Since moving to the Unites States. my curatorial practice has been filled with exhibitions, programs, and texts that circle around questions and attempts of answers about home, displacement, embodied memories, diasporic attachments, and a sense of reciprocal belonging. As personal (and at times, painful) as these concerns are, they’re also shared with many others, making me feel less alone, and reminding me that what feels most intimate is also profoundly collective.
When asked why I chose Washington DC to live in, I usually say “DC chose me”. But after nearly 15 years, I find myself choosing this city again and again; as my home, my headquarters, my people, my place. I’ve always felt welcomed and understood here. DC has given me my best friends, my most transformative years, my artistic career, my husband… And so, seeing it now covered in cammo and ammo, not only makes me ache for this city, but brings back terrible memories from a life I once had back in Venezuela.
I’m not new to military take-overs, or checkpoints in my neighborhood, or even kidnapping. But DC was supposed to be my safe haven, distant from the cruelty of tyranny. To live here meant to live without fear. And yet, DC’s militarization is unfolding at the same time as Venezuela’s threatened and attacked by US military forces. As if we didn’t already have to deal with our own military and paramilitary violence.
This post isn’t meant to accuse or defend any political action. I’m too tired to make a statement. But I am in pain. So this is my silent scream. What’s happening feels a blow to my face, and to my soul.
To my neighbors, and to my family
To my house, and to my home
To my branches, and to my roots
To my present, and to my presence
To my exile, and to my belonging
To my here, and to my there
To my body, and to my ghost
Like no matter where I am, it chases me.
All my bodies are in pain. And all I can do, for now, is say where it hurts.
We are with you! We stand together, protect one another and do what we can to resist these evils across time and place. Thank you for your words and your presence. <3
Your ability to hold these multiple truths—home as both haven and site of violence, belonging as both gift and fracture—reminds us of the fragility of place, and the strength of those who, like you, continue to create, care, and imagine even in the midst of pain.