In these global times, human beings are becoming an increasingly migratory species. The current exhibition at UMBC’s Center for Art, Design and Visual Culture sets out to examine what that shift means for us. Where Do We Migrate To? includes the works of 19 different artists and collectives, as well as an accompanying film series, on the topic of the migratory experience. In his essay of the same title, curator Niels Van Tomme writes, “Subjected to an overall sense of displacement, human nature itself is undoubtedly shifting; we are all migrating into something else, towards somewhere else.” In other words, migrants have something to teach us.

Fittingly, the artists in the exhibition hail from many different lands—Russia, Peru, Korea, Mexico, India, and Iran among them—some as immigrants from yet another country. And the gallery space is loud with what they have produced—sound installations, audiovisual pieces, drawings, 3D installations, photographs, maps, sculptures—so much so that it is at first difficult to distinguish one piece from the next, especially those that incorporate audio. But once you approach the individual works, the cacophony fades. A few of the pieces are so conceptual as to be goofy—Brendan Fernandes’ “Homecoming” consists entirely of a short, looped video of a grunting pair of lions; their rumblings are translated into subtitles that read “Go Home”—but the exhibition as a whole is moving and, at times, enlightening.

Pedro Lasch’s “GuÃ�as de Ruta” is one of the more powerful pieces. Three identical specially designed maps representing the Americas hang on the wall, in various states of disrepair. One is torn and wrinkled; the next has deep creases where it has been repeatedly folded. In between the maps hang three pieces of text, fragments of an interview with one of three migrants—a Haitian, an El Salvadoran, and a Mexican—talking about their difficult, presumably illegal passage (or passages) to the United States. The maps are part of a larger series titled “Latino/a America,” in which Lasch gives individuals who are about to cross the United States-Mexico border two maps to carry with them. After their trip, they are to keep one and send the other back to the artist. The maps, initially an artistic gesture, thus take on a hallowed quality. They are now objects that, with their dog-eared corners and dirt stains, hint at journeys many cannot imagine undertaking.

Another piece that has a visceral impact is Kimsooja’s “A Needle Woman —Paris” a silent video projected on a wall. We see the back of a woman (Kimsooja herself) as she stands perfectly motionless on a busy Parisian sidewalk, waves of pedestrians parting around her. She has a long black ponytail, a gray robe. We never see her face and several minutes into this riveting 25-minute film it becomes apparent that hardly anyone else does either. Once in a while, a passerby appears to note her presence briefly. But in general, their eyes glide over the frozen woman, their expressions unchanged behind sunglasses and cell phones, cut off. Kimsooja has enacted this performance in numerous cities—Shanghai, Delhi, London—and it would be fascinating to see others for cultural comparison. But the solitary piece works well in the context of this exhibition. If the mysterious Needle Woman is a migrant, she is an immobile one who nevertheless alters the flow of life around her. By the end, you feel a kinship with her, a desire for others to take notice.

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