Liberty’s welcome video
follow the collaboration instagram account @havebeenandhopetobe - our latest images are posted here below.
In the summer of 2020, a new reckoning awoke for the hundreds of years of systemic racism and violence against BIPOC in America.
As an artist, one of the only healthy ways I knew to deal with what I saw was to create artwork based on my grief, heartbreak, prayers and hope for change. I began by using the language of my Noisy Flowers to create a teardrop. constructed of skin tones which I entitled “How Long Oh Lord? (I Have a Dream)”
But making the one piece was not enough. As I searched for other ways to express what was happening internally and externally, I fell back to an old comfort - a traditional quilting shape called Half-Square Triangles. From these very simple shapes, I made a quilt called “Forward Movement” - which I made as a prayer. Using the scraps of my treasured African fabrics that I had been cutting into to make masks for the global pandemic, I combined the scraps with white fabric and created arrows that pointed both forward and backwards. I stitched and prayed, thinking about how we cannot move forward in our healing as a nation until we reckon with our past and our history of oppression.
Now I felt like I had a language that I could use to express my heart. Thus began a new series of quilts - “comforters that sit in the discomfort” of topics that are hard to discuss. More began to emerge.
Around the same time I was accepted into an artist’s residency with inbreak.co and was tasked with engaging a group to enter into the conversation of art/faith/race and how we can heal from racial trauma in America. The invitation went out and through a series of video interactions, a diverse cohort of participants of different ages and races across the country began to create paper quilts with me.
Here you will find our work.
Forward Movement
(Liberty Worth) A prayer for the children of the African continent and diaspora as they face the future - with a heart to look backwards and acknowledge the pain as we look forward to better times.
Hope Deferred
(Liberty Worth) Made as a reaction to the chaos and frustrations of the 2020 US elections - I cut into a project I had half finished and tried to capture the disorder of the moment.
Privilege
(Liberty Worth) I came up with this layout as I thought about the idea that one of the biggest abuses of privilege is to deny that we have it. And admission is the first step to dismantling it.
Divided
(Liberty Worth) As the election dragged on, the frustrations and angers over a divided nation spurred me to make another one of these pieces. This one was created as a contemplation of the various places one might find themselves on the spectrum of racism.
ANNE BRAY
In this piece artist Anne Bray chose to go all digital since that is where she was most comfortable designing. Coming from Scottish heritage, she chose the official state tartans of the Eastern colonies for the pressing portion and then Googled textiles from the 18 African nations that were part of the slave trade in the section that she sees as “rising up” against the oppression.
Creedence Kresch #1
“I wanted for there to be a mix in the shapes- with a spot of white in the black and black in the white. Where my mind goes when thinking about race is what it looks like to hold on to your racial/cultural identity (as defined by you) while also holding space for experience and life lessons outside of that identity. I am also 1/4 Korean, which I’m sure plays into this as well. Learning bits and pieces of Korean culture from my maternal grandmother always felt like an important building block to my own identity.”
Creedence Kresch #2- Quilt made by Liberty
"What came to mind as I started with the layout was to create arrow shapes pointing in different directions to speak to my family moving in and out of their homelands- lots of transitions. Some black, some white, some mixed colors where different cultures came together. I also liked the idea of creating a kind of compass in the middle to represent the idea of North, East, South, West because I have reason to believe that my ancestors were relatively diverse in their backgrounds - be it their respective cultures, religious beliefs etc. Lastly, when I stepped back from the piece to finalize it, I liked how there were two boat- like shapes in black facing away from each other over a kind of Milagroses heart. These shapes were unintentional, and yet when they caught my eye I felt assured I should stop playing with squares and keep them as part of the overall narrative of movement, transition, and surely a bit of protection for me to be telling this story generations later.”
Cherise Rollins #2- Quilt made by Liberty
“This is the matriarch- she represents the heart of our family- my grandmother, great grandmother, great great great…and so on. She’s so strong, motherly, loving, brave, feminine, beautiful black woman who raises up the family and leads by example. She wears a crown on her head, armor on her heart, and has an open mouth stretched wide because this woman shares her wisdom with those she loves, passing down the stories, the legacies from previous generations to the next one. Also her mouth is open because she can’t be silences. She’s the heart of the family. I’m very close to my Grandmothers, especially my Grandma Josie. I wasn’t able to meet them all before they passed on but something in my soul knows who they are, and I carry them with me so she represents them all.”
Cherise Rollins #3- Quilt made by Liberty
“Distorted Reflections”
The most painful part for me, is that I feel as a black woman that I’m not allowed to process my own pain, but that I’m still expected to be okay. I’m not okay. Days after the murder of George Floyd happened, I was still completely shut down, mentally lost, and I wanted to use a sick day at work, just to give myself some space to grieve, be angry, and process the pain I’m experiencing. But I felt like my white employers were watching me, that if I took the time I deserved, earned, and needed, they would hold this against me. And I work hard to not slip up, as the only black employee in the company. Not being allowed to grieve, to process trauma, to experience the pain that exists feels like a modern form of slavery. How can they also own the pain that I experience as a black person in America?
This piece that I created is the mirror that I so often feel separates my self-image from the image the system (systemic racism) projects me to be based on race, class, and gender: Limited, powerless, shameful, undeserving, broken. When I stand in front of the mirror I see a bright, vibrant human being represented by the African prints and Native American prints of my ancestors, my heritage, and my legacy. It’s built on a very strong foundation, and it’s forward movement. This is the image reflected back on me when I look in the mirror. On the other side, everything is broken. The image the world has created when they see me is black and broken. It’s not human, because to be human is to feel, to experience our greatest joy along with our deepest pain, and to freely express this. I’m not allowed to own my pain as a black woman, none of us are, so we carry it within ourselves. It makes me angry, but I can’t be angry, I can’t show it. they think we’re angry, yet we have a reason to be.
Cherise Rollins #4- Quilt made by Liberty
When I think about what I hope for in the future, I can't yet create the exact visual, all I know is that this mirror reflecting incorrect truths based on my black skin should be shattered. This piece is about all these questions I still have, and how being black today comes together with my ancestral roots of the past to create space to be seen and heard, I honestly don't know what that will look like because so much of this is up to what others decide to do. Will our white American neighbors put in the work to dismantle the systems that are embedded within our power structure as a nation? Will they know that they can't know what it is like to have lived this life in black skin? To fear for the life of their father, son, brothers just because they don't have the right skin color? To know and admit you can't possibly know is the first step, but then to take action to use your power, privilege, and voice to dismantle systemic racism and injustice is an entirely different step, but a most crucial one. One that has run out of time on the clock.
For me, in the future I hope that I can learn to live more as the person I am and the person I want to be - simply me. As someone who has survived a lot of racial trauma and pain, I hope I can choose how I go forward in the world, regardless of how others project their misunderstanding of who I really am into my sphere. So many of us have lost so much, been silenced, and broken. I want to lift up young black girls and black women - our ancestors are the heart and soul of the story of how this nation came to be and how it has thrived - and today I only want to be a part of empowering them and giving each one of us the opportunities we so deserve. I have so much love to give, and they say love is more powerful than anger, and hate - I want to know just how much more powerful for myself.
Dan Hendrikson #2- Quilt made by Liberty
Theres a kind of home structure at the base of the piece, then what I think of as a fluttering, flying figure above. It’s moving to the right side where there is a row of regular checkered blocks. I can assign my own meanings to these elements. Having grown up in Ft. Smith, Arkansas in the 1950’s and 60’s when segregation was very overt and accepted (by those I knew) as the normal “way things are”. My parents, who were from the “North”, did not agree with this on a cerebral level, but also did not raise a voice in support of the Civil Rights movement of the day. We left Arkansas in 1969, at the height of.national unrest, and moved to Indiana, where I saw essentially the same racist attitudes, just not the same overt, out-front, official condoning of them (but we know now that these submerged attitudes were equally effective at preserving a similar segregation). All of which necessarily colored my emotional (underneath cognition) world view- we are all, at some level, products of our environment. The symbolism of the flying form…escaping this structure &parenting a daughter who is demonstrably free from that baggage.
Marcela Khedry Ibanez #2 - Quilt made by Liberty
Here I intend to show the migration of my father from Alexandria, Egypt to Mexico City, Mexico and back to Egypt.
The starting point is the 3rd black square from left to right following downward and then it disperses throughout on to different places and finally coming back home.
He, as a youngster, was sent to boarding school in Alexandria. Later he went to Europe to finish his studies and lived there for some years. Afterwards he settled in Mexico City where I was born. The piece, I hope, reflects not only the migration of my father but, also some of the challenges encountered such as disruptions, blockroads, broken dreams and purposes before finally going back home to Egypt.”
PeQue Brown #2
My father never told me so. We didn’t have that type of relationship. But I have come to realize that racial injustice led him to believe there was no way for him to reach his dreams. Thus, this great artist and inventor settled into being mediocre; a mere fraction of what he was capable of being.He seemed to feel the TOP wasn’t available to him.
PeQue Brown #3
“Never knew where I came from. Didn’t have any answers of my origins, ethnicity, or culture. All of my thoughts pointed to a question mark that was somehow inextricably wrapped around someone else’s privileges.
Jeneen Metz #3
My heritage is actually quite mixed (we even have Welsh on my mom's side) and quite complicated in terms of relationships. One grandparent the direct product of a slave and the slave owner. Although different native tribes are part of heritage on both maternal and paternal sides, we do not mention these family members much. In fact, the idea of pain, as time has progressed, has also become synonymous with silence. I realize, as I worked through this project with you, and a swath of anonymous (to me) people, that a fair amount of my family's history and pain, lies in all of the stories that we did not share.
As best as I could, expressed in this design is that truth. Pieces of textiles from Native American and African American cultures, surrounding the ever-present envelope theme when this project began, serve as petals. Much like a petal that falls off of a flower, each one can be quite beautiful on its own, representing part of but not the whole flower. This is where I sit with my family history: Incomplete truth--some light, some dark--the flower of our history reduces to petals.
Sharon Yu #2
When our family chose to immigrate to the US in the hopes of finding a better future, it came at unknown, unimaginable and many unintended costs and sacrifices. The three corners of my art represents half of a house. The fourth corner represents me and my immigration story. Traditionally, Korean families are very communal and the home is multi-generational. Extended families often times lived nearby if not in the same home. When my family immigrated to the US, it essentially split up my extended families and even my nuclear family. Much of my early childhood was disconnected and living apart from my parents in the care of my grandparents because they had immigrated to the US before me. I was eventually taken to my parents to live in a new country with a family I did not recognize as my family. On a personal level and a collective community, there are layers to searching for a new place of belonging when one immigrated to a new land, with new people among a new culture. “Where do I belong? What must I do, and how must I be in order to belong? Where is home?
Sharon Yu #3
There is an understanding and acceptance that, to some extent, adaptation and assimilation will be needed when immigrating to a new country. The challenges of assimilation for me were heightened living in a rural Midwest town. Without knowing the English language, I went into Kindergarten where no one looked liked me, spoke like me or ate the kinds of food I was accustomed to eating. I became the target of cruel racially derogatory teasing, racial discrimination and bullying all because I was different.
This art represents how I adjusted and adapted, or more accurately put, I did not fully disclose and share certain parts of myself and aspects of my culture. I quickly learned which parts were “acceptable” and which aspects were disagreeable in my new world and I lived most of youth hiding parts of myself to be more “American” and more accepted.
Many years later, I remember being in the car with my grandmother as an adult and she was reminiscing about the days of when I was a little girl living with her in Seoul. She said she would take me to the market in Seoul, and she said with so much love and pride how people always used to walk up to her to tell her how cute and adorable I was. Up until that moment, it had never even occurred to me that there was ever a point in time in my life where my physical features were considered beautiful and not weird or ugly. What a stark contrast to the experience I would have a year later in Kindergarten and for many of the following years.
As my life and world became more diverse and I met more Korean-Americans and Asian-Americans, I rediscovered myself, who I am, where I’m from. Through these new found connections, I gained new perspectives, found healing and took a new pride in my culture and heritage, which helped me to overcome and silence the many voices that tried to devalue me and shame me for being different.
Ariel Okamato #2 -Quilt made by Liberty
“The general shape of the image is that of a torii gate, a Shinto marker between the secular and sacred. My great-grandparents came from Japan, so it's a fitting symbol on the face of it. But the inspiration actually came from a very specific torii gate erected on Terminal Island in San Pedro as part of a memorial to honor the Japanese American fishing village that thrived there before WWII. That's where my great-grandparents settled and where my grandfather was born, and he shared several stories with us of living on the tiny strip of land.
I started with the vertical sides of the torii very square (black with black squares), but ended up using HSTs to represent the barbed wire of the internment camps of WWII, where all of my great-grandparents and grandparents ended up during the war. Following their incarceration in Poston, Arizona, the Terminal Island family split up across the country, and although my grandfather ultimately returned to L.A., there was no going back to live on Terminal Island.
In 2002, a group raised the monument, and my 105-year-old great-grandmother was one of two living Terminal Island immigrants to cut the ribbon. In some way, I like to think that she was able to come home -- to what they call furusato (hometown, old home) -- before she passed later that summer.
And here I am back in L.A. myself, visiting the monument every so often to remind myself of where I come from. I think in that sense, the shape is not only a torii gate but also an altar, like the Old Testament stones for remembrance.
Ariel Okamato #3 -Quilt made by Liberty
I specifically used the Japanese and African fabrics, separating them by type in the two lower shapes. Here, there's a sense of fragmentation, with the outward spirals representing continuing grief and lament, which would have no end if all we had was this broken world. The two separate shapes also represent the often exploited inter-ethnic realities that get played off of each other, whether that's the model minority or oppression Olympics or some other trope.
I used black squares for the inside of these shapes because the deeper racial traumas of both Asian and African American communities I've been processing over the last year (e.g., my family's internment, the recent Atlanta shootings, Black friends' ancestors' enslavement and continuing suffering) are not personally my own, although I am both complicit in and affected by the present racial culture and system. In some ways, I am empty of these deeper traumas myself, even as I recognize all of it can have an impact on me.
But where I feel emptied by spiraling grief and conflicting identities and narratives, I turn to the ultimate suffering and grief of Jesus on the cross. Both with us as man and above us as God, he held all of us - the wrongs we've suffered and the wrongs we've inflicted - on the cross as he died for us. This isn't quite yet the picture of "where we hope to be" that's the final project, but it's the only place my grief can find a true, ultimately redemptive home. That hopeful direction is indicated in the fact that I chose slightly different patterns for the Japanese and African fabrics used...there's a transfiguration starting to happen in the midst of grief.
![#Repost from @inbreak.co “In 2020, I found myself in an unknown place as an artist. [...] In May, the murder of George Floyd rocked the nation and I joined my neighbors in weeping and protesting, but as a white woman, I lacked a way to express](https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5cbfeaa8755be212fbaa4461/1619552208486-1DYEDO63U3HSP4I7SHEJ/image-asset.jpeg)
