Archives for posts with tag: Ferguson

wp_20160905_002Above: a chalk portrait of Sandra Bland

Tonight I have my fifth solo show, this time at Vermillion, a gallery voted #1 in Seattle in a recent Seattle Weekly poll. I wanted to honor the police murder victims of Black Lives Matter, so I decided to return to figurative portraiture, a departure from the largely abstract work of the past decade.

The name of the show is “Rebirth.” To counterbalance the hatred and racial violence in today’s world, I decided to create a meditative, healing space to honor the Black victims of police murders. Using classroom chalk, I drew portraits of 14 of them from a composite of photos sourced online. They are: Tamir Rice, Rekia Boyd, Eric Garner, Meagan Hockaday, Alton Sterling, Korryn Gaines, Philando Castile, Aiyana Stanley-Jones, Oscar Grant, Nizah Morris, Michael Brown, Sandra Bland, and Yvette Smith. I also included Trayvon Martin because his murder created Black Lives Matter. In the back of the gallery, I posted these individuals’ stories, along with information on Black liberation organizations, which included Black Lives MatterEnding the Prison Industrial Complex (EPIC) Seattle, and Black Community Impact Alliance, as a call to action.

Drawing someone in chalk is a delicate and tender process. You observe every minute contour of their face. You understand that this person was vital, multifaceted, funny—so much more than a name in the news. This person left behind a void that is still felt among their loved ones and their communities. You realize, in drawing them, that you deeply care. And it becomes evident that remembrance, particularly in a portrait, is a kind of rebirth.

What brought me to tears was working on the eyes of 7-year-old Aiyana, the youngest police victim in the group. I thought, “We failed you.” She and the countless people gunned down by police officers should be here today. We need to do better. We need to address police accountability, open-carry laws, overpolicing in Black communities, and all the racism, sexism, homophobia, and transphobia attendant in American society.

An important element in many Black religious communities, water is collected in a bowl at the end of the gallery as a symbol of purification and rebirth. In acting as an inherent threat to the chalk drawings, it carries a reminder of the fragility of life and memory.

I want to thank Davida Ingram, Blu the Baqi, Sooja Kelsey, Eva Abrams, Inye Wokoma, and Erwin Thomas for all their insights and guidance on this project.

Vermillion is donating 10% of its profits to Black Lives Matter; I’m donating all my profits to Ending the Prison Industrial Complex (EPIC) Seattle.

Show info:
Rebirth, a show honoring Black Lives Matter
Vermillion
1508 11th Ave, Seattle, WA
Opens Sept. 8, 6 to 9PM
Closes Oct. 8

 

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My heart’s been hanging at my knees, with the one-year anniversary of Ferguson and the controversy around the BLM disruption of Bernie Sanders’ visit to Seattle. There are feelings I’m finding hard to articulate right now—they exist only as a molten mass in my head—but I did convey some of them as abstract drawings on paper, using permanent marker and a very blunt pencil.

Divided ever
Divided Ever
Sharpie and blunt pencil

The past few days have reminded me that as whites and people of color, we live in radically different worlds. The ferment around Ferguson and the Sanders disruption has shown, with very few exceptions, the grievous lack of understanding we have toward each other. Our comprehension and empathy still hinge on social constructs, and this often creates an impasse, and enmity, between groups.

It pains me to see this kind of fracture happen, and I don’t know how else to talk about it beyond carving marks into paper with a blunt pencil (as in 90% wood, 10% graphite)—a study in impotence and a physical reminder of the emotional limits to our subjectivity. We say we support a movement outside of our experience but still remain ensconced in our respective paradigms.

There is a movement to emphasize that black lives matter. And there are many non-black allies, but how much do we really understand about being a racial minority without wearing it on our skin and seeing how it feels?

We cannot understand
How We Cannot Understand/Stand
Sharpie and blunt pencil

The drawing above came out of the hostile response to the disruption of Bernie Sanders’ talk in Seattle. Some of the most mean-spirited comments came from those who should be the best allies to the BLM movement, white progressives. It occurred to me that as different races with differing agendas in that moment, we could not understand, or even stand, each other. We simply cannot stand if we continue operating this way.

I’m frustrated by the impotence in racial discussions. We are bound by our limitations, so how can we unite and fight?

Scan 1
We Hate You/They Hate Us
Sharpie and pencil

There are allies out there with deep hearts and broad imaginations. These are the people who can help, and yet today I’m feeling discouraged, haplessly bound by my own skin and embroiled in conflicting, mutually uncomprehending discourse. I’m especially tired of hearing stubborn but futile attempts to analyze the Sanders situation. These are as effectual as a blunted pencil, whose insignificant marks cannot rival the deep, plush darkness of a brand-new Sharpie, a symbol of the stark and unyielding truth of racial inequality.

On Martin Luther King Day, I joined hundreds in Seattle at a rally in front of a downtown federal courthouse. Speakers addressed the growing movement against police violence and racial inequality, and the rally concluded on a high note—but there was unfinished business. As the crowd dispersed, an independent group of protesters headed north to join #blacklivesmatter activists who had lain down in the middle of Highway 99, using the “sleeping dragon” tactic of locking their arms together in pipes. I joined the group, knowing this unsanctioned march was an act of civil disobedience that carried the risk of arrest. As the sole breadwinner of my household, I felt deeply apprehensive but compelled to see, photograph, and march in solidarity, like I had in the WTO protests a decade and a half ago.

MLK protest march to SLU
Marching through downtown behind an IWW (“Wobbly”) flag

MLK protest stop Va St
Occupying the road, on the edge of the Amazon.com campus  

We entered the sprawling campus of Amazon, half of it under construction (talk about a sleeping dragon). The road was lined with partially built condos and apartment buildings for the nouveau riche. Our chants echoed through the urban canyon: “Hey hey, ho ho, new Jim Crow has got to go!” and “Fight back! Fight back today! The USA killed MLK!”

MLK protest marc to SLU II
Protesters link arms, unfazed by lines of bicycle police

MLK protest march Hands Up
“Hands up, don’t shoot!” chants the crowd. Jesse Hagopian, a writer, history teacher, and Black Student Union advisor at Seattle’s Garfield High School, on the left.

MLK protest Derek phone
Some protesters, such as community organizer Derek Orbiso Dizon (pictured), had the phone number of a network of pro bono lawyers written on them, in case of arrest.

MLK protest BLM wrap
Others showed solidarity with #blacklivesmatter.

I warily noted the bike cops encroaching on both sides of the crowd and remembered the rubber bullets and tear gas from the WTO, anti-Bush/anti-war protests, and countless other demonstrations since. Then the inevitable happened: we approached a line of cops blocking the road and a few protesters who attempted to cross the line were seized, beaten, and pepper-sprayed. They were soon pinned on the ground and in handcuffs.

MLK protest skirmish
The police’s violent response causes confusion, outrage, and disappointment among protesters.

MLK protest one down
One of many arrests made on Martin Luther King Day 2015, Seattle

Some high-school-age protesters looked on, cowed and in disbelief, before vanishing from the scene. Some jeered, others moved to the sidewalk, and one intrepid black man stood in front of the police and shouted at the top of his lungs, “As a protest of one, I say: FUCK THE POLICE!” He refused to budge and was escorted into a waiting police SUV. My heart sank.

A young protester wept on the sidelines, so I gently approached her and asked if she was okay. She had marched all the way from Garfield High School and was distraught at how a peaceful protest could end in such an ugly way. I listened to her talk and then gave her a hug and told her that, as disheartening as it is, this is how the world eventually changes. I urged her to keep coming out to protests and silently reminded myself to do the same.

MLK protest lone protester
A disillusioned young protester

The crowd of protesters began to thin out; some went home and others took the back roads to join the activists blocking the state highway. Feeling unnerved and sickened, I seeked out a quiet corner and sat down to process what I’d seen. A good part of me wishes I’d gone on to show solidarity and help block an interstate on-ramp. After all, disrupting traffic on one afternoon only starts to convey what it’s like to be constantly disrupted, on a day-to-day basis, as a racial minority.

Many jaded armchair warriors can “tsk tsk” and claim that there’s a catch in protesting: you can take to the streets and yell all you want, but you will suffer consequences that include arrest. But there’s a bigger catch that the authorities who oppose civil disobedience need to realize, and it’s this: you can make arrests but you can’t halt social change. It’s larger than all of us, and it’s spreading more rapidly and prevalently than you think.

MLK protest Afro activist
Exuberant and empowered young activists block a downtown Seattle intersection, Martin Luther King Day, 2015.

Selma and Charlie
There were small, wet sounds throughout the theatre at the Selma screening. As a young black man lay dying on screen—too familiar a sight in today’s media—a gray-haired man in front of me dabbed his eyes, and somebody in a back row stated plainly, “Ferguson.” Selma is that kind of film, one that seamlessly enmeshes the past with the present and wrings out tears of recognition from its audiences. Though it has been criticized for factual inaccuracy, the movie reworks the historical narrative to better represent a truth that existed then as it does now: systemic racism.

While a new kind of activism is emerging in the aftermath of Ferguson, it is important to remember the pioneers of the civil rights movement. Selma does a good job of honoring them, particularly Martin Luther King, who projects both softness and strength. It is jarring to see an unvarnished Oprah playing civil rights activist Annie Lee Cooper and to realize that just over 50 years ago, the queen of all media would barely be allowed a drink from a segregated water fountain. It’s downright hair-raising to see unarmed, ordinary African-American citizens approaching the huddle of white, racist state troopers and police at the Edmund Pettus Bridge.

Selma opened in Seattle theatres a few days after Islamic extremists launched attacks in Paris at the Charlie Hebdo offices and a kosher supermarket. The massacre resulted in a global outpouring of grief, outrage, and solidarity, including the largest rally turnout in France on record. Meanwhile, the remaining staff at Charlie Hebdo quietly prepared its next issue, unsurprisingly featuring Mohammed on the cover.

Initially, I felt like some of the Charlie Hebdo comics were cheap shots with unremarkable technique, but I came to understand that France has its own distinctively rich history of anticlerical satire. Even though the voices and images can be obstreperous and vulgar, they can be particularly effective tools for social critique. I fervently believe in freedom of expression and, like those working at the magazine, tend to be distrustful of all religions and authority figures.

Selma and the Charlie Hebdo killings have reminded me, in the most wrenching way, that ordinary citizens can and will make a difference in driving social movements forward. Whether marching or sketching, acts of resistance are necessary to combat the psychological and physical violence of racism and religious extremism.

Selma and Charlie: the names evoke a quaint couple of yesteryear. I envision a blood-spattered pair who have been brought to their knees but have risen up to plod forward, doggedly and painfully, on the long road ahead.

Over the holidays, I laid a large piece of raw canvas on the floor of a friend’s art studio and slashed and hacked away at it with a housepainter’s brush. Sure, it was action painting—nothing nobody wasn’t doing in 1951 (wait, does that triple-negative still make a positive?). However, old methods can convey new messages, including one that represents the sweaty, immediate present.

This was the result:

Denature

Every single inch of the 5-foot-long canvas is affected; even the seemingly blank areas are activated by small splatters. In this way, this painting acts as a metaphor for race; that is, there is nobody in America that is not affected at this cultural moment by the discourse of race and difference. Ferguson was the watershed, the explosive catalyst. Eric Garner, like a wide receiver, carried the message farther.

I titled the piece Denature because it talks about how Michael Brown, and many others before and after, was stripped of his dignity–and all his essential qualities–as he lay bleeding in the street. It talks about the denaturing and pervasive effect of systemic racism.

Denature closeup
Hiccups and droolings of paint: Denature, 2014 (closeup)

Working spontaneously on a large scale was extremely cathartic for me; a lot of grief and rage bubbled out. However, as an artist, I was careful to follow up with methodical refinement. Right now this piece and another larger painting, titled 12:01 to Eternity (referencing the time Michael Brown was shot), are in an incubation period. I’ll leave them alone for a month or so before revisiting them for additional revisions. Because, as with emotion itself, time provides some perspective. But in the end, this perspective may only open up more questions than answers, not unlike race in America.

12PM to Eternity closeup
12:01 to Eternity, 2015 (closeup)

Convergence
For contrast, a painting from 2008, Convergence 

WP_20141229_001
A small drawing I made using Sharpie, Dec. 2014

From a racial perspective, 2014 has been a watershed year. In light of Ferguson and Eric Garner, it feels as if we are on the cusp of a new, reinvigorated and more media-savvy civil rights movement—one that is manifesting in intellectual and visceral ways. All of the sudden, being minority, and especially being black, has an urgency to it. Take, for example, the website of #BlackLivesMatter; its main text is telegraphic and immediate: Get Active, Get Organized, Fight Back.

The events of the past few months have forced race into the national discussion to an almost overwhelming degree. We’re no longer avoiding the topic; we’re glutted with it. There have been innumerable articles, from both mainstream and underground publications, that offer incisive social critique and cultural analysis. Ironically, the more the country talks about race, the less I feel compelled to write about it. I’m more inclined now to simply witness, and gradually process, the societal change this dialogue is fostering. There’s too much to take in; I’m speechless.

As a side note: For those who still believe that the police were justified in killing these black guys because they were criminals, you’re ignoring the national subtext—an entire cultural narrative—underlying these events. Wake up and smell the prejudicial coffee!

Even though this blog was originally designed to talk about race (it’s even built into the name, for better or worse), I’ve delved less into general musings around it and more into the specific experiences of being an Asian American. Life is politicized when you’re a minority, and as an Asian-American female, I’m reminded of that fact every single day. Even the minutiae of everyday life, such as habits, personal appearance and conversations, are charged with identity and difference.

My hope is that in the new year, the discussion around race continues and we learn to understand one another better. Increasing awareness and recognition engenders compassion and empathy—at least, ideally. With the President of the United States candidly admitting he’s been mistaken for the valet, and even multinational conglomerate Starbucks taking a stand on racism, this kind of bipartisan social change could very well happen, maybe even quicker than we imagined.