I wrote this poem right before I began working on Land. Stay tuned for a video recapping and 360º tour of the opening.
How to make a map.
My desire is to collect all things that make up the landscape of who I am, and the world I live in today. Territories, peoples and governments are so unstable. We know the planet is round; we explore and exploit the sea, the earth, the sky, the stars, the multiverse, the ever expanding cosmic force. The little we know and little is known of how much we’ve yet to know. My map as a kid was limited to the sounds of my parents whistles in the Areal. Thais and I could play anywhere, as long as we were within the reach of their sound. They would walk to the front wall of the yellow house, past the avocado and saputi trees and they would whistle. I didn’t always know where Thais was, but I knew that like me, she was running home. We sometimes ran into each other along the way.
Change came. Territories were different. Memory became the territory for home. Lines, boundaries being crossed and remade, expanding, contracting, rules of our invasion stamped on our passport pages. Hiding, always hiding, hiding until you forget where you’re from. Hiding in your elementary school class, at the doctor’s office, at your best friend’s 12th birthday party. I was not of this land until a green piece of plastic made it my own.
The map of the world. A shift in care. Similar stories everywhere. Told by veils that sink and shoes that float. We can’t all fit on this boat. How do you swim in oil? On which side of the line is this rock? Once we forged ahead in full speed only to go a bit too far. To make maps when nothing is left, what will we want to own? How do you map space and the stars? Who will own the void? How will we remember home?
Where do we go from here?