September 19, 2016 - 14:58
First off, my apologies for posting so late. This has been a rough weekend for me, starting before we even went to the museum and as I tried to write plenty of times, I simply could not find the words. However, I was reflecting back to our time spent in the Penn Museum, and I started to see parallels, connections, and points of entry. So here I go:
The night before, I was writing an application to go to Trinidad and Tobago with the CPGC on an Economic Botany Field Study Trip. The first question was why I wanted to go, and my answer was that I had just discovered a few years ago that my father's side of the family was from there. Now, I have no connection to Trinidad. I know some music and foods, even that's from an watered down and white-washed perspective. Therefore, my main reason for wanting to go was to feel a connection. I wanted to see home. I wanted the space and to breathe the air. I wanted to know what home could be and see if it were possible to explore that. So, I went into the exhibit thinking of home. In fact, one of the first things I noticed was the huge map of Africa, and seeing Sierra Leone. Just as my dad discovered our relation to Trinidad, my baby brother (who's actually 6'4' haha) did a school project on family ancestry, made calls to extended family and found out that my mom's side of the family traces back to Sierra Leone. However, we're not 100% about how accurate that is, and no one really has much time to explore it. The point is, I went to exhibit looking for connection, space, and some trace of home. While, I did read and see that, I did not feel it, and that brought on another ray of emotions for me.
As you all saw, I took a bunch of photos during our trip and I struggled a lot with it. When we were on the African Art Level I had a hard time capturing photos because of the light. I remember one time I was trying to take a picture of Nkechi, but I couldn't quite get the focus right. While the photo still came out beautifully, I still left the area hot and bothered because I felt as if the room was forgotten. I travelled in and out of the sections and while I saw many good things about the exhibit (the information, the places to interact with the exhibit), my overall feelings leaving was still broken and had many gaps. From the temperature in the room, to the dim brown lights, I felt confused and cramped into a tiny space. I felt I had no room to breathe, no room to appreciate that beauty of the history and art presented. There was no natural light. No windows. And that felt compromising. What hurt even more, was to go upstairs and be immersed into other cultures and feel so much space and light. It was amazing, I didn't even think that there was that much space upstairs. But I had room to explore and understand.
Now, I had the entire weekend to sit with all of this, the good and the bad, and honestly, it left me depressed. I was going through a lot of stuff with my family at home as well this weekend, (stuff I don't feel comfortable getting into). But basically, there was an altercation that left us broken, distant (physically and emotionally), and silenced. So now, I'm sitting here on Monday left with the question of what am I to do? I started thinking artistically and my conclusion was, light. Even though this museum felt problematic and really shook me, I see the power and effect of display. I wondered what would happened if we prioritzed the light? Or gave more space to actually move around the works? I started thinking about my family, and light resonated as well. I questioned how things might be different if we brought to light how we truly feel. I wondered how my life might be different if we created the space to be honest, to feel, to communicate, to learn, to grow, to feel home, and to be our true full selves, instead of being stuck in the dark and trapped in the silent spaces and gaps.
I don't know the answer, but I'm dedicated to finding one, both through my work/study and family/home.