Meeting America

This morning I went to LACMA (the LA County Museum of Art). Out of all the wonderful and deeply beautiful exhibits there, the one that has stuck with me the most was “Glenn Ligon: AMERICA.” The Picassos, I walked past taking completely for granted. The Peruvian art, I thought would resonate with me, but once you’ve been to the ruins in Cusco, a mere handful of artifacts can’t compare. I did not like the Pacific Island art exhibit, and felt largely neutral towards the California design exhibit. I loved the permanent collection of Islamic Art. But why, why has the Glenn Ligon stuck with me? The first piece of his that caught my eye was a pink mural: “SWEETHEART To dream that your sweetheart whispers funny things in your ears is a sign of Joy” is stenciled on the mural in red. Below: “417” and at the bottom: “To see him walking or flirting with someone else denotes a misunderstanding.” I took a picture of the picture and e-mailed it to a friend of mine, who had recently e-mailed me about a series of dreams she had had. I later discovered the excerpt on his mural, along with excerpts from other pieces in this dream series, came from an obscure African American guide to dream interpretation. These dream murals were placed at the entrance of the Ligon exhibit and therefore, were my point of exposure to the world of Glenn Ligon. What I came across next, was a wall lined with three tall murals (I’d guess, six feet?)—each black, furiously covered in black stenciled writing. I stood in front of the murals and I read the words: “I remember the very day I became colored,” “I do not always feel colored,” and “I feel most colored when I am thrown against a sharp white background.” I read the words over and over again, as they were repeated dozens of times, running from the top of the mural to the very bottom. I read the same refrain, summoning every ounce of my English major-ness to the forefront of my mind, trying to extract every bit of meaning and moment the piece had to offer. Later, I sat in the dimness of flickering “AMERICA” neon reliefs and tried to figure out how many words I could make from the seven letters in America. I'm not sure if this was what Glenn Ligon intended, but from the lights I pulled many, many words, among them: air, rice, crime, rice.

bejarista?

I had originally wanted to name my blog "ista"-- something about that ending fascinates me. In my mind's eye, I envision femininity and boots (and maybe some kind of red and yellow flag...) Unfortunately, "ista" is owned by one, Konrad. He made the blog in 2000, and since then only has posted one post: "first day out of the sphere looking over the bridge to asia." With an intro like that, we can only imagine what happened next.

I've heard that other members of my extended family occasionally go by "Bejar" (short for their last name, my middle name-- Bejarano). So, I thought, why not add some "ista" to my name?

If you are familiar with my poetry blog, you know that it was not much of a hobby, and more of an after-afterthought. I can't say I hope this blog will be different. But I do know it is easier to speak than it is to write.