We Who Seek Refuge

A statement for this body of work that cradles our refugees in their plight:

In an effort to examine the refugee and immigrant experience, then and now, these works render the stories whose threads bind our witnessing of war, our will to survive the wounds they’ve planted, and our waking from the wreckage that calls forth inevitable growth.

These pieces weave we the people—the living history—into the forgone histories whose effects remain deeply rooted in humanity still. They tell of the inpouring of those fleeing oppression and the indwelling of an inherent resilience that stirs wildly within us, even when trudging in the darkness of wars, personal and political. These are the stories of us—the ones that have been seeded in hardship and healing, in persecution and perseverance, in displacement, despair and determination—these that inspire compassion and custodial responsibility.

These works acknowledge the wars that have always been. They water that which has seeped itself deep into the soil upon which we now stand, and harvest the pulp before folding it into the fissures of the fractured, with the hope of cultivating new courage.

Remembering our predecessors, those who have fought alongside us, and the ones in mid-flight, this collection honors our existence as an enduring people.

Flesh of My Flesh, 2020, Belle’s acrylic, charcoal, dirt collected from the garlic fields in which my husband Hiền and his family labored with other immigrant families when first arriving in America to be compensated one dollar per bucket harvested, holy water, ink, Pacific Ocean water collected from the harbor of San Pedro, where Hiền served time in the immigration detention center, and tears shed for him as I considered the hardships that he has endured on paper; arrows crafted with indigenous methods using found branches, found feathers, found string, and wax. Drawing 42 x 94 ½”, installation dimensions variable.

Many of the Psalms were written during times of war, lamenting suffering, rebuking those responsible for the suffering, protesting innocence, petitioning for divine assistance, anticipating collective response, and with sincere thanksgiving even through the turmoil.

This portrait of my belovèd Vietnamese Cambodian American husband was inspired by Psalm 91, a prayer of protection for the faithful, the hopeful, and the suffering.

During the immigration crisis that has pervaded neighboring countries and our very own, ICE raids suffered by the households of refugee and immigrant families often take place during the still of the night when our families are most vulnerable. Injustice knows no time. These attacks occur night and day.

Psalm 91:5 and 91:7 reads:
Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day;
A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee.

While meditating on these verses, the prayer moves from faith into promise.

Perhaps the thousand and ten thousand are our fallen neighbors, or the arrows that have just missed their marks, preserving the lives of we who are the privileged—the ones who know freedom. As tens of thousands of Vietnamese American refugees have been detained since our arrival on American shores, many have been unlawfully deported back to a country whose communist regime regards them as defectors, agitators, traitors, enemies. They now face the very persecution from which they had fled during the war in Việt Nam in the 1970s.

Some of the arrows are made with the feathers of the California great horned owl, a bird that is documented as a permanent resident of its territory. We can only hope for this same status. While the arrows aim to pierce flesh, my husband stands confidently even on unstable ground amid the battle. This portrait serves as a visual prayer of protection for we who are teetering on the trembling foundation of justice, that we might stand firm in the active faith that will provide us with sure footing. Guarding him: an American goldfinch, a resident of the United States; a silver-breasted broadbill, native to Cambodia; and a Vietnamese greenfinch, only found in Việt Nam. One protects his mind from fear while blessing with strategic, righteous, and compassionate thinking, another perches upon his shoulder, whispering wisdom into his ear, while the third protects his arms, reminding him to move in gentleness, even while displaying strength.

*More insight into the development of this piece can be found during my discussions with SJMA and PlacemakingUS.

Black Đeath, May 2020, holy water, tears shed for George Floyd and the Black community, and ink (my fingerprints) on paper, 19 x 24”

This piece documents the devastating month that was May 2020. In the United States, COVID-19 deaths reach 100,000 people, and the toll continues climbing.
We lose George Floyd to murderous officers who betray their oath to protect and to serve.

Black Đeath acknowledges the wrongful deaths of our Black neighbors among the multitudes. The title also refers to the Black Death, also known as the Great Mortality, which was the most fatal pandemic recorded in human history, killing more than 20 million people in Europe and Asia in the mid 1300s.

This piece comprises 10,000 fingerprints that symbolize our individual and collective identities. Each single fingerprint represents 100 people who have died from COVID-19 infections by May 2020. Meanwhile, tens of thousands of refugees and immigrants have been deported under unlawful pretenses. In this way, the fingerprints also reference one of the first phases of initiation into the criminal justice system that continues to ensnare our People.

There is a variation of movement that occurs here. From one perspective, a dense population of marks disseminates outward, depicting the way that the current pandemic has dispersed us, forcing a pause to the communal gatherings that bring comfort during devastating times. It also speaks on the dissension cause by today’s polarized political landscape. From another perspective, the independent marks migrate toward each other, collecting in the center, a movement that is generated as we witness the horrifying injustices in our world, and recognize our need to stand in solidarity.