Here, boy!

For Hyperplum's Spring term show in the LaVerne Krause Gallery. Swerve, curated by Lucy Miller, meant to help the artists diverge from their natural path. This piece, Here, boy! sought to create narrative and dialogue about identity in a situation which lacked a narrative subject. 

Here, boy! recalls the childish gimmick of the invisible dog toy, where one could feign ownership of a non-existent canine friend. This piece draws on themes of spectacle, ownership, the forced performance of people of color in public spaces. It objectifies and defines the non-existent dog through its drab surroundings in the kennel, and yet still manages to preserve its dignity through its unique and exotic name and collar. It implies a dark and forced subordination, yet maintains a playful and comical air. 

Please Welcome... All-American

My piece for Hyperplum's first show THIS IS US.

People of color always exist in a performative space, either being forced to assume specific mannerisms or change our appearances to reinforce, circumvent, or completely break through stereotypes and expectations surrounding our race. However, in spaces designated for performance, the performer is always under the scrutiny of the audience, making the job of the musician/artist/poet two-fold. They must not only 1) curate their body of work to be relatable content, but must also 2) curate their own image to make that content relatable and easily accessible to the audience. For musicians of color in the indie/rock music scene, (a genre dominated traditionally by white people), navigating these requirements can mean attempting to completely strip certain aspects of POC identity from their work.   


For POC, fitting into white spaces on a day-to-day basis is difficult enough. Our inability to control our perceived image in totality often means auditing our behavior to fit in. The pageantry and exploitation of POC in performance spaces is nothing new, and similarly, the entertainment value of musically-inclined animals has been exploited in culture since the day we taught a monkey to clap a cymbal.