If you’re reading this, hello! Welcome to my page. And if we’re getting real, my life.
Okay, all jokes aside though. I am a performer, writer, experimenter, reader, listener, and lots more ‘-ers’ that I just can’t think of right now. But what is relevant to mention…? That I am a first generation American? That, I’ve lived on four different continents? That I dreamed of being a ballet dancer as a child? That I honestly relate to being from the South too often? It all becomes important if you want to see every single nuance from my perspective. But it isn’t about my perspective. It’s about your perspective. Or what you take away from what you see, listen, and read.
I think about home and family a lot. I think of lost time and lost memories. Of places I know, but can’t remember and of people I dream of meeting. I hope to understand more. That’s why we spend so much time learning, isn’t it? If not to understand, then what? Maybe it’s cliche, but I’m going to include a quote I love:
“It is important to draw wisdom from many different places. If we take it from only one place, it becomes rigid and stale. Understanding others, the other elements, and the other nations will help you become whole.” -Uncle Iroh.
If you don’t know Uncle Iroh, that’s okay. Look him up, I think you’ll be surprised. But keep his words in mind. I find myself remembering these words at VERY random times. And it’s sobering.
GRWM, 2019-2020, Installation view, Projected video and foundation (makeup)
GRWM: Get Ready With Me. You've probably seen these on YouTube. Our good friend, YouTube. It's a place of discovery, laughter, and deep isolation.
Brand New, 2019, Stoneware clay slip, sari, Photo by Gerardo Maruffo
Post-performance photography following the 40 minute piece, Brand New. What would it feel like to clean yourself with dirt?
Light Trials, 2019, Durational Performance, Light, projected video, and audio
What would it feel like to be trapped with yourself in a moment of time? To only know what you can see, but to only see right in front of you?
Again and Again, Lafayette, 2020, Poem
About the artist
Having spent a majority of my lifetime training in various forms of dance, I was always very aware of my body – how it moved, how it felt, how it looked. As I transitioned out of the dance world and into the art world, I started to ask more specific questions:
What is this body? What is this skin? What is this color? On this person? On this performer? My body? My performance? And, what changes when it’s my work, but a new body? Out of context?
My time at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago allowed me the space to experiment and explore how race, history, memory, and body interact with one another. Through performance and writing, I work to explore the ways in which my personal history and experiences overlap with the world around me. I draw on memories of displacement, confusion, and loneliness to explore the position of the brown body in today’s America.
Being a child of immigrants, I found myself straddling a line between two cultures – diaspora. A game changer. A phrase and concept that brought together all the thoughts and experience of my life in one word. Sort of…
Diaspora: “the dispersion of any people from their original homeland.”
Sort of… Because, I haven’t been ‘dispersed’ from my homeland. I am in a homeland that doesn’t always count me as theirs. This is what my work is about. The push and pull between learned behavior and expectation of society. The dual personality that many immigrants and immigrant children have – one for each culture. The deep and painful loss of family over a distance that only solidifies it. The assimilation that stifles. The performativity of knowledge and success to show that we are ‘worthy.” The list goes on.
With my body, I am able to explore these concepts because I embody these concepts. To the foreigner, I too am a foreigner. To the citizen, I too am a citizen. Assumptions and expectations of others to be someone or something that fulfills their quota. It all starts with a simple question:
Where are you from?