Chapter 1: “New Kid on The Block”
“Amongst all the negative, I must remember the beauty.” - A quote I posted on Instagram in mid-June of 2018, with only 21 views after 5 hours, in creative cursive font, glowing in front of a background - in between two trees and a traffic medium, against the bluest of Los Angeles, California skies - from the car of a now lost memory of a used to be “friend” ...
(and no the friend below is not that friend)
0…CONGRATULATIONS - Around May 18th of 2018, I graduated from college. When I walked across the stage, I felt absolute nothingness while feeling absolutely everything (you can see it in my eyes in the video below). Because at that moment I did but didn’t feel any more accomplished than I had before I had applied to the institution. Four years of hard work, literal blood, sweat, tears, fears, break-ups, breakdowns, sickness, health, wealth, love, joy, memories and moments I won’t remember yet won’t forget... I was feeling what I could only call a “worthy” “waste”. Not of time, nor experience, nor any of the general shit people normally think. It was a waste of … My body was feeling gaslit because all I had been doing for those 4 years was living my life, in a new environment, researching, creating, writing, studying, and having others tell me it was acceptable. All of this was in order for me to “become the best version of myself or artist I could be” ... and in a way it did help with this, but did I need this institution to do all of these things…especially for the practice and “profession” of art? Especially when all of the money I had been spending could’ve been used toward doing the same thing from back in Baltimore - where before I was accepted to the institution I had to live life, make mistakes, bleed blood, learn from my experiences, and put it in an application to become a scholar in the first place…?
So, as I walked across the stage, many questions arose as I smiled with grace and confusion, waving Wonderly at family in the crowd - robe heavy from an almost missed payment - legs tired from RA duty walkthroughs earlier in the week - mind foggy from planning my move to California, all the while my main job struggling wanting to let me transfer…
Who makes the scholar the scholar…the institution or the institutionalized?
How much of my real-life-day-to-day experience went unaccounted and unaccredited in the process of obtaining this degree? Does any of that ever matter?
Who was my performance here really for? The institution or myself?
Where is my refund?
Why didn’t this graduation robe come with what I paid for during college if it's supposed to be a representation of where I’ve now arrived? Also, why can’t I return it?
Why aren’t my folks not able to scream, holler, celebrate - is it because I still haven’t graduated? Or is it because this is also a part of the performance? Isn't graduation a performance of scholarship conferred by the many due to their presence…yet none of the mf’s were around to see any of it and of all people, my family and I are not granted the authority to our own supposed happiness?
Now what?
If the institution could not account for my life, my life will account for itself. The curriculum — “Green University”. Credits drawn from experience the degree refused to see.
GREEN UNIVERSITY
Art Department of Life · In Fellowship with Living
OFFICIAL CURRICULUM
By Jeion IsaiaMona Green | V.N.A, Ph.D. Performative Praxis |
Visionary Narrative Architecture & Doctor of Philosophy Performative Praxis
From the human life study of Being & Creative & Visionary Sciences.
in Art, Film, Photography, Performance Art’s, Archive and Avant-Garde Practice within lived experience.
The following curriculum documents the 8-year arc of lived study upon which the self-conferred degree of this "institution" is grounded. Each year corresponds to a distinct phase of experiential, professional, and creative development. No year can be skipped. No course can be taken without having first survived the prerequisite of simply being alive and paying attention. Credits are not transferable to other institutions. They are, however, non-revocable.
YEAR ONE — Code-Switching & Self-Performance
Prerequisites: Existence. Arrival somewhere new.
GU-101 – Introduction to Code-Switching · 3 cr. (I’ve had this shit since birth)
The foundational practice of learning to turn yourself on and off for different audiences, rooms, and systems. Study of the gap between the face you show and the self you are. Prerequisites: none. You already know how to do this. This course teaches you to see that you do.
GU-102 – Performance in Front of the Mirror · 3 cr. (When no one else was around to see it) (Circa …gosh… too many years to count)
The study of performing for yourself before performing for anyone else. How to rehearse your own becoming. How to witness your own process without collapsing it. The mirror as the first and most honest audience. (And even then, the mirror is not a true mirror unless it's a “True” Mirror. Crazy right?)
GU-103 – Being Without Being Seen · 3 cr. (Comes with having a “disability” …ADHD - Attention Done Hyperacutely Devine)
How to exist in rooms that were not built for you without erasing yourself entirely. The phenomenology of presence under surveillance. The art of occupying space quietly enough to survive and loudly enough to learn.
GU-104 The New Kid – Identity Under Pressure · 3 cr. (You are about to take this course in real time)
What it means to arrive somewhere unfamiliar and have to construct a self from available materials. Study of adaptation, code, and the first year of any new environment — city, school, industry, relationship.
* Year One is not about mastery. It is about survival with observation. The student who survives Year One has already completed the hardest prerequisite in the curriculum.
…A month later in June of 2018, I arrived in LA with some gusto and the feeling of being “unstoppable”. I had a side of a house to lay in with someone I considered a friend. New knowledge of how to start and manage a business for myself in the Art/Film industry, so I could actually earn money. And a small bit of money to get myself around thanks to a kind, encouraging, and generous previous boss — a fellow Virgo, I may add — who understood how screwed I would've been waiting on my final $100 from RA'ing that never arrived. She came out of her own pocket to give me what I needed in order to survive…
Conditions - You had to leave the space you believed you had a friend in. You wrote a three-page letter to them describing how much of an ass they were and for your mental health decided to leave. With little money you book a scammy Airbnb filled with disgusting living conditions and Bed bugs and lose another portion of your funds. With the little left, due to their “policy”, you check into The Hollywood Walk of Fame Hostel temporarily. Luckily you still have a job at Nordstrom and are the top seller of credit. This looks good on paper, so the Hostel gives you 2 weeks instead of 1 because you aren’t a tourist.
Why: Because that “friend” they’ve taken your money and given it to their significant other - apparently never once using it toward their rent. At every turn, although coordinated ahead of time they scorned your every waking existence inside their small, cramped side apartment. You’ve organized everything so compactly that you couldn’t even find your own things underneath the side quest of a small black chair that you had called your bed for oh…like 4 days at this point. You see the pattern and can’t go back to Baltimore because there is nothing there for you to return to… so the decision is clear…life (to live) or death (to give up) and you remember the quote …because there had to be beauty here and that curriculum I just finished wouldn’t allow me to not. Because the new space was right across the street from “stars” and you knew the burn inside of you is one. Also, it's close to all of the bus stops. Because if I wasn’t the top seller, there would be days without food. Because I knew my hard work wasn’t meant to be stopped or paused because - in actuality, I was, am a tourist to any space I’ve never been personally invited to and even though small “you” have been The New Kid on the Block and around it too many times to let any condition stop you...
Conditions: You move after two weeks from your hostel into a "permanent hostel” right around the corner, where you can work to live for free and meet incredible people - being, and treating you as if the only thing that mattered was human connection. The only condition required to give back is Thanks.
(In image from left to right - Myself, Samm (from Amsterdam), and Momo (from Japan) (then reversed for image 2 below).
…most may never understand how many days like what's pictured above were needed.
Why: Because shit was hard, sheets went unwashed for days, money existed but only for food not pleasure. Because a smile was needed and you two were there to provide. I am forever grateful and thankful.
Condition: Find someone you’ve probably married in a different lifetime and allow them to change your life forever in this one. Have someone enter your life and want to be there for you and you there for them. Find happiness within a person that found it within you during the hardest moments and you both fight to better yourselves…condition…find a Judit Parera (MY “WIFEY” not wife from Barcelona). The embodiment of Joy and love all in one.
Why: Because when I didn’t have hope, she gave me grace. Because when I didn’t have the energy to make breakfast for the other guests, she would step in. Because when you just needed a drink, you could depend on her to make sure we couldn’t remember our hurt for at least a portion of the day. Because when I thought there wasn’t beauty in the world, I remembered her spirit, her story, her drive, and how she gave that all up at times to protect me. Because Thank you. For carrying me and allowing me to help carry you.
To Paula (from all over the world),
Conditions:
BE A PERSON IN SEARCH OF A CURE WHILE CURING THOSE AROUND YOU THAT YOU’VE CHOSEN TO LOVE & WHOSE LIVES YOU’VE FOREVER CHANGED FOR THE BETTER IN THE SHORT TIME YOU WERE HERE.
Why:
BECAUSE YOU MATTERED PAULA.
(Because no picture is included here because the experiences imprinted in our souls will always be remembered. “Until we meet again” …)
- In Loving, respectful Memory of Paula. Thank you
Inspired by ADRIAN PIPER - CALLING CARDS, 1965-2016, MoMA, March 31-July 22, this Trigger warning is a performance, performative, and an actual trigger warning for the page that is to follow. Viewer discretion is advised.
Hello ______________(YOU),
I have been traumatized many times in my life due to [SA]. This first happened to me when I was about 9-10 years of age.
I am sure you have been traumatized too - at least once in your life. And because I am unsure if you are “of age” enough to digest the Sexual Assault material that comes next, or...
Even “healed” enough...your comfort, to an extent, does matter.
It doesn’t matter because I said to “an extent”, it matters because when talking about Sexual assault, and having someone stick their hand down your pants at a bar, forcing their fingers in you and repeatedly sexually assaulting many times in many different ways after… all for the chance, NO, for the price of possibly…well… I will say this…
My intent is not to cause you harm. But, I do recognize that no one cares about my intent, only your impact.
And…well...as long as you are impacted...
I regret to inform you that any discomfort my lived experience may bring, can’t be changed and remains in my body as an archive. So, thus, it also lives here…
However, you HAVE consented to discomfort many times before, haven’t you? You may have watched Final Destination with popcorn or slept soundly after a horror. You have scrolled past worse on your feed. Probably this morning at least twice. There were no trigger warnings before those; yet you chose to stay for the entertainment, the critique, or the thrill.
This trigger warning is for my life; you are choosing here and now. Your discomfort, should you feel it here and not elsewhere, is not discomfort. It is selection.
Continue reading or [REDACTED]
Conditions: A bar where you thought opportunity awaited yet
Actual conditions: (Forcefully taken Away)
Why: To pursue your career and move forward.
Actual Why: (Without consent it was taken away, this is what's left).
Why: Because justice seemingly becomes weak when the money is the “Assailant”.
Everything else: [Redacted]
This is your consent to breathe now, because I had to in order to get my shit together too.
After this moment I knew: I couldn’t stay in this hostile space forever. I needed to do better. So I did.
July 17, 2018…
After signing a lease that I should've gotten double-checked by a lawyer, and after using all of my 401K savings from Nordstrom, I had exactly enough for first- and second months' rent.
The room was massive in comparison to any room I’ve ever had the privilege of lying in. The fridge was disgusting. The closet in my room was bare but somehow full of the previous tenant’s life. There was a window that looked out against a wall, and onto a neighbor who could look down at me. Aside from me and the landlord, there was one other roommate. He was Asian, kind, and — before fixing anything in my sparse room — wanted the same thing I did: to clean the fridge and stove.
Though — I should back up a little. In needing to change my life, a few days after signing my lease, back at Nordstrom, the most unexpected occurrence occurred. A customer came in with fraudulent returns. On this first day, she came in wearing a one-piece biker tracksuit and helmet. She argued with me endlessly. Five of the items she was returning could not be returned. So she threatened me. I reported it. The store boss at the time simply told me to ignore it and to keep focusing on my “great customer service”. The very next day, as manager in charge for the night, she came back - more fraudulent returns - same smell, same dusty crusty nasty eyes, and suit. However, this time with items that neither we nor the associated retailer sold… - However, this time with items that neither we nor the associated retailer sold — items she was claiming to return from a store that had never carried them. Instead of taking no, she decided to hit me in the face. Repeatedly.
I clocked out.
I went outside.
And – redacted
The next day, she was let back in.
That was the day I quit.
Because after five full years at the top of their service, the company did not return service. The company focused on the customer — on building a case — although the case was already on my face, for all to see.
My intent was to work, to survive, to earn enough to stay housed. Their intent, they said, was customer service. My impact was absorbing a stranger's fist for a paycheck that could not cover the cost of the swelling. Their impact was a woman walking back through their doors the next day with her fraudulent returns and her biker helmet and the grace of a verdict they had already rendered in her favor.
My intent did not match their intent. My impact did not match the impact they were willing to see. So, I left them the job, and I kept my face.
Circling back…
Times were rough after that. I had good days. I had bad days. I interviewed for multiple jobs. I remember the many, many times crying, no car, walking home from that government assistance office and the bank — miles upon miles just to somewhat pay part of my rent. What got me through was friends-soon to be family (like Reuben & Jacari) and (X. Hill we will revisit this queen later), the walks, and saying to myself "I just need to make it another week."
That push led me to an internship at Sundance Institute in October. The internship wasn't going to pay enough to fully cover my rent, but it was the move I needed to make for my career — and throughout the eight — no, four — interviews it took to get the job, I felt like I was being seen. I felt like my curriculum was being seen.
Let me let you in, so you understand the mixed bag coming next.
The interviews were always rescheduled. Oh how I loved this. No, I am being serious here. It matched my rhythm, it matched how artists really work — so I knew this felt right. They were also at different locations throughout Los Angeles before getting to interview at Sundance itself. This made me feel tested but in a great light. It showed me that my experience would — and could — take me many places around this city I hadn't yet explored. For me, as an artist, sign me the fuck up.
Lastly, my interviewer, soon to be boss, never — and I mean never — wore anything fancy. In one interview he even asked why I was so "dressed up." That question made me cry in a way I didn't know I had been waiting to cry. Never once in my life had I been seen — or felt seen — for what I could do versus what outfit I was wearing, especially being black & queer. It felt understood that what would be most needed in this position was my mind, my background, my willingness, my ability, my love for art, and my overall sensibility to get the job done.
All of these things showed me this was going to be for me. And dammit, I was right. So, nothing else outside of this amazing opportunity mattered — I would have to figure out the rest somehow, someway.
And well… that's where we come back to my space. And oh, if people — including Sundance — knew my strength, I would've gotten a rise out of them on day one.
As I may've stated before or, not, I thrive under pressure, notice any detail (thanks ADHD & art), and can pivot in an instant. What I didn't know yet was that this same strength, when applied to rent, would turn into my weakness.
What I had noticed about my live-in landlord was a routine. And in routine there was opportunity.
His:
Step one. Drink 20-30 beers.
Step 2. Be devastatingly drunk before 7:30 pm.
Step C. Drink 10 more beers before midnight, just in case (he) wasn't drunk enough.
Step…idk… Loudly masturbate to women online whom he degraded. (The vents connected so… this was not me listening or caring by choice.)
Step IV. Wake up in the morning to vomit before work.
Step 832034. Get home and repeat.
…and yes, I've been putting this off so far… that's why I've been rambling with detail…
I could make this easier for him. Include myself in some of the drinking activity, and maybe just maybe he would forget about the other half of the rent. Because something life has taught me — if you've been reading intensely — is that, logically speaking, if I see a pattern, take a piece of that pattern, disrupt that pattern with quality, while still allowing the pattern to exist…
I used the little I had to buy him premium beer packs. I partook. It worked.
But he was an alcoholic, and I am too good at my job. And my job, here, was to survive. Pay rent. Make it another day. Rinse and repeat. Right?
And sometimes life rewards you with a lesson.
Mine… Alcoholism.
Just like him. Now day in and day out. Rinse and repeat. Rinse and Repeat. Some days — don't rinse, just repeat. While simultaneously, at the same time at work — Working the house down boots darling, YEZZZZ!
Well fuck…I was doing it…I was… until one day he noticed because…well…he…had…to…because…I…had…to…too.
On one fuzzy night in December, after a long day at work and not enough money for the premium shit, I decided to switch to hard liquor and a full bottle of wine. I was so behind that I had to indulge him in a way unlike any time before. So I bought the only cheap dark liquor he liked and kept the wine for myself. I joined him in his bedroom for a night of talking about (in his words) "the fucking sluts of the world" — so that I could get through the night without hearing him degrade the women directly, and hopefully without him jerking it too loud.
Problem was, my body didn't agree to the mix…of it all. We sat. Drank heavily. Talked about women. Luckily my queerness was something I couldn't un-perform even in that state, so I made him respect them during our conversation…
FUCKKKKKKKKK
Why the fuck did I fuck up the routine.
He got so mad that he couldn't insult, so he drank more than usual and knocked-out heavily on his bed.
FUCKKKKKKKK
I recognized my mistake and panicked. Which led me to drink more.
FUCKKKKK
Why did I drink more? Two hours later I walked out into traffic — in nothing but my robe and underwear (by pure mistake / due to too much to drink) — almost got hit by a car, and passed out.
FUCK.
This meant I couldn't wake up the next day to fix anything because I was in the hospital. I couldn't be there to berate the women — the sick-survival technique that might have restored his memory of a night that had not actually gone the way he needed it to. I couldn't
FUk
I couldn't make it to work, and those eight hours — and change — made him recognize that he couldn't pay his own rent. Because well.
F
Rent was due and time was up.
Oh, and what a time for time to be up. I was slapped with an illegal eviction in January. Three days to move — all while at work being offered a raise and the position I had originally applied for. Once again, Life or death — but, NAH. I chose or. Because this time opportunity stood in between. There was no specific path this time. Just focus.
So, I found another room for rent with Company B (name dismissed for legal reasons) — a company that would allow me to feel connected with my roommates in a seemingly more straightforward way. A way that allowed me to understand each of them before they arrived. And especially for me at this moment in my life — anyone or anything arriving needed to match where I wanted to be in life.
This hardship, just like the slap, was the motivation I needed.
The job was mine weeks before it was intended to be, right before the festival, and the new place was ready. I was secure. Finally! A home worthy, clean, tight, right, and FAB-U-LOUS. A paycheck that allowed me to stay secure and fabulous… oh the BEAUTY was coming together.
But before moving along I want to explain how much I loved this job and how it allowed me to survive in a way that I needed. While at Sundance I was able to use every single talent, brain cell, artistic knowledge, Excel sheet practice, Adobe mastery, hustle, and… just all of my might. I had managers who weren't overbearing but wanted me to be — so I could stay on top of things. And to have my manager's boss appreciate my work and more…
And here I have to pause and explain three moments — because they're what made the experience so great.
After weeks of working on a catalog from scratch — that was to be presented to a mass group of people and executives — and after the back-and-forth on line weight, text format and choice, background colors of each page, spacing, and so many other specific aspects of the choices behind my why I made them with my boss (which only made me stronger as an artist, I must add) — I saw Michelle Satter look at my work. The final product. Before it was used and handed out in the meeting. She hugged and kissed the final work. When I say… this meant the world to me… oh THE WORLD. It went beyond anything my paycheck could've offered.
I was given the opportunity to sit in for the labs. To understand not only how to make my own work better but to also understand the reason I was doing what I was doing, and why it mattered. This made me not only feel strong — it let me know that this is exactly what I should be doing. Not only the art, but continuing to learn while… learning lol. It also showed me that they were serious about me getting better in my position — because they trusted me to use these moments properly… well, once again, it made me feel recognized and heard.
I had a strong opinion about a change the institute could pursue. It was around queerness and its representation in our numbers as it related to the overall support of our voices — but also fairness in judging. (As throughout life, and as you continue to read, will understand is a giant philosophy and methodology of mine.) I forget the entire idea, but I was able to challenge the institute with proper pushback and given non-cynical feedback and critique. This made me feel both seen and heard. Even if my idea wasn't going to get pushed through at the time — though the institute uses it now — the fact that I, as a coordinator, didn't simply get fired for raising it? Brilliant.
Within this position — before the trauma that will not be fully explained occurred next — I was starting to finally get back into writing and into my art. The art I had stepped so far away from after being [redacted] by that assailant at the bar was returning. The characters I was about to come up with stemmed from my experiences, grew from my life lessons, and would come to reveal so much about my entire practice's evolution…
But before chapter 2. One last memory
Conditions: Finish up your first Sundance film festival as an employee. Get ready to go home and have your flight fuck every-thing-up. You almost get stuck in Salt Lake City, Utah when the best Volunteer (Volunteer of the year many times) walks you through how to speak strength — both into yourself and toward the service that was binding you. Encourage you with her smile. Never let you give up with her presence. So, you don't give up. And you make it home via a free flight because guidance came in the form of an angel.
Why: Simply because she wouldn't let anyone, anywhere, for any reason lose the energy of a great time, and for the pure love of loving — she gave to me so she could give a smile to herself. Because it simply made her day to make others' day. Because un-hurt people can un-hurt others. Thank you, Momma Deb! For this, and for every year you simply said hello, Happy Thanksgiving, or gave me a simple "you doing alright?…Good."
My why: Because you have always brought me joy, shown me love, and made life simply better. Thank you.
Thank you for also giving me a place to sleep. You really did save me. In more ways than you will ever know.
