an imprint on it. This was explored in my other works “Color Checker Chart” and also “Baroque Default Palette.”

Can you share with us your time living in Dubai and Japan, especially your engagement with the Filipino diaspora in those places?

The six years I spent in Dubai were important in shaping my understanding of what it means to be a full-time artist. It’s more than just image-making—it’s a reflection of who you are and how you process the world around you.

At that time I was the only Filipino artist actively engaged in the contemporary art scene. As I started gaining recognition, members of the OFW community encouraged me to be more vocal about my Filipino identity. But I struggled with that because I was born in the middle of America. I didn’t feel entirely comfortable taking on that role.

Still, I could see that my presence and persistence in the art scene challenged certain perceptions of what Filipinos could achieve. Over time, I felt a sense of pride in being part of that shift. If you live or travel abroad, you influence how people perceive your culture, whether you intend to or not. I disagree with artists who want to neutralize or hide their background, whatever that might be.

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You identify as a “third culture” Filipino American artist. How does this perspective shape your work?

I’ve started to embrace the idea of being “third culture,” especially since moving to the Philippines four years ago. Third culture means not fully belonging to either your birthplace or your ancestral homeland, so you develop a hybrid cultural identity. I grew up in Wisconsin, where my family was the only Asian household in town. Later, in New York and Dubai, I never fully identified as American because mainstream American culture didn’t represent my experience. But at the same time, I also wasn’t raised immersed in Filipino culture.

That tension—of being between cultures—eventually led me to move to the Philippines. I wanted to understand Filipino culture beyond what I inherited at home. It’s a complicated issue, but it’s been rewarding to understand local versus diaspora perspectives. That experience of being both an insider and an outsider has deeply influenced my approach to art. It has made me more aware of the nuances of cultural identity and how individuals consciously adopt certain attitudes or aesthetics to represent a particular culture.

Being both an “insider” and an “outsider,” what excites you most about the Philippine contemporary art scene?
What impressed me most about the Philippine art scene—before I even moved here—was its energy and diversity. Now, it feels like the scene is actively positioning itself within the global art world. With Silverlens opening a space in New York and participating in major international art fairs, alongside galleries like The Drawing Room and others, Philippine contemporary art is gaining more visibility. Western institutions, curators, and collectors are starting to take notice, which helps bring greater awareness to both local and diaspora cultures.

Name five new media artists from the Philippines whose work is challenging and expanding the boundaries of contemporary art.
I feel that “new media” is a difficult term to use in the Philippine art context because the latest technologies aren’t widely accessible to the public. It’s different from Japan or the US, where the latest tools and digital infrastructures are integrated into daily society, allowing an artist to observe and react to its effects.

That being said, Celine Lee, Christina Lopez, Kolown, Miguel Lorenzo Uy, and Nice Buenaventura are some of the artists who think critically about how technology shapes and influences society here.

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What makes you happy?
Meaningful conversations, time with family, and the company of friends who inspire me. Miu, Tami and the joy they bring, good food is always a pleasure, and being near the ocean reminds me of the vastness of it all.

Why are you an artist?
Because it allows me to explore and question the world in ways that feel limitless.