Read the Fine Print: The Pawnee Treaty, Perception, and Questioning Rather Than Accepting “Truthiness”

Making my way to the next landing I saw the largesse of an oil painting of the Pawnee Table Creek Treaty of 1857 by William Haskell Coffin. In this painting, Native American men dance in an open field wearing nothing more than headdresses and loincloth of sorts. Some carry hatchets, others spears. The settlers, all white, stare stone faced, dare I say questionably, at those in celebration. The imagery itself disturbed me knowing the broad strokes of the history between colonialists and Native Americans (short version, the first group steadily massacred the second). 

On a table to the far right of this painting was a copy of the actual Pawnee Treaty of 1857. If the visual didn’t incite pause, the treaty itself had me stupefied. 

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Back On the Residency Game: Kimmel Harding Nelson (2017)

The last time I had a formal residency, one in which I applied for, was in 2013. The road to getting one has been rough. I had one year where I applied to 18--totaling over $400 in application fees--and got not a one, though I was a finalist for a 6-week residency with a stipend. That was a blow to the system, I have to say. Particularly the fees and some sense of expectation on my end. I didn't apply again for a year after that. There's a lot that goes into being considered for a residency as well as attaining one and then making use of said time when received. 

What I did learn was that every year residencies become more and more popular. Word spreads and the competition gets stronger. Also there's the fact that you cannot predict subjectivity. One part of your application can be super strong and another somewhat weak depending on the eyes looking at it. In fact, this is what I heard about an application last year: my portfolio was rated very high but my community project was rated in the middle. Unfortunately, I was given no further emphasis on what I could do for one area of my application as the ratings were purely numerical. 

By applying for less residencies I (1) was less stressed and less expectant and (2) was able to better plan how to do my applications and which ones I needed to tailor portions if I was working on the same project. 

Last fall I applied for 4 residencies, in winter I applied for 3. I was waitlisted for one and received another. I am on the last few days of the residency I did receive in Nebraska City, Nebraska at Kimmel Harding Nelson Center. 

For the past two years I had been doing makeshift residencies thanks to friends generosity in San Jose, California for 2.5 weeks and then Portland, Oregon for 2 weeks. So getting back into a formal residency with rules and staff rather than someone's home was pleasant to get back in the groove of. I found I missed it. I got a good amount done at my friends' places on the west coast, but there's something about being in a space specifically classified as an "artists zone" with people you've never met that can help you thrive in ways. 

Kimmel Harding Nelson (KHN) Center is a smaller residency in a small town of 7,000 people. Nebraska City, as I learned, is known for it's farming and ethanol production (yay corn!) as well as for creating Arbor Day. A time I was lucky enough to be on residency for during celebrations, though Mother Nature didn't seem to care and rain, wind, cold would prevail.

At KHN five residents reside in the same building though a composer, or visual artist, will get a studio space downstairs, and a writer and visual artist will bunk up on apartments on the first and second floors. Writer's studios are within the apartment with windows facing the main street in front of the center. The composer's studio is in the gallery on the main floor, and visual artists have studios in the renovated garages outside. Don't worry, as my roommate told me, they are insulated for warmth in the colder months. You receive a $100 weekly stipend for groceries or whatever your needs are while in town and the director and assistant director, Holly and Pat will take you shopping soon after you arrive. 

I have to say I really dig this space. My roommate and I got along really well. (She made pancakes my first full day here! If that's not the way to someone's heart I dunno what is.) Each apartment is equipped with a kitchen, dining area, living room, and my roommate and I have our own bathrooms. The apartments are spacious and quiet, though us being on the first floor we could hear every step those above us made. The visual artist's studios are also not soundproof (as they warn). You get a kitchen stocked with utensils, plates, cups and pots along with whatever previous residents have left. You receive washed towels, bedsheets, comforters ready. You have to clean up after yourself during your stay, maid service only comes in for departing residents in prep of new occupants. There's a washer/dryer downstairs and an area to watch basic cable television or DVDs in the basement near the laundry where the composer's studio apartment is also nearby. 

The town itself is small and you can get to a lot in walking distance. Compared to NYC the city blocks are super short. So you'd probably feel like you made a lot more progress than I do when I'm walking up/down Manhattan blocks. There's a lovely place I got to work on a rainy, blustery Sunday called The Keeping Room two blocks away. (I highly suggest The Keeping Room for service and sweets alone.) There's a decent Mexican spot in a pink shack two blocks away. There are thrift stores and antique shops up and down Central Avenue, the main street in this area. Walgreens, BBQ, a place called Runza which is a big deal to some Nebraskans but merely okay as me and fellow residents determined are also very close. You're not in the boonies so to speak and if there's something farther away Holly and Pat may be able to take you. Oh, and there's a newly curated Lewis and Clark museum as you enter town, which Pat's husband helped create. There are parks and kick ass apple cider doughnuts.

I came in on Monday and will be leaving on a Friday. Those are the designated days of arrival and departure. So technically two weeks is really 11-12 days depending how you time it. Though you can request as long as 6 weeks here and as short as the 2 I did. I think one of the ideal timings of an artist residency are 3-4 weeks, but I'm already losing one week of wages being here since I don't have enough vacation time. Totally worth it though. The quiet, time away, community, and free headspace have been fantastic. 

I pushed myself to do a few things before my arrival: No social media (though I was admittedly on for a few minutes over the course of several days). No work for anyone else during this time (I declined 3 freelance gigs I was contacted about right before and during my time away). I also turned my phone off/set it on airplane mode so I wouldn't hear from anyone (the primary way to get in touch with me is email). I reserved one day and one day alone to do emails and will aim to be on email as little as possible my last couple days here. 

Essentially, my goal was not to be stressed about anything that wasn't my own work or that I'm not contracted to do since I had a short period of time. I also didn't want to be rushed back into other agreed upon responsibilities as soon as I stepped off the plane--many of those freelance projects were rush, so I'd be starting on them right after I got back or had to start them while I was away. I announced on social media before I left that people should not expect to hear from me. And as always set my out of office on my email accounts. I began every email I did respond to with "Hi from Nebraska, I'm on residency but..." to let people know: Leave. Me. Alone until I get back. Lemme tell you 'No' is a freeing word. 

At previous residencies I didn't totally log off. And when I did the makeshift residencies at friends' places I was still working, people continued to contact me as though me saying "residency" meant vacation where I could still be reached. For some reason people didn't respect the time away when I made it myself versus when I said I was awarded one. Go figure on that, but I also let those things seep into my time and that's my own fault. 

When you propose a residency you have an aim and hopefully, depending on timing, you'll still be working on and interested in the project proposed. For me I worked on what I proposed as well as short fiction. My goals were to provide final edits to the latest batch of contributors for the anthology I'm editing, work on my nonfiction project, revise short fiction, reading, exercise, and sleep. The problem for me is I'm always working on more than one thing and these 11 days were time when I was able to actually work on those things separately, dedicating hours to each with no regrets or nothing else tugging at me to take my focus away besides eating and sleep. It's great! While I would love another week if not another 3 days here I'm leaving with more off my To Do list than what I came in with and can look at my first weekend back home hammering out a couple things and getting right back to my own stuff.

Essentially, this is my long-winded way of saying I thoroughly enjoyed my time at KHN and I'd really recommend it for anyone who wants that space and time away without feeling like you're extracted from the rest of the world. You have options here and if you have a car even better, but walking isn't hazardous or arduous. And if you come by for Arbor Day be prepared for a lot of celebration since it's a big thing here. Big Thanks to those at KHN for granting me this time and also to Holly and Pat for availing themselves at every turn. This space means a lot to those of us who have the opportunity to be granted this time and this support. 

#DumplingCrawl 2016 (Lower Manhattan Ed.)

Summer rolls out and fall formally comes in with a nice (yet unexpected) chill in the air means the end of food stalls/events outdoors with the impending winter. This also means it's a damn good time to have yourself a food crawl before the weather gets really unpredictable. As such, and as promised, we had ourselves a Dumpling Crawl in late September. 

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America, You Broke My Heart

I know I don’t need to go into the specifics of this year’s presidential election. We all watched it and felt it in various ways. But the endgame isn’t what many of us saw or hoped for. At this moment I haven’t eaten anything solid in almost 24 hours. My stomach actually dropped when someone passed by this morning and I saw the headline with the winner declared and a smug if not disturbing grin on his face. 

I went to sleep when the odds weren’t in the Democrats favor figuring I’d wake up to the sad confirmation. One of the first things I thought when I opened my eyes was that I finally understood the way my grandmother saw America. My grandmother was born in South Carolina in the 1930s. This is a state known for having some of the highest rates of (reported) lynchings in the early 20th century. Colored vs. White was the norm for her and she never expected to live to see a Black identified president. She probably did not expect to live to see a female and sadly she may not. But she’s always been hesitant when it came to embracing the perceived “greatness” of this nation as well as it’s supposed welcoming nature. She's a woman who saw the hardships of Blacks (and allies) fighting for the right to vote. She’s a woman who was called the N-word to her face regularly. I am of a world when it’s said under wraps and even then punishable by shame and other consequences depending on the party. I was born during the Reagan era not feeling the effects directly of his and his cabinet’s hold. Today though I woke up to see America split in half and it’s a viewpoint my 83-year-old grandmother never stopped seeing. 

I came into work to a morose staff. My co-workers’ faces and eyes rimmed red from tears. One co-worker who is often jovial gave a slow shake of the head to say “No, I am not okay.” We left it at that. I asked around in my department. Some are very open to discussing it others prefer to respect that they want to remain in their misery for the moment or for a longer duration. I understand both sides of this. 

I am not so much worried for my immediate physical safety. I don’t think someone is going to come and hit me over the head with a brick after this electoral process. (Perhaps that’s naive and very privileged of me.) I’m in a blue state, in a blue city but that does not mean that racism isn’t apparent. (Hell, I was called a monkey only two months ago in my neighborhood on the way to work.) What I am more concerned about are our civil liberties. Rights that have been attained through hard-won fights. Roe vs. Wade, Obama-care, Same-Sex marriage, EPA, sadly we lost the Voting Rights Act last year (and I do not doubt that had an impact on yesterday’s results). It’s these specific laws that are currently in place I worry may not be retained in the upcoming presidency with an entirely GOP/conservative base taking over every area of the U.S. government. I’m also worried about artist colonies, grassroots campaigns, and other nonprofit organizations seeing a severe drop in funding. Let’s be clear: A maniacal, xenophobic, reality TV show star is now the United States’ president-elect over a competent political officer. The reasons for that are being continually analyzed.

Thus far blame is being placed all over. Primarily with the (I hate to say it) president-elect and his supporters, where it should be. But then there’s also blame thrust at the 3rd party supporters due to the narrow margin wins in battleground states. There’s the apathetic who simply didn’t vote and whose turn out could have possibly switched things around. There’s Clinton herself for not reaching out to the PoC/Native demographic more or not being as some oddly and unfairly said (likeable). There’s the Bernie Bros who may have split the vote in some areas. The finger points all over but the biggest issue is the one people like my grandmother have been aware of and never shook off in the first place: This is a place not made for us but built by us. And by “us” I mean the marginalized who were and remain the most terrified of the results. “Us” as in those who hoped, really hoped, that this would be a blow out and instead we see that even by some narrow margins this country remains in many ways broken.

I’ve had my heart broken before. I’ve been broken in general. You do or don’t learn to sweep up the pieces and reattach what you can to keep going. I’ve seen friends broken more than myself and do amazing things, gather themselves up in a way I didn’t know possible, and proceed to make change for themselves and others. I have to come to terms with the fact that I’m a citizen of country that has always been broken. My grandmother saw it, she and my grandfather spoke of it to me and my now (ex)-husband. They spoke of keeping to themselves, of being second-class citizens, of the underlying fear of how you speak to white people and knowing your place at all times. But then there are those who won’t sit by and take it, not that that makes them better or my grandmother weak, it’s a different frame of reference. I thought of those who had been broken (broken bodies, broken hearts, broken minds) who pushed through if not to survive (it’s own form of activism) then to show we deserved a seat at the table. This made me think of the March series I recently read about John Lewis’s life and his pursuit of justice, of equality, of recognition. There’s a moment when all he says is: “We march” over and over. When told about the issues, the potential violence that may ensue, what is at stake not just for SNCC which he headed but for those helping SNCC and the larger Civil Rights Movement he did not waver: “We march.”

I don’t want to make light of the feelings so many people have right now. My Muslim friends in red states fearing for their lives. The co-worker and her girlfriend who got engaged when the same-sex marriage law passed. Those who rely on Obamacare to get the medications they need for mental and chronic physical illnesses. My transgender & genderfluid identified friends who have fought to see their genders recognized and not placed in the binary. Yesterday the Dow Jones dropped, stocks are wavering, and who is to say the unemployment rate may not skyrocket so that we’re veering towards another Great Depression. Perhaps that is too bleak or not bleak enough, but the concerns are valid based on what we’ve seen of this party, of it’s candidate, and of those coming into office. 

When I woke up I saw that nothing had imploded, yet. People were rushing to work. The courthouse I live near had cops stationed out front as usual. People were ordering bagels with cream cheese from the vendors. The subways were actually somewhat efficient this AM as well. And yet, the underlying feeling for many is that we are broken and broken-hearted. But we keep on, we make strides, we make progress. And I do believe in that. I believe in what we can do because I know too many good people not to see that on a daily basis.

So, while America has broken my heart this time, I can say I believe I know how to pick up the pieces, at least for now. 

#ChocolateTakedown 2016

It’s been over a year since I did a Brooklyn Takedown. I wasn’t necessarily going to enter another one. I mean, ice cream isn’t my forte. I contemplated doing the mac n’ cheese. The others didn’t seem up my alley because I’m more adventurous in my baking than my cooking. Plus, I don’t worry about meat. 

But Takedown founder/colossus Matt Timms announced a new one this year: the chocolate takedown. This one to take place on Valentine’s Day. I thought about it for all of three minutes before emailing Matt, “I’m in.” The sponsors for this round would be Brooklyn’s own Raaka Chocolate near the BQE. They kindly donated 5 pounds per Takedowner. So I schlepped over and got my 5 pounds of pastilles. 

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