I make art this way to soothe my own pain and share it publicly in hopes that others will draw comfort, hope and understanding of each other, now and into the future.These works aim to solve my dilemma of wanting to connect with communities while maintaining a safe distance from harm. They also serve to provide the kind of sanctuary and reprieve that I, like so many of us, crave after several years of deep communal shock and grief. After the blitz of grief we have all endured, with special attention to disenfranchised communities, I no longer wish to cut from the cloth of BIPOC pain for my work. Aside from the counterproductive act of reopening wounds for healing or witnessing our joy in spite of inequities seems more harmful than good. I need the work to facilitate transcendence for myself and for the community.
My Wig Variants series has opened a new way for me to engage viewers, holding space for my body in exhibition spaces. My worries as a middle-aged woman of color mean simply not making it back home to my child after a performance because I was injured, or worse, by someone feeling emboldened to “correct” me as a reaction to my work. This has dramatically impacted how I move and practice. When considering how to adapt public works amid a pandemic, and social and political upheaval, I found myself thinking deeply about how nature endures and adapts under extreme pressure, albeit sometimes disfigured. I thought, “what if my wigs could take my place? What if they mutated and could exist beyond me, like the plants in my garden?”
