Cy Thao

POLITICS DROVE THE MORRIS GRAD TO ART, AND ART BROUGHT HIM BACK TO POLITICS

University of Minnesota, Morris, alum Cy Thao at the state capitol.

Photo by Tom Foley

by Rick Moore

From M, fall 2003

It's right there in the Green Book under Cy Thao's name, sticking out like a tropical fish in a pond full of eelpout--"Occupation: Artist."

The Green Book is the members directory of the Minnesota Legislature, and of all the 201 legislators listed there, first-term Representative Thao is the only one who classifies himself as an artist. There are farmers and teachers and attorneys aplenty, but just one artist--the 31-year-old graduate of the University of Minnesota, Morris.

So you'd think that the walls of his spacious office (the right half of it, anyway) would bear evidence of his creative side, perhaps even a few originals from his series of graphic paintings of the Hmong migration and the brutality of the Vietnam War.

Not the case. The walls are virtually bare, one of the many intriguing manifestations of Thao's life as both a legislator and an artist.

The overlapping of those two vocations developed in a roundabout way over the course of a decade, beginning with Thao majoring in political science at Morris and becoming an intern at the capitol. "I saw what was needed to get things done, like swapping votes and--I hate to say it--back-room deals," he says of his experience. "And I didn't like that; I thought it should be a citizen government with citizen ideals."

Rather than changing his political science major, he tacked on a studio arts degree at Morris. Once into art, he discovered that his artist friends were far from apolitical. "Artists are activists because much of the art that they do is a reflection on society or a comment on society," says Thao. "A lot of the artists I know are involved with trying to make the community better."

So he and his friends decided one of them should run for office, and Thao stepped up to represent his Frogtown neighborhood in St. Paul, home to a large Hmong population.

"Politics drove me away and into art, and art drove me back into politics--all in 10 years," Thao says, laughing.

In his first legislative session, Thao figured out it was "a tough year to be a Democrat," and he focused on getting to know people and building relationships. Thao did get legislation passed approving a memorial to be built for Hmong veterans who were allied with U.S. forces during the Vietnam War. He says affordable housing and community development are issues he plans to address. "I'm going to start planting those seeds this coming year," he says.

Public service is becoming a way of life for the warm and wry Thao, who follows in the footsteps of his father, a former provincial governor in Laos. They moved to the United States when Thao was eight years old, after five years in a refugee camp in Thailand.

While still in college, Thao decided to continue a Hmong tradition of "telling stories without words" and began to depict the history of the Hmong--including their multiple migrations--in his series of oil paintings. He received the Bush Artist Fellowship in 2000 and completed the bulk of his work that next year. "Hmong Migration" has been exhibited regionally in Rochester and La Crosse and will be on display in Morris in February.

"For me to get that series out--it was sort of like a burden lifted off my shoulder," Thao says. "And now I have free rein to go in any [artistic] direction."

But Thao's artistic freedom comes with strings attached. In politics, he says, individual words and their context are crucial, and everything you say has meaning. You can spur people to action or inhibit them with your words, and you must speak for your constituents. In his art, Thao struggles to communicate his own point of view without claiming to speak for anyone else.

He reflects a bit. "I'll figure that one out eventually. In the meantime," he jokes, "I'll just do really bland art." Surrounded by his bare walls, he grins and goes back to tackling issues for his people.