Wednesday, June 2, 2021 at 9:17am
I dreamt that I had a daughter. It wasn’t a son - it was a daughter after all, so we could name her Iris. That’s a Tennessee state flower, and I recently have found a dear liking towards that flower. I held her, and the doctor told me that she was going to be fine. She would live a fine life. And I cried and cried.
This morning, while driving, I woke up and found myself soaked in the thick fog surrounding the Raccoon Mountains. Everything was a dream. Son and daughter forever asleep in my dark hours, they came and went. Here I am and no one is here.
I raise the volume on my Bose headphones. Fela Kuti’s “Water no get enemy” smoothens my shoulder knots and a slight ache I feel on the right side of my wrist. My eyes twitch a bit, but my spirit relaxes with the lyrics. Slowly, I start moving.
T'o ba fe lo we omi l'o ma'lo
If you want go wash, a water you go use
T'o ba fe se'be omi l'o ma'lo
If you want cook soup, a water you go use
T'o ri ba n'gbona o omi l'ero re
If your head dey hot, a water go cool on
T'omo ba n'dagba omi l'o ma'lo
If your child dey grow, a water he go use
If water kill your child, a water you go use
T'omi ba p'omo e o omi na lo ma'lo
Blocking out the sound of a crane digging rocks and dirt off the ground in view by my studio, I am just trying to get my mind back. With no audience, no one around to listen to me, or cry with me, to assure me of the future I do not care to know of, I am just trying to stay intact.
Where are you?
Are you here?
Where are you?
Yes, mama, I am here.
Tell me your story again. I am listening.
I have another cup of coffee to finish,
So
Tell me.
Tell me everything.
About your dad’s passing
About a clunk of sugar and marianna you chewed to stop getting sick
And how your son survived
And how your gold saved you.
Tell me.
Tell me everything.
I am here.
Gyun Hur, So we can be near, 2021, 2 days private performance in the installation at Sunroom Project Space. A screenshot of video documentation by the artist. Courtesy of the artist.