Items

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  2021-05-18

  BLM movement during COVID

  The horrific and inhumane death of George Floyd was the absolute last straw for many people. His death caused such an uprising that no one was prepared for. Floyd’s death caused thousands of people across the country to protest and literally fight for their lives. Citizens began a peaceful protest which turned into violent protests which resulted in the burning and looting of the city of Minneapolis. This protest turned violent because even after the negative image the police had in the country’s eyes, they still proceeded to injure Americans, using rubber bullets and tear gas during these protests. I chose this picture because it is very impactful to me as a Black man in America it is terrifying and sad. The way police treat Black men such as myself is beyond scary and traumatizing. There are no words to describe how it feels to walk around as a man with brown skin. In the photo I selected, there are two police officers beating on a Black man while he is down on the ground. It baffles my mind how even after an individual is down, disarmed, and disables, police officers will continue to apply unnecessary force to the individual. The death of George Floyd and the events that took place after is a monumental event in history. People need to know how America, came together despite race and differences and protested to enforce the Black Lives Matter Movement. So many different groups of people put their differences aside and came together to protest the safety of Black people. It is important that police violence is captured not only for the justice of the individual who was hurt, but as a part of history. The police brutality and Black Lives Matter movement is very important part of history. This is a movement that brought together many individuals of different race, class, and beliefs to support the end the abuse of Black citizens of America. I chose this picture which occurred in Buffalo NY, officer decided to beat down a 75 year old man who was peacefully protesting. The idea of police who are supposed to serve and protect are beating an elderly man, imagine what they would do to a young man as myself. I’m glad these cruel acts of violence are now being captured and people are receiving the justice they deserve. It is also important for people to see these events as a part of history.
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  2020-02-09

  Covid

  My first mask was given to me by my dad.
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  2020-08-03

  The Pandemic that Changed It All

  I think we all should take this as an experience to be prepare for the next major event.
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  2020-03-29

  Paranoia to Peace

  I struggled with anxiety around the time the news said there was a pandemic going on, and I healed as time went on and the world around me played a part in that.
• 
  2020-11-15

  New York, Bilbao, New York

  In November 2020 I began reading Kirmen Uribe's novel Bilbao New York Bilbao while in Bilbao, Spain with my partner. We were there to care for his father who is suffering through the late stages of dementia and to spend time with his family who he had not seen in a year. Uribe's novel is important to my plague year for many reasons. He talks about the split mind being from Bilbao yet living in New York. My partner is from Bilbao, and the novel helps me understand his mindset. But Uribe also talks about the ways humans remember and carry pain and mark loss. Unlike trees who carry their growth in their rings or fish who mark time through their scales, humans mark time and pain through simply marking time. He notes that fish grow their entire lives, but humans start dying and shrinking from the moment we hit maturity. Growth, it seems is only for the fishes. My plague year was marked by my entire partner's family getting the virus, a story of gradual family loss, one of borders, and of course a presidential election. The pandemic closed not only schools and bars but also borders and our chances to move between Spain and the U.S. in any straightforward way. When we began planning the trip in the summer of 2020, we came up against all of the travel bans in place. My Spanish partner could get to Spain, but I could not. So, the research began, and I spent more time on Facebook groups than any person should be allowed to. We knew we weren't going to Spain just to have fun. We needed to take care of his father, but it felt like we were doing something wrong. Love, it turns out, knows no national borders, but border agencies certainly do. To get to Spain, he just hopped a plane to Madrid. I had to go through Lisbon, London, and Paris before arriving there. On the way back, I hopped on a plane flying directly to New York. He had to quarantine in Mexico for two weeks. Our stay there was marked by his father's continued decline but also moments of joy. The picture here captures one of those. As a U.S. citizen, his Spanish family and friends are always asking me about U.S. culture and practices. One of my tasks in Spain was to cook a big American Thanksgiving dinner, which I did with gusto. I made all the things: turkey, sweet potatoes, green bean casserole, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, and pecan pie. I tried to explain the significance of each dish while realizing how insignificant and somewhat gross Thanksgiving foods are. But we had fun and spent the night after the meal singing "American" songs and discussing art--his cousins are all artists. That night, one of his friends recommended I read Uribe's novel. So, I ordered it that night. It is a lonely book of loss and thinking about how art marks that loss. I think that is how we marked our time in Spain contemplating everything we had lost in 2020 and everything we were gradually losing. We spent time at the Guggenheim and Fine Arts museums in Bilbao. In fact, we waited for my partner's COVID test while browsing the Fine Arts Museum. It turned out positive, and we separated at the point for two weeks. But the picture here represents a moment of joy as we said goodnight to my partner's cousins after the Thanksgiving weekend. I hope for all the clichés of going back to normalcy. And we probably will get back to the "before times" given humans' inability to learn from any of their experiences. But I am one of those humans and just want to sit at a bar and talk to strangers again. When that normalcy returns, I will look back at this picture and remember Uribe's words: "As with the growth rings of fishes, terrible events stay on in our memory, mark our life, until they become a measure of time. Happy days go fast, on the other hand--too fast--and we forget them quickly." Maybe Uribe is wrong, though. I will not be forgetting this day anytime soon.
• 
  2020-05-09

  Self-portrait with mask, May 2020

  During the pandemic, I often walk in Brooklyn's historic Green-Wood Cemetery with its rolling hills, lovely views, and fantastic old monuments; it's also where my grandparents are buried. I've always loved the beautiful, timeless melancholy of the place, but during the pandemic, it was also a strange comfort to read the headstones and think of the people buried all around me. Life, sickness, crisis, death are all just part of being human. These dead humans also lived, suffered, died, and now it's just another version of the same thing. The self-portrait included here is based on a photo I took of myself in Green-Wood as I wandered there one day in April 2020, looking to get away from lockdown and to find company among the graves.