Nómos No Más (No More Law) | Nước Mắt (Tears)

Nómos No Más (No More Law), 2024. Belle’s acrylics, gouache, and graphite on paper, 24 x 36”

For over a decade, I have been quietly examining words of diverse origins that are phonetically and visually akin. They scatter about a myriad of sketchbooks, knitting together stories within our human experience.

The Greek word vόμος (nómos) translates to law. In Spanish, no más translates to no more.

Although most perceive law to be fixed, law is fluid and the execution of law is dependent upon the ways in which it is interpreted, and by whom it is interpreted. For this reason, we find that some humanitarian laws are ignored, although put in place to protect many who have contributed to the American landscape.

No mass refers to the prevention of peoples crossing borderlands. I consider the freedoms that I have been granted in a country that opened its doors to Vietnamese and Cambodian refugees who escaped war and oppression during the 1970s and early 1980s. Not all of us have been granted the same privileges to new life in new lands. 

No moss describes the challenge that comes with resettlement—learning a new language, adopting new customs while clinging onto tradition, adapting to new ways of life. Immigrants can sometimes find themselves living nomadically, while seeking opportunity and haven where they can raise their children and build a life for themselves. Referencing the idea that the rolling stone gathers no moss, these ones who are in constant search for home can find it difficult to root.

No mosque references the religious persecution that forces the faithful to flee their homelands. In 1954, my great grandparents and their twelve children fled North Việt Nam into South Việt Nam due to religious persecution. I consider deeply the great privilege of speaking and worshipping freely. No mosque also speaks on Executive Order 13769, a ban that was placed in 2017, banning people from six Muslim-majority countries from entering the United States, and thus further closing the door on refugees.

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Nước Mắt (Tears), 2024. Belle’s acrylics, gouache, and graphite on paper, 24 x 36” each panel, diptych

Nước mát, nước mắt, mất nước, mất mát,mất mắt (Cool waters, tears, loss of country, loss of everything, loss of sight)

This second panel continues pulling at our arduous trudge toward freedom. The Vietnamese text further entwines Vietnamese American history with an unceasing humanitarian crisis.

Nước mát translates to cool waters, these that carried families across oceans to arrive on shores that offered sanctuary.

Nước mắt translates to the tears that stream insistently over the loss of country (mất nước) and the loss of everything (mất mát). This grief transcends time and place onto succeeding generations.  

Mất mắt describes a loss of sight. One of the chief aims of tyrannical regimes is to stir chaos in their attempt to distract us from the things that truly matter. Their ambition is to divide and conquer. With this in mind, we stand against these divisive strategies. Many have found courage and solace in shifting their ways of thinking and being. With a love for the people, perhaps we make a more concerted effort to interact with more grace, forgiveness, and a true heart for understanding, even in the face of disagreement.  

As we witness the world in its disorder, corruption, and conflict, we recognize that these world systems are governed by the ones whose hearts are postured toward power and profit. In our critical attempt to prevent this anguish from taking on a shape of hopelessness, we look to things transcendent to offer us hope and stability and stillness in our walk.  

The Australian magpie and Eurasian bluetit lie in the battlefield, weary of the devastation that they have witnessed all over the world. Although exhausted, there is life in them still. They rest for a time before continuing their flight toward a true justice. Having done all that they are capable of doing, they lay the rest at the feet of God, in faith that a true justice will come to rise.