The Artist’s Resume, November 2020

excerpt from interviewing the artist’s memory: 2020 and 2018

JR:  What surprised you the most about that excerpt? If anything? 

Angel:  The audacity!

JR:  Haha! ‘The audacity’, what do you mean by that? 

Angel:  The audacity of the whole thing! The premise is embarrassing–no, the premise is earnest; embarrassingly earnest. And I’m not sure why I’m surprised by that but I suppose I was hoping to read it for the first time, in what years? and find maybe a kernel of wisdom? a gleaming speck of truth or comfort?? 

JR:  But instead you found… 

Angel:  Instead I found earnest insecurity nervously paraded around as something clever-adjacent. I was too wrapped up in seeming clever, witty, creative… projecting ‘The Artist’! I wish I had been more direct. More direct. Less derivative. More …real and less… whatever this is. I’m honestly contemplating just stopping. 

JR:  We don’t have to finish the interview. If you don’t want to–

Angel:  No, it’s okay. I’m, uh, curious to see where this goes. But… and also, I’m just deeply embarrassed. 

JR:  Okay, that’s…that’s good to know. 

Angel:  It’s something. It’s fine. Anyway, I… I’m uh, I am glad that you decided to try making something like this…

JR:  But?

Angel:  No ‘but’ I’m just trying to figure out where we go from here? What was the purpose originally? Or when you began– sorry when we began again, well, really either of those beginnings– because I feel like I’ve already lost the … thread. And it’s probably what just happens when I’m ‘in it’. 

JR:  Meta-meta!

Angel:  Oh my god. Hah! Yeah, exactly.

JR:  Lean into it. It’s weird but worth it. Well, it could be! I mean this kind of thing got us… to wherever we were when we started! And to answer your question of purpose: I think it was to share and explore the ways that we think and conceive of our work and how that was … somehow worthwhile in and of itself. It didn’t have to be art. Art, capital ‘A’. It could just be a way for us to externalize? our thoughts and feelings in some way. A fun play–    

Angel:  On words?? Are you making a fucking pun right now?

JR:  Haha, sure, why not? Um, but yes a fun way to play (on words) and remember. Because! If you remember, for most of our career, we understood memory and remembering as something really fucking serious and ambitious and heavy.

Angel:  Right. We were much too serious.

JR:  I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. But we had an epiphany, right? We wanted to try some kind of honesty or transparency around that experience of… taking a good hard look at one’s work thus far… and transparently asking: ‘how did we get here?’

Angel:  And what did we find?

JR:  Haha, that’s my question for you!

Angel:  Fair. Well, from my perspective… it’s still unfolding. And, at the very least, I think it has been worth it.

JR:  Not embarrassing any more?

Angel:  No, definitely still embarrassing! 

JR:  So, embarrassing, worthwhile, and…?

Angel:  It’s been an embarrassing and worthwhile process. I don’t have words yet for what may or may not answer the question of how we got here but…I’m here, aren’t I?

JR:  You are.

Angel:  Yeah, we both are.

JR:  Still thinking of quitting?

Angel:  …I think there’s always going to be a part of me that…

JR:  I mean quitting the interviews. Are you talking about something else?

Angel:  Mm, you do know me, huh?

JR:  I’d like to think that I might but it’s probably more the other way around. But please speak on any quitting…

Angel:  ‘I wish I knew how to quit you!!!’

JR:  Oh my god.

Angel:  Hahahaha! Sorry, uh ahahahaha—okay uh well, I do know how to quit.

JR:  Some things more than others!

Angel:  If only you knew.

love letters

Dear One,

This art project is my love letter to you. When I was a teenager and in my early twenties I wrote a lot of love letters. I think one of my first love letters was to my girlfriend when I was in seventh grade. I don’t think I loved her really. I just wrote her a love letter because I thought that’s what you do when you have a girlfriend. In high school, I wrote love letters to my first love (and that time, I really was in love). I made art along with the letters I sent, and maybe even the letters themselves could have been art. I don’t really remember what I thought about the things I sent to her–if they were art or if she thought they were love letters or if we were just pen-pals or what. I never talked about it with her. I wish we had.

Back then I thought of love–like romantic love, family love, love for god, love for people I had never even met–I thought of all those loves as requirements, I thought–I must love them. I have to lvoe them. My understanding of love is much different now. And I’m grateful for that.

Now, love transforms. Love nourishes. I seek love that doesn’t own me. I desire a healing love. I deserve tender love. And as QTBIPoC I still feel so parched for love. Where was the love I deserved years ago? I wanted it. I want it. But I also yearn for radical platonic love. I long for passionate friendships. I want so much. And I still want more. I want to share the love I have been given too.

“Our Love Letters” is for you. However you are or have been, you are welcome here.

…

I’m really glad that you’re here and even if only for a short while–you took up space that has been made for you. We might not know each other so I don’t want to be insincere and say I love you, but, I do have love for you. If you and I never meet, I want you to know that I have so much love for you and the rest of our QTBIPoC community.

Thank you for reading and witnessing this love letter to you.

Love,

Jae

uncertainty

Dear One,

… I want to say what you need to hear — is that arrogant? I’m sorry, I mean to love:

I’m still learning

you deserve support, if you want it.

Will you tell me, if you do? Will you ask me to help you when you need it?

I imagine that you could keep me safe, but I’m not sure how. Or why — why should I want you to protect me?

why should I want you to care? to love? to comfort? to believe me? is it alright that I don’t know what’s best to say? Sometimes I feel embarrassed that I’ve written this way. That I’ve written these letters like this… who am I to say any of these things to you?

But I want to share something of myself with you. Yes, I’m unsure, but I want to share something of my heart.

….

Love,

Jae

growth

Dear One,

You have grown so much. Do you see? Did you ever imagine you would be who you are? did you know that you would find comfort and love, space to breathe, to be?

I am so proud of you. I am so happy for you.

Your growth isn’t over. Keep going, love. Keep taking the space you need. Keep choosing yourself. Remember to rest, too. Remember, you deserve to rest. Do what you need to do. Be who you need.

Your growth is yours.

Love,

Jae

past

Dear One,

I don’t presume to know what your life has been like but maybe it’s true that you have not been loved the way you deserved.

maybe you hid your love

or your voice or your pain

or your joy to be safe, to survive,

to make it through.

maybe it’s true that you made yourself small

to avoid unwanted attention. maybe you made yourself louder for longer than you could carry.

or maybe you lived so quietly that you barely recognize the sound of your own body.

maybe it’s true that you filled your life with everything else but you.

….

I’m really glad that you’re here and even if for a short while–you took up space…

…

Love,

Jae

Our Love

Dear One,

You are loved. You are Love. You hold a special place in my heart and I cherish your life. You are a blessing to me. Your existence means I am not alone. Our lives mean we are not alone.

Our love is revolution.

Our love is sacred.

Our love is transcendence.

Our love is holy.

Our love is radical.

Our love is ours.

Our love belongs to us.

Our love is written by us.

Our Love Letters is a project to celebrate the love we have ourselves as individuals and the love we have for our community. I invite you to write a love letter to QTBIPoC, whether a private letter to a loved one, a declaration of love for yourself, or an open letter to anyone in our community. Please read, receive, create, and send love to us.

Our Love Letters is my love letter to us. Our Love Letters is for you. Our Love Letters is for us.

Love,

Jae

The Artist’s Resume, 2018

excerpt from interviewing the artist’s memory: 2016 and 2010

JH:  So I wrote this thing, right? And I had an idea I mean some kind of idea about what it was gonna be or what I wanted it to be but it was the action–the process–of finding the words, stringing them together, that was most exciting for me. I don’t care so much for writing that is supposed to be a product. 

JR:  Product as in a finished product or draft ready for publication? Or do you mean product in a market or business sense? 

JH:  Um, good question…I think I mean any of them. Something about writing being ‘finished’ or ‘done’ or ‘complete’ or ‘ready for consumption’ that irks me. 

JR:  Right. Do you attribute that to being more interested in complicating a narrative or is it more about wanting to continuously refine your ideas? You’ve written several artist statements at this point in your career–are any of your statements ‘finished’? 

JH:  Hah! Nothing is ever finished. Ever. Why should it be? I mean besides the obvious: some external deadlines, some particular moment in time when other people are asking questions of you. Any finished writing, finished work, statement, written statements, those things are good to call ‘finished’ regardless of whether the artist/author thinks it is or not. And I honestly don’t think I have much of a ‘career’ at this point but…thanks! As for why? Why does ‘finished’ writing irk me? Like, what did you say? Complicating…narratives? No, I don’t think I’m trying to complicate a narrative or narratives. I think the complexity is there already. I’m just playing around with the words and the meanings, and my audience–the readers–they bring their own understandings of complexities to … what I’ve written. Our words–I mean my written statements and the understood or projected understandings of the readers–are an active kind of exchange. Well, maybe not exchange between them to me but .. probably from my words to theirs. Or, no, yeah, there is an exchange. And it’s between our words. Between. And it’s ongoing. It’s fluid. It’s… it’s yeah. The actual words are exchanging information and meaning between them. That’s what I’m interested in: information between words. 

JR:  So by declaring a statement ‘finished’, are you effectively rendering the exchange ‘finished’?

JH:  …something like that…maybe. There’s also some kind of arrogance around saying ‘yeah, this is exactly what I mean and it’s final and complete.’ 

JR:  Is it impossible to be simultaneously decisive, satisfied, and humble as an artist/author? 

JH:  …I have no idea. I’ll let you know if I ever figure that out.