All posts by jcho1239

Current Exhibition

Shelter and Language in Tori Ellison’s Sky Writing

We Live in the Sky: Home, Displacement, Identity from October 16th to December 7th, 2024, at The Stamp Gallery | University of Maryland, College Park | Written by James Cho

What is a home? Is it a shelter? A place where we are safe? Our families and friends? What happens when one becomes adrift, and in need of a new home? These are the questions that Sky Writing asks visitors when they enter the Gallery. Comprised of six panels draped from the ceiling along the Gallery’s window display, visitors can walk through the array of panels that each contain different prints inspired by submissions from international students attending UMD as well as Tori Ellison’s artwork, in collaboration UMD MFA Candidate Varvara Tokareva.

The first and third panels display a bird species called Swifts who spend much of their time in the air, migrating from place to place as they continuously seek new shelters. Complimenting this, the back side of the panel contains 7,139 words for “shelter” in spoken languages, and 293 in written languages from across the world. Together, they represent immigrants in the historical narrative of the US wherein those seeking a new home, shelter, and economic stability come to the States as “birds of passage” much like the airborne Swifts on the panels. A narrative that has always fluctuated, and one that in light of recent years become more prominent, making spaces like our University where many immigrants or second-generation can find and take shelter a lifeline for many, where they can freely express their languages and cultures.

Specifically, Natalie Molina highlights how immigrants in the US have very often been treated as these “birds of passage” – brazos fuertes – who since the 1910s come from overseas or land to get a job, before being sent back to their home countries only to repeat the cycle over again (Molina 163). The unity in the languages included on the panels thus acts as a cry against being a swift or bird species that is in a constant state of placelessness. They represent the desire to find a home, a shelter, the desire held by international students like those who contributed to Sky Writing to have stability and define their own identities beyond the label of ‘immigrant’. 

Tori Ellison, Sky Writing, 2024. Screenprinting, paper, paint and wood, 8 1/2 x 36 in each.

But what does “home” mean for international students attending UMD? The second and fourth panels are based on contributions from UMD students and College Park community members who provide answers to that inquiry. Three phrases are displayed on the second panel as answers to Ellison’s question. The consensus was that “home” could be anything from a house, a sense of belonging, a neighbourhood community, and oftentimes chosen family. The fourth panel is a few short statements written in Japanese by a student attending UMD, who highlights similar views about how home is a place of safety, and how irreplaceable it is to them since to have a home is to be whole. 

Having lived outside of the US for much of my childhood, viewing other students’ responses in Sky Writing, particularly the back of the first and the front of the second panel hit home for me. I grew up mainly in Singapore (among other countries), and looking through Ellison’s piece felt both nostalgic and uplifting. Going to an international school where children would often only stay for a year before leaving through elementary and middle school, I got to interact with so many people from very different backgrounds, especially at school festivals, while also experiencing the “bird of passage” loss when friends would move away. Seeing the unity in the hundreds of words for “shelter”, as well as how other students like myself valued the need to have a sense of belonging, stability, and oftentimes chosen family due to the nature of moving to new places so regularly, was reassuring and validating. It also pressed the importance of places like the University, where immigrants can feel safe and find communities on campus at places like MICA, the multicultural centre, and the vast amount of student unions or organisations for Latine, Asian and Pacific Islanders that celebrate their identities as a home-like place. 

This, combined with Pablo Neruda’s “Sonnet 94” on the fifth panel, and Varvara Tokareva’s print on the sixth panel, again answers the question that Ellison puts forward about what home means to us. That the lack of a shelter, a home to return to in order to find comfort, whether that home is a place or a person, creates a sense of exile, isolation, and colourlessness. Together, all six panels in Sky Writing highlight the necessity of a home that pervades every other artwork in We Live in the Sky since each panel highlights how UMD students and College Park residents value home and how it defines their identity, and how the disruption or displacement of their home destroys their sense of self and belonging, because without a home to shelter in they would be just like a swoop of swifts coasting through the skies. 

Tori Ellison’s work is included in We Live in the Sky: Home, Displacement, Identity at The Stamp Gallery of the University of Maryland, College Park, from October 16th to December 7th, 2024. For more information on Ellison, visit https://www.toriellison.com/. For more information on We Live in the Sky and related events, visit https://stamp.umd.edu/articles/stamp_gallery_presents_we_live_sky_home_displacement_identity. 

Current Exhibition

Assimilation, Loss, and Home in Kat Navarro’s Kalapati Without a House

The Digital Landscape from August 26th to October 5th, 2024, at The Stamp Gallery | University of Maryland, College Park | Written by James Cho

The process of immigration has always been a difficult one, no matter the time, place, or people involved in it. What most people don’t fully recognise, though, is that immigration is more than the journey alone. More than the arrival off a boat or the crossing of a border,it is a process that starts before the journey is taken, and in the case of a successful journey, continues for years after. 

I’ve personally experienced this process multiple times, having moved repeatedly across many different countries that I’ve called home in Asia. The feelings of uncertainty that come with repeatedly losing friends, a sense of familiarity, and over time a slow degradation in my own native French that my mother and I continue to speak over the years as we moved from China, to Singapore, to Korea, and then to the States. Wherein the process partially assimilated us into each place as we learned to call them all home before having to leave each one as we engaged with the many cultures and people in these countries. 

In our current exhibition, The Digital Landscape, there is no better representation of these layered notions of home, assimilation, loss, and language that come about due to immigration than Kat Navarro’s Kalapati Without a House. Tucked away in the Gallery’s nook at the very front of the Gallery, visitors can sit and watch Navarro’s animation where every two minutes, hands that support a Bahay Kubo (a kind of house indigenous to the Philippines) strip away a part of it until the last hand drifts beneath the waves. As this occurs, less and less of the animated birds come to roost in the Bahay Kubo, a parallel to the how the pigeons that Navarro’s family raised in the Philippines slowly left one by one before her family immigrated to Baltimore. 

Kat Navarro, Kalapati Without a House, 2023. Mix Media animation project, 16:00.

By animating a symbolic representation of her family’s experience with immigration overlaid with narration by her Tito (uncle) and Lola (grandmother) in Tagalog, Navarro’s animation captures many aspects of immigration. The loss of home and everything that was once familiar to her family in the past, the slow degradation of language that came with and continues to come with assimilating into another country, and the need to construct a new home in an initially unfamiliar and oftentimes hostile environment.

It specifically acts as a reflection of the past, of a version of a place that was once “home” that likely doesn’t exist anymore today as it once did decades ago, or at least to a recognisable degree. The animation is also a snapshot of the present and future where immigration continues to break down oral storytelling and language over time, evident in the untranslated narration of Navarro’s Tito and Lola as an ongoing part of their assimilation into American culture, while still retaining some of it by talking to one another.

Conversely, while Kalapati Without a House embodies loss that stems from immigration, the animation also embodies the notion of survival. Navarro’s family, like many immigrant families across the globe, persist despite the loss of the Bahay Kubo and untranslated Tagalog dialogue. Though difficult to create, I believe that the animation creates a sense of hope and familial unity amid the pain of losing one’s home and connections like her family’s pigeons to one’s original home. In the wake of assimilation and the degradation of culture, immigrants survive and work to resist this post-journey development to build new homes for themselves and their children. A new home in a new landscape, a home that will resist and survive the fate of its predecessor who can only exist in a digital environment like Navarro’s animation. 

Kat Navarro’s work is included in The Digital Landscape at The Stamp Gallery of the University of Maryland, College Park, from August 26th to October 5th, 2024. For more information on Navarro, visit https://katnavarro.com/About-Contact-1. For more information on The Digital Landscape and related events, visit https://stamp.umd.edu/articles/stamp_gallery_presents_digital_landscape.