TalkTalkConvo Explained

Here’s a little more about TalkTalkConvo my current project in progress.

The Name Is the Frame

A name is a sort of frame for a picture. For me Thorn, my artist moniker, (which actually is part of my name) is the perfect frame for the picture that is my artwork and advocacy work. Because I received resistance with the various types of artwork and advocacy work that I do (for the incarcerate,formerly incarcerated, and equitable public art access) I began to embrace the resistance. Interestingly enough, I was listening to the book The New Jim Crow and heard a couple thoughts on ‘Gansta Rap Culture’ in what I feel is the proper perspective: “there is nothing abnormal or surprising about a stigmatized culture embracing their stigma”. It is all in an effort to find the positive in the negative. That describes me accurately for sure: definitely always trying to find the positive in all situations.

A name is a sort of frame for a picture. For me Thorn, my artist moniker, (which actually is part of my name) is the perfect frame for the picture that is my artwork and advocacy work. Here’s at least part of the story.

Virus No. 1: The Conversation We Need To Have

More Than Six Feet Apart.

This is the first art related essay I’ve written since the complete reopening of Florida. Kinda sorta post pandemic, but not really post anything because at this moment I know someone who is in a hospital ICU struggling with Covid. Not so post pandemic after all. I’ve not felt as troubled about Covid-19 and the variants (though this is horrifically troubling) as I have been about who we’ve become as disgruntled, reluctant, and resistant hermits. During the height of the pandemic, between baking bread, sidewalk chalk drawings, and at home workouts we’ve had too much time to find new things to separate us. We’ve been creative in creating new hurdles for each of us to jump over to prove we are (and I cringe inwardly and outwardly as I write this) ‘woke’. I really hate that word now. Unfortunately for all our newfound ‘understanding’ and additional ‘respect’ of each other, we all seem to talk and truly connect less. I guess it’s because we all know each other so well? Probably not though.

The fear that I have now is of a world where learning how to use chopsticks, lighting incense, doing yoga, and learning how to wrap your head might be characterized at misappropriation where at one point it was seen as making an attempt to understand and experience another culture. I digress though. We need a drum circle and an exorcism to get through a full conversation on race and culture.

The Hardest Art Description I’ve Ever Had to Write…

This is by far one of the hardest work reflection/summaries I’ve ever had to write.

To say that racism is difficult to discuss is an understatement. I personally believe it is even more difficult to discuss among various minorities that may encounter racism. Unfortunately one aspect of racism that isn’t often discussed is the racism that some minorities inflict upon other minorities. I can only speak about my personal experiences but I can also say that most of these issues are universal.

When we address racism and other discrimination we often do it in pieces. We have to remember that those of European heritage/white people aren’t the only individuals that commit acts of harmful racism; even though those acts of racism have had long lasting effects and are pervasive, they aren’t unique in their nature.

We all believe harmful, racist, discriminatory untruths about each other. We have all ingested and digested this racism. But do we perpetuate the stereotypes, the hurt, and strain? Or do we, community to community, work together to find solutions and common ground?

A Different Kind of Tower of Babel.

My concern about how we interact as humans at the moment leaves us in either an echo chamber or an individual silo. Addressing these individual untruths as unique, independent, and seemingly separate issues (Asian and Jewish hate crimes, African Americans experiences with police brutality and the justice system, church and mosque shootings for example) will end up leaving us where we all started: segregated. We must address racism as the cancer it is: You don’t remove it one piece at a time, you cut it all out. If we don’t focus on what unifies all of these challenging issues none of us will truly be communicating. Finding solutions that could positively affect us all will become an impossibility.

The pandemic year has among its highlights some of the most horrible acts of racism.These acts among other things are what inspired Virus No. 1: The Conversation We Need To Have. This piece - a 3-dimensional wooden unicorn puzzle- addresses particularly painful racist encounters that I hadn’t discussed with many people concerning my time in San Francisco. Recently, I ended up in a conversation with two other women, also of minority backgrounds: Filipino-American (Lissette), Mexican-American (Eve) where I discussed these experiences. Until my conversation with these two women I didn’t realize how traumatic this time in my life had been.

Trauma From An Unexpected Place.

A number of years ago, pre-pandemic in San Francisco I spent most of my time looking for affordable housing (otherwise known as homeless) I went to many properties shown to me by people of many different backgrounds. I noticed that each time I was shown a property by someone of Chinese descent there was an attempt to convince me I either didn’t want the space or I was told that it had already been rented right after I was shown the apartment. Another experience involved my mother and I walking through Chinatown. My Mom was hot and a little dehydrated. We stopped in a restaurant to get her some water. We were ignored. We went into another place and no one would serve us. After we found my Mom water and shelter from the heat, I was troubled by a huge ‘what if’. What if my Mom had passed out? Who would’ve helped us in Chinatown, if anyone? Eve talked about how as a very light complexioned Mexican American she was often mistaken for white. Two things often happened to her, she said: white people spoke with her in a disparaging way about other minorities and she was often told by other Mexicans she wasn’t ‘Mexican (or dark) enough’. Lissette spoke to us about her strained relationship with her parents because of derogatory views they’d expressed about other people of color.

As humans we have such a long way to go in an effort to evolve to become better humans. The key is to at least begin the journey down that long road by talking to one another and having tough conversations. Racism to me is the first and most pervasive human virus and no one really seems to be working on a vaccine.

Just A Little Nature.

Storyteller Story #3: Wind & Leaves

“I like long walks on the beach, horseback riding, and deep conversation…” No. Scratch that. “Stimulating conversation.” Crap. I hate writing these stupid things. You can’t sound too smart you’ll scare someone off. You can sound like an idiot and you might get a date. Then they are disappointed when they find out you are smart. If you are physically attractive and smart, well…then their head might just explode. Ok. Let’s try this: “Multi-faceted individual. Looking for someone to grow with…” That sounds like a resume. Ok. “Must love nature. Must love hiking or at least walking. I love seeing the emerald green of my surroundings and feeling a cool breeze on my skin after working up a good sweat…” Hmmm. No. Too cheesy. Well…wait. I don’t want to sound all ‘hippy dippy’ but that’s kind of who I am. Right? I’ll leave it. Oh, who am I kidding? “I love horseback riding and long walks on the beach. Looking for someone to be my ‘plus one’…”

Storyteller Story #2: I Never Want Summer to End

“You are like my soul, a butterfly of a dream…It sounds as though you were lamenting, a butterfly cooing like a dove. Her eyes were the color of faraway love. Sus labius se cortaron en la luz del coral…”

We read Pablo together everyday. On the beach, in the sun, in the shade. He read it to me in Spanish (Spanish is so romantic!). I would get something like little butterflies fluttering or giant fish flip flopping in my stomach whenever he talked. Off in the distance I could see Mrs. Talbot with her 3 crazy kids. They only really listened to me. Mrs. Talbot said I was the best babysitter they’d ever had. No more babysitting for me! And now there is only Pablo and Emmet. I asked My mom if she’d ever heard of Pablo Neruda. She said no. I told her how romantic it was. She didn’t think I saw, but I saw her roll her eyes. It’s not my fault she’s all dried up inside. Emmet says it’s not our parent’s fault they can’t remember love. That we have to help them to remember what it is like to be young. I decided I agree with Emmet: getting old is kind of like a disease and we have to help the people that are sick. I told my mom one of my favorite lines from Pablo: “Love is so short, forgetting is so long.” She just looked at me. I don’t think she gets it.