tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54787910578715461302024-03-19T03:55:12.515-04:00Ju-Pong Lin (inter) disciplinarianartist- teacher-mom-writer-tree hugger-mom-crocheter-sporadic blogger. Ju-Ponghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17785684200083538990noreply@blogger.comBlogger20125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5478791057871546130.post-11495527975514411262014-01-12T14:46:00.001-05:002014-01-12T14:46:24.505-05:00New website at jupong-lin.squarespace.comI've moved my website to https://jupong-lin.squarespace.com and will be archiving this one. Please visit me at my new home.Ju-Ponghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17785684200083538990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5478791057871546130.post-15474676284515303742013-01-15T11:30:00.002-05:002013-01-15T11:52:53.043-05:00If Neighbors Were "Other Mothers"<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My mother sits across my kitchen table, answering my questions, at first perfunctorily, then gradually giving in to reminiscences. I ask her, “How do you say "neighbor" in Taiwanese?” <i>Tsu bihn</i>, which translates as "next-to-house." </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“And what kind of neighborhood did you grow up in? Do you remember any special places from your childhood neighborhood?” No special places. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What I want to ask her, but can’t bring myself to say is, <i>how did you become a mother? </i>I can’t ask because I don’t expect that she will hear the question I’m asking. She will say, “the matchmaker--she put me with your father...” I am curious as ever about that story, but even more curious about how we, my mother and I, who grew up with career-minded mothers, ourselves became mothers. We two have so little in common, but this lack of “maternal instinct” we share. Neither of us, as young women, felt any urge to have children; both of us ranked motherhood low on the scale of life aspirations. Yet life circumstances put us both on a path of becoming mothers, and this became a point of connection for us. It helped us heal from past misunderstandings and hostilities. <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The question I want to ask is more along the lines of the one Sarah Blaffer Hrdy asks in the preface of <i>Mother Nature: Maternal Instincts and How They Shape the Human Species </i>(1999<i>.</i>)<i> </i></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hrdy’s question makes me chuckle. Two years ago, though, as I struggled to keep my marriage intact, I would have been too deeply mired in the pain of “conflicting aspirations” to see the humor. Conflicting aspirations and conflicting expectations of my role as mother would be the main reasons I attribute to the demise of my marriage-- not among the most commonly cited reasons for divorce.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So here we sit at the kitchen table, as we did soon after my first son was born and my mother came to care for me and to feed me chinese herbs. I discovered years ago that the interview as a form of communication opened up a kind of conversation with my mother that we never could access in any other form of talk. In this role I am forced to listen without reacting, defending, justifying; and her tendency to ramble onto seemingly off-topic tangents gets focused by my questions. For most of <i>my</i> adult life I have been asking questions about place. Closely following the question, <i>who am I? </i>are questions like, “who am I in relation to this place? Am I insider or outsider?” Localism, sense of place, place-based education, placemaking, the link between neighborhood and community--all of these hold interest for me. Close behind these questions lurk those vexing questions about motherhood.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"No such thing as neighborhood," she says. Her father was a policeman, I knew. She now tells me he worked for the Japanese military. She grew up in the Japanese compound, the only Taiwanese family inside the walled "community" of the invading nation’s military station. She ventured outside those walls only to go to school, facing the hostility of other Taiwanese children who saw her family as friends of the enemy. Inside those walls, she was an outsider, too--one of the colonized who had sold out to help “keep the peace.” As the layers of thick skins that have protected her story begin to peel away, I see another parallel. My mother must have felt the same isolation I felt as a child. She, too, must have felt isolated growing up within a community of people who didn’t speak our language. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>My mother describes her walk home from school. Her most vivid memory is the smell of a kind of peanut soup flavored with lily buds, simmered over small, roadside fires from which the aroma wafted through the air for miles. "These lilies grow wild by the roadside, you know. So you can find lots. You can take whole bunch and dry them, then tie each bud in a knot, like I show you, you know? And then put with peanuts. Ooooh, smells soooo delicious.” Her voice rises musically as she draws out the word “so.” My mouth waters, remembering the same, tangy lily buds she puts in one of my favourite soups. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My mother continues. "I would slow my steps and stand nearby their fires, and just stare, my mouth like this (hanging open). I hope and hope they would invite me to have some. Oh, I dreamed about having this soup all my childhood. But they never invited me. And my own mother would never make this thing for me, because she say, that just for low class people, poor food, peasant food only the poor farmers would eat." </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The key ingredient of this soup is the tangy, Asiatic Lily, <i>Lilium asiatica</i>. Its root strucutrue is rhizomatic--an apt metaphor for migratory people like us who have creeped across continents, setting down roots in new terrain, but always connected in some way to the rootstalk.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My father sits listening silently as her reverie unfolds. His own story could make him a poster child of the “American Dream.” Rising from his roots as a poor farmer’s son through a 30-year career as a senior chemist at an oil company, he provided his family the middle-class life idealized by the villagers back home. My mother has always complained about how impractical he was, how distracted by daydreams. In this moment, though, he catches <i>her </i>dreaming. “The smell of soup made you think it was so delicious, but it was really just simple food. Better in your dreams.” </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My own entry into motherhood was pretty rocky. At a crossroads between heading off to New York City onto an imagined filmmaking career or setting down roots in the small midwestern town where I discovered my feminist-anti-racist-artist self, I stumbled into pregnancy. No, motherhood was not a considered, intentional or pre-meditated choice.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The day that I realized I was pregnant, time slowed to a crawl; I sobbed for two hours before I accepted this new identity. Though I was 30, I wasn't ready to be a mother--what person is ever ready, really? But <i>me</i>? I was not supposed to be a mother. I was supposed to have a career, write books, make films. My mother raised me to pursue a career, pestered me to become a scientist, or better yet a doctor. Most of my young adulthood was spent rejecting the career paths that would have made my mother happy. I wanted to be a writer, like Virginia Woolf, whose books I would sneak into bed and read until the sky began to lighten.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My mother’s mother was widowed at a fairly young age and, against all odds for a woman of her time period in her culture, became a business-owner. My mother was raised with a non-traditional model of mothering. I, in turn, was raised by a mother with deep ambivalence towards the duties of mothering. Mom made no bones about it; she never wanted to be a mother. She wanted a career and aspired to self sufficiency. I believe she experienced the birth of her children as a massively inconvenient interruption to her aspirations. My mother fully admitted her deep distaste for housework; she needn’t have put it into words. Her distaste for it showed up all over the house. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Soon after I was born, my grandmother hired a nanny for my mother to help care for me while she taught school fulltime. Thinking back on my childhood in Taiwan, I remember feeling that my well-being was in the care of many elders. In the Taiwanese language, every relation has a unique title that describes their familial relationship; something like, “Third-Aunt-On-Father’s Side.” I’ve been told that I could rattle off all two dozen of my relations’ titles.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then we emigrated, first to Canada and then the United States, where my father was hired as an organic chemist by Standard Oil. Within a few years of my childhood, I went from spending summers on my grandparents farm in rural Taiwan, surrounded by aunts and uncles and cousins, pigs and chickens, to living in a suburb of Chicago in which we were one of just three Taiwanese families, and the cookie cutter houses sat in the middle of perfectly manicured lawns. Every house had its own driveway, garage, lawnmower, etc. For many years of my childhood, we didn't venture far beyond the borders of the "neighborhood." The yard became how I knew “nature”--the yard that my father was fortunately too busy to mow every week. The tall grass made a perfect playground for our games of <i>Little House on the Prairie</i>. In these games, I played the dad--or sometimes the horse. I would drag the red wagon behind me with my sisters sitting one behind the other, legs hanging over the edge. The willow tree was our home base. Dreaming up a shelter under the willow branches was my first and only expression of homemaking.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well into middle-age, I feel like I am still dragging the wagon around, my sisters replaced by my two boys; I’m still looking for a place that feels like home. I have moved my children from house to house and across the country to put them closer to their father’s family. I’ve relocated in one neighborhood after another, seeking the illusive community of people that will help me raise my children. I love being a mother; I really cherish all the challenging experiences, the tender moments. At the same time, I have countless times railed at the sidewalk, on my way home from taking one of my sons to school, at the impossibility of mothering <i>and </i>sustaining a career<i>.</i> Mothering in this fragmented, nuclear culture feels impossible sometimes. Something about the way our communities are set up and the expectations/stereotypes of self-sacrifice add up to make mothering an impossible challenge. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Soon after the birth of my first son, I read <i>Of Woman </i>Born<i>, </i>by Adrienne Rich and found solace in her courage to express her feelings of resentment about the societal expectation that mothers should sacrifice their own needs to the needs of their infants. <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Decades later, I now look to Sarah Hrdy with appreciation for her willingness to put similar feelings of resentment and ambivalence about mothering under scrutiny, and to allow her experiences to inform her study of the evolutionary origins of “other-regarding” behavior. In her theory of allomothering, or the care of infants by non-maternal family members, I see a link between my interest in neighborhood organizing and a desire to reexamine the social construction of mothering. Could the concept of allomothering inform design principles for transforming neighborhoods into resilient communities of mutual aid? What if children could count on others <i>and </i>mothers, and mothers could count on neighbors to help raise the children? These kinds of questions act like a salve on my broken heart; they give shape to a vision of community and place in which I can imagine my children and my children’s children will thrive. </span></span></div>
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Ju-Ponghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17785684200083538990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5478791057871546130.post-74423876269018290262012-10-08T15:44:00.000-04:002012-11-06T09:46:47.842-05:00Power in the Edges: Goddard College MFAIA CommencementI gave this speech for our last graduation in Port Townsend, September 2012.<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This is the moment. This is the last time I get to have an opportunity to speak with you as an MFAIA advisee. So I’ve chosen to do so in the form of a letter. You know, of course, that at Goddard, the letter is a response to your work, your growth, and an invitation to dialogue. That means I expect to hear back from ya’ll even after you’ve walked up this aisle and out the door.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I often start my letters with a glimpse of where I sit, or stand. From where I’m standing today, the sun is shining (who saw the sunrise this morning?); it feels like a beautiful time to be alive. It feels like an excellent time to be conferred with an MFA. Now some of you might be thinking, what could she talking about? We have seen global crises on an unprecedented scale over the past year, as well as economic crisis, massive loss of lives, political turmoil, and spiritual bankruptcy in our leadership. But we’ve also seen responsive collective action like we’ve never seen before. Let’s listen to the poetics of words used to describe the collective actions of the past year—swarms of Occupy protesters, waves of demonstrations, Arab Spring…these words energize optimism about change. And while Occupy Wall Street, the Arab Spring and the Tar Sands Action made history, it’s the reverberations at the fringes of society that are carrying the change forward. I want to congratulate you graduates with the optimism of these movements, and with a reminder that opportunities for beautiful action abound--at the margins, the edges, the fringes, of our communities. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Last week at a screening of <i>!Women, Art, Revolution </i>in my town, we brought up the subject of movement-building. Occupy was a beautiful moment, we said, but what has happened to the movement? One panelist remarked how quickly it disappeared or got absorbed. Where is the movement now, she asked? One young woman in the front row spoke up. This is what we learned from Occupy. We saw how the media spun the story; we saw how the protest encampments got swept away, and then how the movement got co-opted. It’s not that we don’t care; we just don’t believe that protest works.” </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I could see the faces of the older ones in the crowd grow slack with dismay. I could feel my own face grow slack with dismay. And then the young woman next to her said, “you ask where the movement is. Well, I'm surrounded by crazy creative change makers! They're organizing re-skilling festivals and sharing gardening skills, printmaking techniques, and handcrafts. They're in the woods building tiny houses living off the grid! They’re making gorgeous political posters in community studios! They're building puppets and working in schools and dancing in hospitals! That's where the movement is. On the fringes.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I looked at her face and I said, you're right, Occupy may have been absorbed. Mass protests may be short lived. But those waves send out millions and millions of ripples. That's what long term social change looks like. Paul Hawken in <i>Blessed Unrest</i> showed us how hundreds of millions of change makers are remaking the world one city block at a time. The homeless are reclaiming foreclosed property one building at a time. The Transition Town movement is reinvigorating community rituals, changing the world one walkable neighborhood at a time. Terry Tempest Williams wrote in <i>Finding Beauty in a Broken World</i> about the brokenness of our community, the fragmentation brought on by domination of land and other species. Yet she also raises hope for the potential of beauty to construct a new landscape, a wholeness composed of mosaic. In mosaic, the play of light and line are the rules of the game. We need to stay at the edges. We need to see the landscape from a different, more expansive spatial and temporal scale. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">As many of you know, I've returned to graduate school again recently. And I just learned in my last reading, that the edges between ecosystems...ecotones, a place where ecosystems are in tension—is where shifts in domination happen. That's where it's at, folks. That’s where revolution is happening. At the edges. In a 1995 article, (read whole citation, Wu, J. and O.L. Loucks. 1995. From Balance of Nature to Hierarchical Patch Dynamics: A Paradigm Shift in Ecology. The Quarterly Review of Biology 70(4):439-466), Wu and Loucks challenge the idea of “the balance of nature.” This is one of those big ideas that has come to seem irrefutable. For decades, ecology has been based on this assumption that disturbance or disruption is anomaly in nature, and that undisturbed nature is in equilibrium, and stasis more common than change. But ecologists in the 90’s realized that this perception depends very much on the scale at which you’re examining a system. At the landscape level, ecological communities actually have far more <i>edges</i> than centers. The world is a mosaic of diverse patches rather than homogenous terrain. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">What can we learn from this as artists? I think we can learn that fear of change can blind us to paths of growth. As MFAIA graduate, Doug Miller, once wrote to me, “there’s power in the margins.” Most of you in your graduating presentations described feeling marginalized, pushed to the edge, weird, dislocated, incompatible with the mainstream, etc. Making art for many of us is a way to feel centered. You need that centering—a way home where you can reset. Refresh. But then you get up in the morning and walk out the door, or run out the door, and you find yourself at cliff's edge, or in that in-between space. What will you do? You could become a butterfly and ride the edge.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Let me tell a marginal story, a story about time. My father planted a grape vine on the edge of his parent's farm when he was a teenager. He tells me that when he left home for college, the vine was a scrawny thing just barely making grapes. When he returned from college, it had grown tall and full and produced a generous crop of grapes. The vine was still growing there when he returned home after teaching high school in Taipei. It was still growing there after he went to graduate school in Canada to start his career. It was still growing there when he brought my son, his grandson, to pay homage to the Lin temple. It was still growing there when we returned to bury my grandmother a few years ago. Grape vines can grow for 120 years. That sounds like a long time, longer than the average human lifespan. Yet on a geologic temporal scale, it’s about the length of a sneeze.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So Goddardesses, thank you for this weekend of creative interventions, for enlivening the margins. In geologic time, this weekend may have been just a blip. But in human time, you gifted us with stories and images and experiences that will last a lifetime. You are creating a text so thoroughly embellished, illuminated, and re-contextualized by marginalia that it becomes a new story, a new book altogether. We may find an Edie Wells bottlecap chair or a Pi Luna deck of healing art cards in the corner of a prison; or we may gaze upon an Elaine Spicer encaustic or Dawn Sagar landscape in a hospital hallway; a Sue McFadden scroll in a school lobby or Rhonda Janke soil stained fabric print in a market window; a Mindy Dillard one woman show or Porschia Baker spoken word invocation in a Denise Auld Pink Tent on the edge of a peninsula. And wherever we come across your work in the future, we will see new evidence that women’s work is revolutionary work. We will find ourselves in the dynamic borders between your personal stories, the story of our beloved arts community in Port Townsend, and the all-embracing story of Gaia, the greatest work of art.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I want to end on the words of one you. Last night when asked one of our favorite questions, who is your audience, Edie responded, "I'm less interested in showing my art than in using my art." Change is life. We each have to make our choices about how to navigate change-- resist it or move with the wave or transform. However you choose to move, remember the power at the margins; its all in the edges, the fringe, where the shifting of dominance occurs. May you use your art well, in your communities, neighborhoods, institutions, and ecotones... to make the small, but many, many, many stitches necessary to piece together wholeness in our world. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">In gratitude and sisterhood,</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Ju Pong</span></div>
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Ju-Ponghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17785684200083538990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5478791057871546130.post-57231496200229204302011-10-17T09:43:00.001-04:002011-10-17T09:43:55.884-04:00Love LettersI'll be showing the second of the Love Letters series, "Home Work," Tuesday, Oct 17, at The Hive membership launch at Roots Cafe in Providence. Here are the videos on vimeo:<br />
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<a href="http://vimeo.com/user4830895/albums">http://vimeo.com/user4830895/albums</a>Ju-Ponghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17785684200083538990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5478791057871546130.post-58208453903542174442011-10-05T13:23:00.000-04:002011-10-05T13:23:47.229-04:00Making, Meaning, and Context: A Radical Reconsideration of Art’s Work <span><a href="http://artswork.goddard.edu/" rel="home" title="Making, Meaning, and Context: A Radical Reconsideration of Art’s
Work">Making, Meaning, and Context: A Radical Reconsideration of Art’s Work</a></span><br />
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Our festival/forum at Goddard College in Plainfield, Vermont is coming up soon. I'll be showing the first two parts of <i>Love Letters</i> on Friday, October 14. The video for part one is in the previous post, and the next part will be posted here soon.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDx4IiSOZtQ2Bchryph7CexBB-tgXjpeDbaCiKx-RxGxy-3FbCMu18cT4A4EvUncSqzjBUmy7AaoDQt4ZG0C9mHELuTq-a2Z75lQFeuuC5TKJJzJDwIOnHe8j7KoYBqrzZcO5ZdCCclTC_/s1600/IMG_0948.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDx4IiSOZtQ2Bchryph7CexBB-tgXjpeDbaCiKx-RxGxy-3FbCMu18cT4A4EvUncSqzjBUmy7AaoDQt4ZG0C9mHELuTq-a2Z75lQFeuuC5TKJJzJDwIOnHe8j7KoYBqrzZcO5ZdCCclTC_/s320/IMG_0948.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Love Letters is a suite of performative video letters reflecting on the desire for home, the politics of homemaking and housecleaning, and the ecology of the home. The first letter, Dirt is Beautiful, examines cultural associations with dirt and the kinds of objects or conditions that arouse feelings of disgust. The second letter, called Home Work is a meditation on the gender politics of work, particularly the relationship between housework and work outside the home. Some of the questions posed include: Where do you work? How is your work at home different than work outside the home? Who works at home in your household? What is the work of your dreams? The artist invites participants to explore the potential for performative presence to imagine new ways of merging art and activism.Ju-Ponghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17785684200083538990noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5478791057871546130.post-32515854104354757582011-02-24T17:55:00.002-05:002011-04-28T11:05:56.195-04:00Dirt is Beautiful<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Love Letters is a suite of performative video letters addressed to people close to the artist, reflecting on the desire for home, the politics of homemaking and housecleaning, the ecology of the home and the practice of love. This first letter, Dirt is Beautiful, examines associations with dirt and the kinds of objects or conditions that arouse feelings of disgust. The video begins after the performer steps in front of the screen wearing a pink apron on which the word, "Neighbor," is embroidered. She then flips the apron to her back and gets down on hands and knees to crawl towards the audience, spitting and scrubbing the floor as she goes. She continues to spit and scrub throughout the video, making her way between the aisles.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The second letter, called Home-Work, will explore the relationship between home and work. The last letter reflects on the impact of the "American Dream" for the suburban home on the health of the community and of the planet. The performance creates a space for exploring the potential for performative presence to stimulate memory, dialogue, and transformative politics.</span></span><br />
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<a href="http://vimeo.com/21034575">Dirt is Beautiful</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/user4830895">Ju-Pong Lin</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.Ju-Ponghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17785684200083538990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5478791057871546130.post-76000059947510759872010-10-18T15:18:00.006-04:002011-02-24T17:49:24.920-05:00Im(Migration) SeattleThis is my newest video, made for "Passages" at Inscape Arts; incorporating footage from Laundry Stories and text from <i>Driven Out: The Forgotten War against Chinese Americans.</i><br />
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<iframe src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/20343817" width="400" height="300" frameborder="0"></iframe><p><a href="http://vimeo.com/20343817">Laundry Stories for Im(Migration)</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/user4830895">Ju-Pong Lin</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com">Vimeo</a>.</p><br />
Password is laundry2010<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil8JptFFtNPeUlH_aqivkFAuFQ2Oyghk4SskvwevhqMdf5f4qDmBr-PIkiFjNlQYHaqs2hOPhDHH730Ywrb9VabAMYp4V65XmYzhltlzPrpsVUXAWAMuxszOyAwrSzARtnMIAiIwcdRCAE/s1600/Inscape_postcard_back.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil8JptFFtNPeUlH_aqivkFAuFQ2Oyghk4SskvwevhqMdf5f4qDmBr-PIkiFjNlQYHaqs2hOPhDHH730Ywrb9VabAMYp4V65XmYzhltlzPrpsVUXAWAMuxszOyAwrSzARtnMIAiIwcdRCAE/s320/Inscape_postcard_back.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-po2umqcifz7QdmbNPuc4cfiJSp4zKMlcR3zYgcKnNypFxzS437q-NcjiDuluMec4DRiYzJtVL_YN8JIrh2NaGu1Y0HEPS-mYjnbduBaIMpYfcSeJVEf002qKtG42FXqfitRPr2xsdvM6/s1600/Inscape_postcard_front.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-po2umqcifz7QdmbNPuc4cfiJSp4zKMlcR3zYgcKnNypFxzS437q-NcjiDuluMec4DRiYzJtVL_YN8JIrh2NaGu1Y0HEPS-mYjnbduBaIMpYfcSeJVEf002qKtG42FXqfitRPr2xsdvM6/s320/Inscape_postcard_front.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>Ju-Ponghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17785684200083538990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5478791057871546130.post-37574596486538540942010-03-27T13:04:00.003-04:002010-03-27T15:20:42.357-04:00Neighbor and Home, panel presentation at Arts in the One World conference<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfAOKTjsQcdSyCw3NBa3uY4_jsUYa_TLkmc3S41OAp8JWBdHsjw2-K0dqPjO4ZvCFEjwt2uKZs1HnInlDMIvdwAH4OSgai6LQx5GAECQUSTNewJi4VijbJrCOfw4cdvuigOQI9cU8yKdLK/s1600/home+google+images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfAOKTjsQcdSyCw3NBa3uY4_jsUYa_TLkmc3S41OAp8JWBdHsjw2-K0dqPjO4ZvCFEjwt2uKZs1HnInlDMIvdwAH4OSgai6LQx5GAECQUSTNewJi4VijbJrCOfw4cdvuigOQI9cU8yKdLK/s320/home+google+images.jpg" /></a></div>Below is the text of a presentation I did for a panel entitled <i>Performing Providence.</i> I would like to develop it further as an essay and would be interested in your feedback.<br />
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Performing Providence - let’s begin with the title. I have to come out as a foreigner, an outsider. I’m not from Providence. I live in <i>North</i> Providence, just over the border of Providence. One of my neighbors is Rhode Island College, which is inside the Providence border. And the project I’m going to talk about is not just about Providence. It’s actually not about Providence much at all. <br />
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The title of the panel raised a question for me about what it is exactly that I’m performing? And by the way, I’m a reluctant performer at best. The conversations at this conference have helped me clarify what I think I’m performing about our yearning for home. First of all I need to distinguish between house and home and underscore that while house and home may overlap geographically, home is an idea that cannot fit under the roof of one “house”. My project grew out of my belief that neighborhood ought to be something closer to the idea of home. But in Providence as elsewhere in North America, what’s happening to our neighborhoods is another dimension of colonization. Neighborhoods have been confiscated by the real estate industry, and our desire for home has been commodified (see image above, google image search for "home").<br />
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Because I only have 10 minutes, I’m going to inelegantly make a crude connection between the global and the local. In this country, the privileged (house owners) enjoy comforts at the expense of others in the world. We live in a culture of empire. My project emerged out of my realization that I’m complicit. I own a house, and I was taken in by the housing industry’s seductive message that I could own a beautiful “home”. But what I own is a house in a neighborhood in which people keep to themselves, euphemism for isolationism. Like the neighborhood I grew up in, the walls of our houses keep us divided up into nuclear units; they protect “our privacy”, protect us from each other--what that means is that our houses keep us out of each other’s business, so fathers can abuse daughters (in private), miserable traumatized teenagers can abuse substances (in private), partners beat up the ones they love (in private). Meanwhile a tiny class of financiers have got about 68% of us chained to our mortgage debts, while home equity keeps dropping lower and lower. What that means is that more and more of us are paying less and less of the actual money we owe on our houses. So do we really own the houses? Or are we owned by mortgage debt?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKEHlATtXq6InWluwtPL-2OATADaNiSegDYe_rVAyuIR_SfkQyxuX9S7URWw81fBjxAS9JZ_she7-4yMA86QH7hy0Z1RMfsJ4r5LN9xBCgQx2whUDDgWiiTF5SYYtYeKjN-99btZRd5A6b/s1600/P1080711.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKEHlATtXq6InWluwtPL-2OATADaNiSegDYe_rVAyuIR_SfkQyxuX9S7URWw81fBjxAS9JZ_she7-4yMA86QH7hy0Z1RMfsJ4r5LN9xBCgQx2whUDDgWiiTF5SYYtYeKjN-99btZRd5A6b/s320/P1080711.JPG" /></a></div> Now, I’m talking with you at a conference at Brown University. I don’t talk like this when I’m “performing Providence.” I’m performing now to inspire moral outrage (an article in Truthout recently reported on studies that have compared strategies for provoking social change and found moral outrage to be more effective than compassion). I’m performing artist-scholar framing my work on local neighborhoods in a more global context. When I perform Providence, I put on pink knitted aprons and embroidered tunics and I ask innocently, “what’s your neighborhood like? How has your neighborhood changed?” A friend once told me I’m disarming. Yes, I like that to think about my performance as a form of “disarmament” by needle arts (crochet) and handicraft. (And here I want to make a side note about technology and the assumption that advanced technology is inherently good for the world. I think we need to question that assumption).<br />
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I came to Providence a foreigner, one who has lived a life of being seen as a foreigner, first a foreigner to Canada then to the U.S, then “going home” to Taiwan and being seen as a foreigner by my own family. I came to Providence with my two kids and my partner about 6 and a half years ago. We went from one neighborhood to another looking for home; we heard stories about how much Providence has changed, how it used to be the seat of the Mafia, how it’s been revitalized. a la Renaissance city.<br />
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We were having trouble meeting neighbors and really wanted to find playmates for Mica (there seemed to be lots of friends for Chi). So I just decided to start knocking on my neighbors doors. We didn’t find friends, but I did begin to hear stories and then started asking, why do neighborhoods feel so different than they did when I was a kid? Who are my neighbors anyway, and can’t we help each other out? Can’t we be more neighborly? Wasn’t there a time when neighborhoods were more like community?<br />
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So when I first began this project, I was just trying to be a good mom, find friends for my son, and hoping that I could make art, too. I told a story, in a theater, and the audience told stories. Where the highway is now, there used to be block parties right in front of grandma’s house. Where Rhode Island College now stands there used to be a pond on the banks of which neighbors could enjoy sunset walks. Where the neighborhood is primarily Hispanic and African American, there’s an abandoned synagogue the inside of which no one has seen for decades, and no one in the neighborhood knows why the Jewish folks no longer live there. Where you see new construction of condos, flocks of cape-wearing boys used to ride their bikes in the streets and jump off rooftops of garages. Where you now see beautifully restored “historic” homes my African American friend’s grandmother used to have a beauty parlor, and every evening you could smell greens cooking all up and down the street. Many stories of displacement and erasure of the past. <br />
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I listened to myself tell this last story, and felt in my body that it was not the body in which this story needed to inhabit. My friend who told me about his grandmother’s beauty parlor needs to tell this story. Since then I’ve become even more rigorous about reflecting on the ways stories change when we re-present them. Hearing myself tell the story, I recognized I was pretending, creating an illusion, a mimicry. (Homi Bhabha might say the effect of mimicry is to camouflage us, to absorb us into the background.) I don’t want to create camouflage. I want to create spaces in which we can learn to live with each other, through conflict, in conflict, to live with each other in neighborhoods that are also our communities. <br />
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So ... now I’ll tell one of my stories, the story of my current home. At the signing of the papers and the checks, the attorney told me that her title search revealed a restrictive covenant on the deed to my house. It said that no persons of Chinese descent may buy this house. That was visible evidence of the legacy of racism. I’ve gone down to the town hall of North Providence to try to find this covenant and document my search. The first time the clerk got nervous about the video camera and said I needed permission from the mayor to videotape in Town Hall. I left my flyers, wrote a letter, called the mayor, never heard anything. So the next time I went, I waited until she got the big book out and then asked if I could videotape the book. I haven’t found the actual clause yet, but you can be sure these restrictive covenants still exist. <br />
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Neighbor to Neighbor was invented to rescue my home from this legacy of racism. But I’ve found that my intentions have changed. As I’ve gotten to know the people who live in the houses near me, I have found that the neighborhood I live in is very diverse. The Mafia may have moved to North Providence, but they won’t talk to me. Many of my other neighbors will, though, and they’ve shown me that we can create a sense of community between our houses. I was just stopped on my way home from the bus by a new neighbor who said, “oh you look so much like my friend in Brazil!” She invited me to dinner and to play music with them. I’ve found that many of the houses in my neighborhood shelter elderly folks afraid they’re about to be shipped off to nursing homes by their children. I’ve gotten to know Claire Andrade Watkins who introduced me to the notion of “first voice” and who grew up in Fox Point where an entire, vibrant community of Cape Verdeans has been displaced by the highway. I’ve gotten to know neighborhood organizers like Jim Tull who introduced me to John McKnight, whose book, “A Careless Society” talks about how well-intentioned social services have contributed to the erosion of community networks. Nursing homes warehouse our elderly, schools warehouse our children. Neighbors no longer feel safe to ask each other for help.<br />
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My performance work has made it so clear what we do share, and what we can share. I’m beginning here on my dress to map my neighborhood. I believe very much in the power of maps, so I was delighted to see Nitin’s mapping with children their village that has not been officially mapped. My unofficial map will show my neighbors the skills and knowledge we have amongst us that we can share. One of us is a horseman and could help cultivate my younger son’s love of horses and animals. One of us is a beautiful gardner. One of us knows all things computer. Some of us love to listen to stories about the old days. <br />
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Sandeep said he thought the desire for home is the cause for much violence. I want to respectfully challenge that idea. I believe it’s the commodification of home that is the source of much violence. It’s a construction of home that serves the real estate industry, rather than those of us trying to make home in the world. It’s the making of home at the expense of others, the construction of homes that necessitates the erasure of an “other”. As a feminist mother of a teenager and a 10-year old who has tried to keep the making of home, making of income and making of art integrated, not compartmentalized, I believe that we can and must reclaim our domestic spaces. It has been said that “Home is where the heart is.” I believe making home is akin to making love. Home is a place of love, a sacred space. In Pedagogies of Crossing, Jacqui Alexander writes, “Home is multiply valenced, a space and place in which Time centers the movement of Sacred energies; a place where those who walk with you--Orisha, Lwa, Spirit--live and manifest (drop in) apparently impromptu, or when called to work...Home is a set of practices, as John Berger notes, and at the heart of those practices are those that mark its conversion into a spiritual workplace.” (p 328) <br />
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So I end on the challenge to us all to look with eyes and heart wide open at the politics of home. We must make home a safe space in which to prepare our children for conflict, to fight the battles that need to be fought, to arm ourselves with creativity, compassion and love. I believe in a politics of love. So what is it that I’m performing when I perform Providence? I hope that I practice and perform a politics of love.Ju-Ponghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17785684200083538990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5478791057871546130.post-81308572366132985722009-09-30T14:40:00.004-04:002009-10-01T08:50:30.139-04:00Office of Leaves: Mothers Transform Environments<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSpH92Ost3_dRDFa1NqwaMPH4Wd9uHLRLXj2nZFUnCrd0vLOLRCBAcKIDtmygtqjsg_fYxe-1BJvMvb3NosZwy8t0UxjzOO3i38nq5LSmkhYngUppRGkFGtK2sxEQN83AFrjBUkS7XNiRJ/s1600-h/Mothers+transform.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSpH92Ost3_dRDFa1NqwaMPH4Wd9uHLRLXj2nZFUnCrd0vLOLRCBAcKIDtmygtqjsg_fYxe-1BJvMvb3NosZwy8t0UxjzOO3i38nq5LSmkhYngUppRGkFGtK2sxEQN83AFrjBUkS7XNiRJ/s320/Mothers+transform.jpg" /></a><br />
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</div>Well, it's only been what--four months since I've posted anything on this blog?? My "real" website is still in process, as is the <i>Neighbor to Neighbor</i> project. As is life. I'm teaching a film class this fall, which I haven't done in years. As if that weren't enough of a juggle, I'm also embarking on another new project.<br />
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A few months ago I was reading Genvieve Vaughan, and net-surfing led me to the conference of the Association of Research on Mothering. I proposed an abstract for the embedded conference on gifting, kind of an embellishment of <i>Neighbor. </i><br />
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Here's the link to the googledoc: <a href="https://docs.google.com/fileview?id=0BxRo77QuHVMuNmI4ZmM4ZTUtOTYxMi00ZjIwLTk2M2UtNjkxYmRkMjE0ZTdl&hl=en">Free Lunch Abstract</a><br />
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They liked the abstract, but had no room in the embedded conference. So they invited me to propose something for the larger conference, "Mothering and the Environment: The Built, the Social and the Natural". So I came up with another idea. I'll use the same idea of the mobile office and set up a tent onto which the knitted leaves will be affixed or draped. Inside the tent, paper leaves with answers to the question will be stuffed in the side pockets and marking pages of books, i.e. available to be read and pondered. Crochet hooks, yarn, and blank leaves will also be available for visitors to add to the collection.<br />
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The conference is October 22, and I would love to have more leaves to display than my own. So please pass this around and contribute and ask your friends to contribute!<br />
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</div>Ju-Ponghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17785684200083538990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5478791057871546130.post-68764926744066948722009-06-01T14:39:00.018-04:002009-10-01T21:20:29.659-04:00Hera Gallery screening<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjejpEH6-WZtH3arlL_j78IG8fdDxgnL5pmqHD4kTLk-EWUjKBmp38HdwcB25lnzJ3McoU6oPr_0EqwNdogTSm38f6prDp0Su4ZSsqhKAJq2py3Uq9ooFxYTjSqQqCKzInvuq5F2g4_eoPP/s1600-h/Hera+Poster+for+email.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342431323826742594" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjejpEH6-WZtH3arlL_j78IG8fdDxgnL5pmqHD4kTLk-EWUjKBmp38HdwcB25lnzJ3McoU6oPr_0EqwNdogTSm38f6prDp0Su4ZSsqhKAJq2py3Uq9ooFxYTjSqQqCKzInvuq5F2g4_eoPP/s400/Hera+Poster+for+email.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; height: 400px; width: 257px;" /></a><br />
I just showed the first cut of Dear Neighbor at a screening sponsored by Hera Gallery. Thanks to Hera for putting on this event and supporting us video artists! It was a wonderful event, and many folks contributed their stories for the next version. I'll post an abbreviated version of the video below.<br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UD1IFVo5wZw">Neighbor to Neighbor short</a><br />
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If you're interested in watching the longer 25 minute rough cut, you can view the work in progress in three parts. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XzSDsyiEKfY">VIEW PART 1</a>, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8w9BO9FdU0U"> then PART 2 </a>and finally <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_BlQdfWLYlE">PART 3</a>Ju-Ponghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17785684200083538990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5478791057871546130.post-37701065638457113412009-03-06T16:47:00.000-05:002009-03-07T10:27:01.880-05:00Iraq Veterans Against the War<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgotYhlbdYjF2dunEfXHkf3OkRazS4WXKQxyaIakrvyb_t0xmGzOimY5Jffj1TUsbJCpuymTnnwXf_8eQWhAccyWY-j5ncGDAieyvE74BfV-yyfaAfcUknuLO5DhgchdmoL0iQN_OZ5m7Kp/s1600-h/IVAW+crochet.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgotYhlbdYjF2dunEfXHkf3OkRazS4WXKQxyaIakrvyb_t0xmGzOimY5Jffj1TUsbJCpuymTnnwXf_8eQWhAccyWY-j5ncGDAieyvE74BfV-yyfaAfcUknuLO5DhgchdmoL0iQN_OZ5m7Kp/s400/IVAW+crochet.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310200728986035106" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEuJTFoP3JfesIcPSTcCUCy6H1fbNOk2_1oRt3MllSRSWhd3BHSdhLx6fsDGN09PEJv_sZGrn6XTI44G6r9ZuisuScTadaeHXJoWXKVigi-mxrEcDVXhJ46h_LfNcwBT5pYaPrw5QUnYZ2/s1600-h/neighbor+peace.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEuJTFoP3JfesIcPSTcCUCy6H1fbNOk2_1oRt3MllSRSWhd3BHSdhLx6fsDGN09PEJv_sZGrn6XTI44G6r9ZuisuScTadaeHXJoWXKVigi-mxrEcDVXhJ46h_LfNcwBT5pYaPrw5QUnYZ2/s400/neighbor+peace.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310200719259775106" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.powerhousearena.com/"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbJydDutC-1pYd933G_4PunCMuFCbX26p-FgmTROgFyCEayLlgCFOFmUruI4jryD9xQUq9914NCi9SPrOuDpA_kn9ALS5ZLw3I1i6F_sLQYD5gp9AUBjmVxtWkHoAoLTZ9vMRt7dMQlLHp/s400/front_2191_email.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310199598301466578" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Click on image for link to Powerhouse Arena</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYz_NYAXodN8qJaFWGSgstsmoz0zVrPUtT6J5HIQ6KqjHD29_fywjiadZtPC5_6_qrpaJ50Rni5oSnRRZCcvc27oJVMpWgMIBUz_VYmJhIoOICuXFqMPBe9bBAoewdgQcUxLobetUy2q_o/s1600-h/back_2191_email.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYz_NYAXodN8qJaFWGSgstsmoz0zVrPUtT6J5HIQ6KqjHD29_fywjiadZtPC5_6_qrpaJ50Rni5oSnRRZCcvc27oJVMpWgMIBUz_VYmJhIoOICuXFqMPBe9bBAoewdgQcUxLobetUy2q_o/s400/back_2191_email.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310199591340518178" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFR0jCfr_eS2UESfzdiy7GN-Fnj_dfKIPCP2Mn19Z3MeCFlYBghVVNw5RO2RewwfcIdRWmrHGmko264rygyFTya8o8Vf8vn5PBD6U847mWLc8d-tvY8uQkMJcWIZrmrsaVJt-Si7kuwXmj/s1600-h/IVAW+neighbor+flyer.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 309px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFR0jCfr_eS2UESfzdiy7GN-Fnj_dfKIPCP2Mn19Z3MeCFlYBghVVNw5RO2RewwfcIdRWmrHGmko264rygyFTya8o8Vf8vn5PBD6U847mWLc8d-tvY8uQkMJcWIZrmrsaVJt-Si7kuwXmj/s400/IVAW+neighbor+flyer.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310197077645904674" border="0" /></a><br />I crocheted these pieces for the upcoming benefit for Iraq Veterans Against the War, 2,191 Days and Counting. Immediately above is the flyer Brian designed for my piece, and above that a flyer for the event.Ju-Ponghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17785684200083538990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5478791057871546130.post-10051588899442560402009-02-24T09:24:00.001-05:002009-02-24T09:29:20.199-05:00Laundry Stories, video stills<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMyew0dCuaXRLRHxRmvSjZmDdOzu_0jOuqjlrHuZsk_cgnuDvLlpjKh_iyclnDcpeVgW4kSDokoYIGiqsUN1BxagJIh5FvHhR1jiGQPzmXbqLwbmrmy3QWeNfOFqvsxFh2DqVUMn_JSdFI/s1600-h/Laundry+Stories.005-001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMyew0dCuaXRLRHxRmvSjZmDdOzu_0jOuqjlrHuZsk_cgnuDvLlpjKh_iyclnDcpeVgW4kSDokoYIGiqsUN1BxagJIh5FvHhR1jiGQPzmXbqLwbmrmy3QWeNfOFqvsxFh2DqVUMn_JSdFI/s400/Laundry+Stories.005-001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306370920934303602" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOYrjTvBJx4Ujxsl9steI0QlgpGeXmtHT0mEasLgUhP4nSVkN-pu9praWGQJc_4v-fgDjBzZJfAVDv4IieTM0fVWJ0G7KL912xlzOxcgYCiLQetWpkIvfWko1raDuyVoFoGmF36_rRpUiW/s1600-h/Laundry+Stories.006-001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOYrjTvBJx4Ujxsl9steI0QlgpGeXmtHT0mEasLgUhP4nSVkN-pu9praWGQJc_4v-fgDjBzZJfAVDv4IieTM0fVWJ0G7KL912xlzOxcgYCiLQetWpkIvfWko1raDuyVoFoGmF36_rRpUiW/s400/Laundry+Stories.006-001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306370137524045986" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjORMPBc4zFLJm0SPgnhDbYXZyDHbyyhiWvag7G_3KN8MI2DDU1R4KEEGew5CllepU2LNXeA_qWN1PXYSZ0NU74MR1jPq-zX1b5ELSkKMf3Xizqz3SCQNzHcqTP33ETOx7qmiv4Immg1JDS/s1600-h/Laundry+Stories.007-001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjORMPBc4zFLJm0SPgnhDbYXZyDHbyyhiWvag7G_3KN8MI2DDU1R4KEEGew5CllepU2LNXeA_qWN1PXYSZ0NU74MR1jPq-zX1b5ELSkKMf3Xizqz3SCQNzHcqTP33ETOx7qmiv4Immg1JDS/s400/Laundry+Stories.007-001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306370131455878034" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWAmxCAfrR1rk833MAQtRp9J-txlQWFf4g2cDpPe7LcXm6BqjdleHNi6YVTDMRbHjftnKBkgpP6D3MNvWqdElkTlPXvBFSqumTWcEvUwvuvqwHXd6NGwZp9kFEbUJFGIF-_gN0-J84Q89E/s1600-h/Laundry+Stories.008-001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWAmxCAfrR1rk833MAQtRp9J-txlQWFf4g2cDpPe7LcXm6BqjdleHNi6YVTDMRbHjftnKBkgpP6D3MNvWqdElkTlPXvBFSqumTWcEvUwvuvqwHXd6NGwZp9kFEbUJFGIF-_gN0-J84Q89E/s400/Laundry+Stories.008-001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306370131604982354" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX7T7nVjVAuME_OTEn4GTmzyFGi5htg7ifQmdLsFde1UgF2Ca7_Np-8VMi8qB8RjslQ6DF6k2hLNumMpFiSUijYJzNZzzf6zbilxUTTFQ-BtBUkffxkvXWx_m1w-3ASF_Q2aGFYTE8WezF/s1600-h/Laundry+Stories.009-001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX7T7nVjVAuME_OTEn4GTmzyFGi5htg7ifQmdLsFde1UgF2Ca7_Np-8VMi8qB8RjslQ6DF6k2hLNumMpFiSUijYJzNZzzf6zbilxUTTFQ-BtBUkffxkvXWx_m1w-3ASF_Q2aGFYTE8WezF/s400/Laundry+Stories.009-001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306370128259408162" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQmJurCabiWRjDJPQTGdyQKYth-88D6qtOA-L-VEw1xOU5CI8TPYSMhtDfDTU0Zr4aklqa_fJm5ixvti_k7sS0oJSgQCFnb8__ENTBFzTwPzx3is4OjJZ1DlQ7ll0ckX8uXW2naCFxn8a6/s1600-h/Laundry+Stories.010-001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQmJurCabiWRjDJPQTGdyQKYth-88D6qtOA-L-VEw1xOU5CI8TPYSMhtDfDTU0Zr4aklqa_fJm5ixvti_k7sS0oJSgQCFnb8__ENTBFzTwPzx3is4OjJZ1DlQ7ll0ckX8uXW2naCFxn8a6/s400/Laundry+Stories.010-001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306370128466695154" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Click on images to view full screen.<br /><br /></span>Ju-Ponghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17785684200083538990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5478791057871546130.post-52172124231620129242009-02-08T15:30:00.000-05:002013-01-17T11:30:19.596-05:00Laundry Stories, video excerpt<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Ju-Ponghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17785684200083538990noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5478791057871546130.post-91768211486796220762009-02-08T14:08:00.000-05:002009-02-24T08:54:17.516-05:00Neighbor to Neighbor<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQgDWJBQtAMuQF1f5lBj3juStvXmk03FStI4x5rukqFJ-QeFzzwTeRAhBdzpzgZfI3EemMLDI45TA20gwpX-hmWoBvBjFvpYQa0Vh37O9oALILhNkv7Pfi0OZodvNwkMrKnuRu7S0KtE6x/s1600-h/Lin+09+iPark+proposal+slides.003-001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQgDWJBQtAMuQF1f5lBj3juStvXmk03FStI4x5rukqFJ-QeFzzwTeRAhBdzpzgZfI3EemMLDI45TA20gwpX-hmWoBvBjFvpYQa0Vh37O9oALILhNkv7Pfi0OZodvNwkMrKnuRu7S0KtE6x/s400/Lin+09+iPark+proposal+slides.003-001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306361477156610194" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Click on image to view full screen.</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDUnyN18te9pfZtibVUGdJfkl4gviV0vEu52ipHBpIQt7MUrDPMRBR2iVLrheAtMKgHnyoQF8fCOdO8iyAwV73rdc9pfPegt-bGTBAT_KNWDM0OS2wZsrTwzr_pqTFWptc82t-Npc0c6Dn/s1600-h/Lin+09+iPark+proposal+slides.004-001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDUnyN18te9pfZtibVUGdJfkl4gviV0vEu52ipHBpIQt7MUrDPMRBR2iVLrheAtMKgHnyoQF8fCOdO8iyAwV73rdc9pfPegt-bGTBAT_KNWDM0OS2wZsrTwzr_pqTFWptc82t-Npc0c6Dn/s400/Lin+09+iPark+proposal+slides.004-001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306361477388303282" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style=";font-family:'trebuchet ms';font-size:100%;" class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span><span style=";font-family:'trebuchet ms';font-size:100%;" class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span"></span></span>Ju-Ponghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17785684200083538990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5478791057871546130.post-27203765047291619642009-02-08T13:14:00.000-05:002013-01-17T11:24:56.393-05:00Neighbor to Neighbor excerpt<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dy8TYBCsH3-7zXS4mXczH7tjOqknMDP5oekHATrcFv-CoBony6shT_lnsu5PLCz5hjSscx_YNkErIWhvq8ohw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe> </div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;">This 9 minute excerpt highlights video from two performances, one for the Spinning and Weaving Festival in Pawtucket and one for a showing of works in progress by the Resident Artists at Perishable Theater in Providence.</span></div>
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Ju-Ponghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17785684200083538990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5478791057871546130.post-52405220952460426892009-01-20T01:33:00.000-05:002009-02-09T12:40:55.494-05:00Lineage, installation<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2wbHCXPRtB_4JTyMDrt57JPmDC47lgeJIVJq5VuSfrPlU6G1tAQTXk-WSxZQcSchV65kbXlttKsYJTvosKafFPtijSKI-UlArcgyjf5g05xX5x056veUm3wPAtfL1-o1e3Xf3SOLKto_j/s1600-h/Lineage.002-001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2wbHCXPRtB_4JTyMDrt57JPmDC47lgeJIVJq5VuSfrPlU6G1tAQTXk-WSxZQcSchV65kbXlttKsYJTvosKafFPtijSKI-UlArcgyjf5g05xX5x056veUm3wPAtfL1-o1e3Xf3SOLKto_j/s400/Lineage.002-001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300833045333606882" border="0" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Click on image to view at full screen size.</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih8WuWiRW2K4mtfA5aXnSodW19hoILTeH71A_aIEZ0MNBzH4wUaEX_JCKu8K8Ty2Cfm34Bbb-FCTxWPa0EpOZybK7CVzjIbcKU7GY9MYeddmzsoZd-WLuI1hyFhOXAqKiqjvDWVlPzrY0j/s1600-h/Lineage.003-001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih8WuWiRW2K4mtfA5aXnSodW19hoILTeH71A_aIEZ0MNBzH4wUaEX_JCKu8K8Ty2Cfm34Bbb-FCTxWPa0EpOZybK7CVzjIbcKU7GY9MYeddmzsoZd-WLuI1hyFhOXAqKiqjvDWVlPzrY0j/s400/Lineage.003-001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300832988075025138" border="0" /></a><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(85, 26, 139); text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span></div>Ju-Ponghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17785684200083538990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5478791057871546130.post-56346640076362473132009-01-19T23:54:00.000-05:002009-02-09T12:44:38.889-05:00Twist on Tradition, collaborative installation, performance<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">Click on images to view at full screen size.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"><br /></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP9tK3OHUh5BqqmMC2PA5RimO-TRUyed6Hw_jch39vqN8jkNRruz6X4r2tG-eUTI9GeJYwLCibE22CoSZlDNXHAPHGTsz7_NHscy9z58fiIPEp2-LdhZdFziekg7HusB1RT27w3DZ-mDZd/s1600-h/Lin+09+samples+for+web.004-001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP9tK3OHUh5BqqmMC2PA5RimO-TRUyed6Hw_jch39vqN8jkNRruz6X4r2tG-eUTI9GeJYwLCibE22CoSZlDNXHAPHGTsz7_NHscy9z58fiIPEp2-LdhZdFziekg7HusB1RT27w3DZ-mDZd/s400/Lin+09+samples+for+web.004-001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300813422605909602" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrXCl9v2juUR9DyzaMe9Tum77YQpSBiVLKpe9H_cgbagqHb7xz4dG_G7cN56HcZGhKvAswJGYj2Y9H48wo62pQm_34WAyPJT2NBdrOY_BBqvmJND-goODH7WiysFZlQfCKPkPtTSfuqcNF/s1600-h/Lin+09+samples+for+web.005-001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrXCl9v2juUR9DyzaMe9Tum77YQpSBiVLKpe9H_cgbagqHb7xz4dG_G7cN56HcZGhKvAswJGYj2Y9H48wo62pQm_34WAyPJT2NBdrOY_BBqvmJND-goODH7WiysFZlQfCKPkPtTSfuqcNF/s400/Lin+09+samples+for+web.005-001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300813285701206354" border="0" /></a><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhArmW-HLNuNRUXMhd72CVa2yVdMFtVJWOSXS08wRgwZ283H1LFmYlQaKIqIpp2eiD2OcHBZPcQrr6ct9smj4hCO2RNkPvGWY8pR7cII3kgpmYweu3DelmcNaML0G26ZL_bioWDGfEqyoUX/s1600-h/Lin+09+samples+for+web.006-001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhArmW-HLNuNRUXMhd72CVa2yVdMFtVJWOSXS08wRgwZ283H1LFmYlQaKIqIpp2eiD2OcHBZPcQrr6ct9smj4hCO2RNkPvGWY8pR7cII3kgpmYweu3DelmcNaML0G26ZL_bioWDGfEqyoUX/s400/Lin+09+samples+for+web.006-001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300812397369579122" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVEkBf9X9z5E7euRvkAYxWixqNwHpAkXgWBFqIGSDueBDEgmvH7HutSxCAW-pXh14Yc9L0OW_SKFDTzGQTmXP-DpFwNgtdj9sWIhgG3TOpQOagB3kLxjv4eIP_yAxsXvmSFjG4qqZiylOz/s1600-h/Lin+09+samples+for+web.007-001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVEkBf9X9z5E7euRvkAYxWixqNwHpAkXgWBFqIGSDueBDEgmvH7HutSxCAW-pXh14Yc9L0OW_SKFDTzGQTmXP-DpFwNgtdj9sWIhgG3TOpQOagB3kLxjv4eIP_yAxsXvmSFjG4qqZiylOz/s400/Lin+09+samples+for+web.007-001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300812329349439986" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTRckcHvAjiV1Pzxycgf8QsrC288EDyvOnZW9VNkPT9dzfP0KNqWyISApIYAwYwcuwWiRQOcCHLZ5JeXm4TsELxQjDF5HbCAmAro0asAHWRPnvQ-ah5pu1cdTUk3ChQrCcLyyiP4xV9OMn/s1600-h/Lin+09+samples+for+web.008-001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTRckcHvAjiV1Pzxycgf8QsrC288EDyvOnZW9VNkPT9dzfP0KNqWyISApIYAwYwcuwWiRQOcCHLZ5JeXm4TsELxQjDF5HbCAmAro0asAHWRPnvQ-ah5pu1cdTUk3ChQrCcLyyiP4xV9OMn/s400/Lin+09+samples+for+web.008-001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300812244438757394" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinQXonCiL1FzTtJ3rc_KOwVqztb4V3YqndXdTC89Ddk8NpT6CKCtF1R-IGSaG5l9JmgB3FfpUFqd6ykRoE5WGBsYRzEkNrO_ypXZCeu-6nOYhb0y5F1Nj7mUEf2Ncp2o8LI9Sc7qjzdvsi/s1600-h/Lin+09+samples+for+web.009-001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinQXonCiL1FzTtJ3rc_KOwVqztb4V3YqndXdTC89Ddk8NpT6CKCtF1R-IGSaG5l9JmgB3FfpUFqd6ykRoE5WGBsYRzEkNrO_ypXZCeu-6nOYhb0y5F1Nj7mUEf2Ncp2o8LI9Sc7qjzdvsi/s400/Lin+09+samples+for+web.009-001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300810626185009442" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGYssC4Dz2EEjmz9T6l6O8nyg_-m57k_yzsVeIpcbUMROwrUzYxUQvM3LfnAvl36S5K1uGw5Gd7iKiUVPOV8lD1WaGL7gNRwxytAiw1_BAtpAtHGj1zNYQtYgEbVa5-01JQji8Sx_o7-L_/s1600-h/Lin+09+samples+for+web.010-001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGYssC4Dz2EEjmz9T6l6O8nyg_-m57k_yzsVeIpcbUMROwrUzYxUQvM3LfnAvl36S5K1uGw5Gd7iKiUVPOV8lD1WaGL7gNRwxytAiw1_BAtpAtHGj1zNYQtYgEbVa5-01JQji8Sx_o7-L_/s400/Lin+09+samples+for+web.010-001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300810399342390850" border="0" /></a><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(85, 26, 139); text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span></div></div>Ju-Ponghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17785684200083538990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5478791057871546130.post-37251114194426937302009-01-16T21:42:00.001-05:002009-02-24T09:21:30.493-05:00Performative installations<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPNt9hmx0hqn7IdahEi8INuu_59NOBwQIp-U4_76mNaoIisEPytp5D-xEDItnKqQ8WDbA3dVguN1FHQOMeqOP2-kswjYZ-Nvuey8u-hExMjKm7ad6tnl2NDkjngRsLdmvY_sWPLKomVUhP/s1600-h/Navigate.011-001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; 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float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgju-XAEoPuRJLHdikdgR4ndCcVUOvh-oUK4kLBZvDzXHK5nBAA02IAecQbsXpTy0y86dWInCMUIHf9Wp862nO9I42ClrFCIo2xdPJlxELMadfqK_pR_igKtkzuwcYtE8yswgdREvswA60t/s400/Lin+09+samples+for+web.011-001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300815488410621826" border="0" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">Click on images to view at full screen size.</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMRqd8nIUMVhyphenhyphenKg1keTeySp4MCdT24Wz9u8Svi0oxQYLYbGcd8DjSmRqMYDfa_pzbv-97X1nQIhHGpvUXEU7aIuYR7P7xtvRqlOKuS4datFV7GkThFPzlaAmYCXgzHrL_aYb7zqSJzXet4/s1600-h/Lin+09+samples+for+web.012-001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMRqd8nIUMVhyphenhyphenKg1keTeySp4MCdT24Wz9u8Svi0oxQYLYbGcd8DjSmRqMYDfa_pzbv-97X1nQIhHGpvUXEU7aIuYR7P7xtvRqlOKuS4datFV7GkThFPzlaAmYCXgzHrL_aYb7zqSJzXet4/s400/Lin+09+samples+for+web.012-001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300815490136004978" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi0yz2-TQJKAkSH8xa4M27mJoHfYEe3Vuh1zOyBpxinL6Ldrih3iTOVcvc8FwA2I1uOgyCnhPtSMJ2nsqARPxCVNIEfqUZog5RWPbb3jH3moXlb3zdsynp281sXBdE6FesFnAH80IX2aRX/s1600-h/Lin+09+samples+for+web.013-001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi0yz2-TQJKAkSH8xa4M27mJoHfYEe3Vuh1zOyBpxinL6Ldrih3iTOVcvc8FwA2I1uOgyCnhPtSMJ2nsqARPxCVNIEfqUZog5RWPbb3jH3moXlb3zdsynp281sXBdE6FesFnAH80IX2aRX/s400/Lin+09+samples+for+web.013-001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300815486733079154" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWCUnth7wVYJr7E6BsqzQ_k6yxuGNoq3HXyNVlLXwgqizyP5kj9lyQn4ucbyPlZoDI9EbmDc4dk7SuwJkSLKNQUb44esVsU0FSyK4WVQog4Okz7QttURSXEVayP7inYLOc9s_G5njZTQSU/s1600-h/Lin+09+samples+for+web.014-001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWCUnth7wVYJr7E6BsqzQ_k6yxuGNoq3HXyNVlLXwgqizyP5kj9lyQn4ucbyPlZoDI9EbmDc4dk7SuwJkSLKNQUb44esVsU0FSyK4WVQog4Okz7QttURSXEVayP7inYLOc9s_G5njZTQSU/s400/Lin+09+samples+for+web.014-001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300815487295436034" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl5P0ZugT2VHfjM8AR9bKEvIaKOmXNk15flaLmReIx6uNmS7a89-47iHm6WDU1kix6qh0Nxu2SlHriOEJqJCdWgmp2gbPCMl2kI11Lgeq73MlS13GKODHAkisI_jkFP6Tn4myXljc1a4c0/s1600-h/Lin+09+samples+for+web.012-001.jpg"><br /></a>Ju-Ponghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17785684200083538990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5478791057871546130.post-45450633528017596002009-01-16T20:28:00.000-05:002009-02-08T10:08:16.792-05:00Early video, single channel pieces<span style="font-style: italic;">Land and Skin</span> (20 min) weaves together the story of the birth of my grandmother's first child (my father) and the birth of my first son. This three minute excerpt reveals vast differences in our experiences, language and culture.<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dy5JB3mLCV3RllToGcbXEzhXEnnEx-a4RmVn5QG8h4SH1eNlZCPGh4oSkhqslqxRALsylCwXibt_HZio6iK1g' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />Post Partum Letter</span> (excerpt): this is a video letter to my mother made shortly after the birth of my older son.<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzbbGawA8PlXSbC6atXC1UhGjN5Odh33lH6mSPluxQJ0a4Hb8nb7n25ZB6LzgAjFNdQBuzTsaRmxjv7D3bCyw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe>Ju-Ponghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17785684200083538990noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5478791057871546130.post-59976134767193809082009-01-16T20:01:00.000-05:002009-01-16T21:53:06.616-05:00Artists Statement<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5fI6d42ZIC7FSeN6o1UIaQ-L1RbVNrPjBZyaWhku-vGFKFRWXTZL6v5aCjZ_dFsvsPmHKcrO0-hDty7uBH8iMy4CYeBbPfiHEeAZkOnlqLD_CinVCmfTPQUJYPnN37aBAVsQfCB9QLHXg/s1600-h/Lineage+installationview.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 212px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5fI6d42ZIC7FSeN6o1UIaQ-L1RbVNrPjBZyaWhku-vGFKFRWXTZL6v5aCjZ_dFsvsPmHKcrO0-hDty7uBH8iMy4CYeBbPfiHEeAZkOnlqLD_CinVCmfTPQUJYPnN37aBAVsQfCB9QLHXg/s320/Lineage+installationview.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292067348502669218" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" >Lineage, video installation<br /><br /></span>My work springs from a love of stories and an unabashedly feminist sensibility. While I make video, perform and collect stories, knit and construct environments, I improvise new dynamic relationships between meaning and material stuff, personal and political, spiritual and corporeal, fantastical and mundane, individual and community.<span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" ><br /><br /></span>Story offers a way to reveal and to embrace contradiction, the contradictions of a culture that lauds traditional family values yet restricts how we love one another; a culture that raises motherhood on a pedestal yet tolerates daily violence against women; a culture that simultaneously perpetuates a fascination with the “other” while obsessed with securing its borders.<br /><br />One recurring theme in my work is the story of navigating through culture and identity. As an immigrant who exchanged Taiwanese citizenship for U.S. citizenship over 25 years ago, even my own extended family view me as an outsider. Raised in the United States, I can no longer fluently communicate with our Taiwanese-speaking relatives. Yet my immediate family sustains a kind of weak link with those across the ocean. The word, “family”, conjures up contradictory feelings of love, longing and grief. I strive to make cultural barriers more fluid and make art in sympathy with all border-crossers.<br /><br />The border that hangs tenuously between art and life also becomes more flexible in my work as my stories weave between oral history and fantasy and as I share authorship with participatory audiences. I stage interactive experiences, keeping alive a commitment to making art more accessible and integrated with daily life.<br /><br />Just prior to my most recent move, I was told of an ordinance still in the books that stated, “No persons of Chinese descent may purchase this house.” The words provoked a deep interest in the question of how a neighborhood identity comes into being. Who holds the power and privilege to make a neighborhood what it is? My current project uses oral history and community engagement to forge a collective answer to this question.Ju-Ponghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17785684200083538990noreply@blogger.com0