A Collision of Facepaint, Poetry, & Other Art Forms

"I've always loved the taste of poetry but lately I've been trying to present it in a different light, in different forms. To think beyond the stage and page. To present a concept that will feed the audience in a way never thought of before."

 

FAce Painter / Body Artist

Art revolving around special effects make-up, water based paints, horror, comics, and the exploration of darkness.

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Poet

A love of words that encompass queerness, mixed identity, Oceania, dismantling patriarchy, womyn empowerment, and current political issues.

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Community Organizer

Outreach Coordinator for Pacific Tongues, a nonprofit organization that cultivates an active artistic Oceanic community of writers, spoken word performers, leaders, educators and students of all ages.

A experimental exploration between special effects make-up, water based paints, and an undying thirst for poetry

 

"My work is dark, unsettling, unnerving. It challenges what we define as "beautiful" and redefines it in my own fascination with darkness."

 

 
"Vincent van Gogh, whose depression, some say, was likely related to temporal lobe epilepsy, famously saw and painted the world in almost unbearably vivid colors. After his nearly unsuccessful attempt to take his life by shooting himself in the gut, when asked why he should not be saved, he famously replied, "the sadness will last forever." I imagine he was right." - Maggie Nelson, "Bluets" pg. 36 . What I wrote after reading Maggie Nelson's "Bluets" . "Why do you paint your face such monstrous things?" He asks her. "Because for a moment in time, I can show the world what the inside of this body feels like. I can show the world how even the villains we hold in us can be beautiful too." She replied. " Because the bad guys have more fun?" He assumed. "Because the bad guys are just the good guys that no one believed in or even tried to listen to" She said. "So you paint to tell the other side of the story we all got? Is that right?" "I paint because not all stories are told one way. Or are even told at all. Some stories are just a brush stroke open for translation. And most times I don't feel like a writer. I just feel like a woman with puddles of colors begging to cover skin."

"Vincent van Gogh, whose depression, some say, was likely related to temporal lobe epilepsy, famously saw and painted the world in almost unbearably vivid colors. After his nearly unsuccessful attempt to take his life by shooting himself in the gut, when asked why he should not be saved, he famously replied, "the sadness will last forever." I imagine he was right." - Maggie Nelson, "Bluets" pg. 36 .

What I wrote after reading Maggie Nelson's "Bluets" .

"Why do you paint your face such monstrous things?" He asks her.
"Because for a moment in time, I can show the world what the inside of this body feels like. I can show the world how even the villains we hold in us can be beautiful too." She replied. "
Because the bad guys have more fun?" He assumed.
"Because the bad guys are just the good guys that no one believed in or even tried to listen to" She said.
"So you paint to tell the other side of the story we all got? Is that right?"
"I paint because not all stories are told one way. Or are even told at all. Some stories are just a brush stroke open for translation. And most times I don't feel like a writer. I just feel like a woman with puddles of colors begging to cover skin."

Call me king maker// Drip me in sweat and watch me shimmer// siren laced in luxury I am/ your Midas touch womyn. [Aren't I worth blood shed of the nameless?] Watch you claw a path to the lavish. "I'll keep you all to myself" Epitome of greed Catalyst for wars My body is what moves man to get his hands dirty to sink fingers first into earth and seek my undying love.  

Call me king maker//
Drip me in sweat and watch me shimmer//
siren laced in luxury I am/
your Midas touch womyn.

[Aren't I worth blood shed of the nameless?]

Watch you claw a path to the lavish.
"I'll keep you all to myself"
Epitome of greed
Catalyst for wars
My body is what moves man to get his hands dirty
to sink fingers first into earth
and seek
my undying love.

 

"The dark side is emotion, Bane. Anger, hate, love, lust. These are what make us strong, Peace is a lie. There is only passion. Your passion is still there, Bane. Seek it out. Reclaim it." - Drew Karpyshyn, Path of Destruction (Star Wars: Darth Bane, #1). We were an Empire before we recognized our own force// We were a death star before we became a gone planet. Peace is a lie. Rage and scream and love and hate and fight and destroy yourself. You are more than half machine. You are painter gone blind. You are a composer gone deaf. You rememberthe power but that power you touch is only memory. Memory is the past. The past is what haunts us. Ghosts must be banished. Lingering on the past is a weakness. Kill that part of you in fury Rise in Passion Reclaim yourself, a composer of silence & screams. a painter of blood and lost dreams. Welcome to the Dark Side.

"The dark side is emotion, Bane. Anger, hate, love, lust. These are what make us strong, Peace is a lie. There is only passion. Your passion is still there, Bane. Seek it out. Reclaim it." - Drew Karpyshyn, Path of Destruction (Star Wars: Darth Bane, #1).

We were an Empire before
we recognized our own force//
We were a death star before we became a gone planet.
Peace is a lie.
Rage
and
scream
and
love
and
hate
and
fight
and
destroy yourself.
You are more than half machine.
You are painter gone blind.
You are a composer gone deaf.
You rememberthe power
but that power you touch is only memory.
Memory is the past.
The past is what haunts us.
Ghosts must be banished.
Lingering on the past is a weakness.
Kill that part of you in fury
Rise in Passion
Reclaim yourself,
a composer of silence & screams.
a painter of blood and lost dreams.
Welcome to the Dark Side.

[i'll serve you all the fruits of my labor] Mouth full of cynanide/ I sowed Johnny's body in a garden row/ Buried him a seed/ I did the same to Adam, blaming Eden's sorrows on Eve/ Conjure me the lump in his throat/ Put you to sleep/ Snow White/ I'll be your seven-- Deadly sins, Hold your breath Come darling, Take a bite out of me. .

[i'll serve you all the fruits of my labor]

Mouth full of cynanide/
I sowed Johnny's body in a garden row/
Buried him a seed/
I did the same to Adam, blaming Eden's sorrows on Eve/
Conjure me the lump in his throat/
Put you to sleep/ Snow White/ I'll be your seven-- Deadly sins,
Hold your breath
Come darling,
Take a bite out of me. .

And as the words began incinerating beneath flesh stories unraveled blood tissue Muscle memory// Clavicle lullaby fold this body a paper crane a thousand wished poems \\What a blessing and curse it is to be a poet\\ The constant itch of lines crawling under skin Walking cadaver of things unsaid the open wound begs, "Finish this line..."

And as the words began incinerating beneath flesh stories unraveled blood tissue Muscle memory// Clavicle lullaby fold this body a paper crane a thousand wished poems \\What a blessing and curse it is to be a poet\\ The constant itch of lines crawling under skin Walking cadaver of things unsaid the open wound begs,

"Finish this line..."

Sometimes we --blind-- ourselves from our true potential.

Sometimes we
--blind--
ourselves
from
our
true
potential.

An experimental series of gold continued: What once protected us, now kills us\\ The history of the Venetian carnival raven mask is rooted in the 14th century when the plague ravaged Europe. The earliest historical textual evidence comes from Chief physician to Louis XIII, Charles de Lorme who created the mask as part of a 17th century Biohazard suit. He believed the mask he created would work as a filtration device that would prevent infection. Today, the plague mask lives on in the imaginations of artists, writers and film-makers. Through them, it has veeb transformed into something altogether different, for the plague mask which was once used to ward off death, has now become the very symbol of it. // I've been thinking a lot about gold lately. About currency. About money and how much man is moved by it. How much it boils down to sacrifice and sweat and bleeding knuckles. How many hours man will go to provide for family, how providing equates to how much you earn. How this gold once protected us. Gave a shelter, food and pockets that shimmer. But when does greed sprout the thorn that pricks the blistered hands? Capitalism a plague of "never enough" and man sick off his own Midas touch.

An experimental series of gold continued:
What once protected us, now kills us\\

The history of the Venetian carnival raven mask is rooted in the 14th century when the plague ravaged Europe. The earliest historical textual evidence comes from Chief physician to Louis XIII, Charles de Lorme who created the mask as part of a 17th century Biohazard suit. He believed the mask he created would work as a filtration device that would prevent infection. Today, the plague mask lives on in the imaginations of artists, writers and film-makers. Through them, it has veeb transformed into something altogether different, for the plague mask which was once used to ward off death, has now become the very symbol of it. //
I've been thinking a lot about gold lately. About currency. About money and how much man is moved by it. How much it boils down to sacrifice and sweat and bleeding knuckles. How many hours man will go to provide for family, how providing equates to how much you earn. How this gold once protected us. Gave a shelter, food and pockets that shimmer. But when does greed sprout the thorn that pricks the blistered hands? Capitalism a plague of "never enough" and man sick off his own Midas touch.

When your mouth is a serpent, men start to warn their brothers about Queen's like you. Descendant of lilth, Daughter of no god, Sister of sirens, Swallower of worlds. They don't know any better but to fear your words like venom. Little boys grow up imagining staples around lips and fangs, Rather have you soft and silent. Let them dream, Because make no mistake, You, womyn Know what it takes To bring a man's souls back from Heaven's gate

When your mouth is a serpent,
men start to warn their brothers
about Queen's like you.
Descendant of lilth,
Daughter of no god,
Sister of sirens,
Swallower of worlds.
They don't know any better
but to fear your words like venom.
Little boys
grow up
imagining staples around lips and fangs,
Rather have you soft and silent.
Let
them
dream,
Because make no mistake,
You, womyn
Know what it takes
To bring a man's souls
back
from Heaven's gate

[What is dead may never die] Womyn like me are born a eulogy// From birth man tried to bury us: In fear. Trembling cold sweat organs How much universe tilts in our wombs. He will never understand power as pulling worlds from body. How many of us bear a crown curated of our mother's mother's tongue. All steel and salt and smothered in absinthe All silver melted over memory. We are a walking resurrection. Do not bow down. Kneel// On blistering knees With clasping limp hands. It is too late to worship me. Instead Ask for forgiveness that I not haunt you while still breathing as prayer.  

[What is dead may never die]

Womyn like me are born a eulogy//
From birth man tried to bury us: In fear.
Trembling cold sweat organs
How much universe tilts in our wombs.
He will never understand power as pulling worlds from body.
How many of us bear a crown curated of our mother's mother's tongue.
All steel and salt and smothered in absinthe
All silver melted over memory.
We are a walking resurrection.
Do not bow down.
Kneel// On blistering knees
With clasping limp hands.
It is too late to worship me. Instead
Ask for forgiveness
that I not haunt you
while still breathing
as prayer.
 

"It's an awful truth that suffering can deepen us, give a greater lustre to our colours, a richer resonance to our words. That is, if it doesn't destroy us, if it doesn't burn away the optimism and the spirit, the capacity for visions, and the respect for simple yet indispensable things." Anne Rice, The Queen of the Damned (The Vampire Chronicles, #3) . For all the Queens of the Damned . // I bathe in the blood of my enemies // Enthrone me in chaos Make me queen of this destruction What does not kill me Crowns me immortal Let all the little birds speak I am feasting on crows I am the vulture that clean their dead to the bone Everyone wants to eat But few want to hunt No one taught them When you point your arrows to a predator Do not blink, Do not miss, Do not look her in the eyes Because she will remember curve of your jaw the quiver of your lip the snakes rattling in your eyes She will draw her next bath with your blood

"It's an awful truth that suffering can deepen us, give a greater lustre to our colours, a richer resonance to our words. That is, if it doesn't destroy us, if it doesn't burn away the optimism and the spirit, the capacity for visions, and the respect for simple yet indispensable things." Anne Rice, The Queen of the Damned (The Vampire Chronicles, #3) .

For all the Queens of the Damned .

// I bathe in the blood of my enemies //

Enthrone me in chaos
Make me queen of this destruction
What does not kill me Crowns me immortal
Let all the little birds speak
I am feasting on crows
I am the vulture that clean their dead to the bone
Everyone wants to eat
But few want to hunt
No one taught them
When you point your arrows to a predator
Do not blink,
Do not miss,
Do not look her in the eyes
Because she will remember curve of your jaw the quiver of your lip the snakes rattling in your eyes

She will draw her next bath with your blood

Perhaps the monsters are not creatures Perhaps our hauntings are not apparitions Perhaps this fear does not have fangs Perhaps what we are afraid of most is regret, Perhaps the silence is what crawls on webs, Perhaps missed opportunity is the demon's laugh, Perhaps you should've asked her name when she walked into the dark. Perhaps you stitched lips and forgot your tongue, Perhaps the heart suicide dived leaving a trail, Perhaps black coffee is the summoning spell Perhaps she's a witch like you manifesting elixirs out of crossed in paths mixed in perhaps.

Perhaps the monsters are not creatures
Perhaps our hauntings are not apparitions
Perhaps this fear does not have fangs
Perhaps what we are afraid of most is regret,
Perhaps the silence is what crawls on webs,
Perhaps missed opportunity is the demon's laugh,
Perhaps you should've asked her name when she walked into the dark. Perhaps you stitched lips and forgot your tongue,
Perhaps the heart suicide dived leaving a trail,
Perhaps black coffee is the summoning spell
Perhaps she's a witch like you manifesting elixirs out of crossed in paths mixed in perhaps.

Serving cold hearted bitch realness / Ice Queen / Cold Shoulder/ DIY crown.

Serving cold hearted bitch realness / Ice Queen / Cold Shoulder/ DIY crown.

[Steam Punk Cat Pirate] \\ Drop the anchor. We have arrived my friend to a land of the strange and abnormal.// where the sky is below, and sea is above//where the sword fish cut my thought patterns o/f/f/ where I walk on cloud 9. Here we are, darling. Where our insides shimmer gold where we bleed sun rays and float on hope I think you'll like it here.

[Steam Punk Cat Pirate]

\\
Drop the anchor.
We have arrived my
friend to a land of
the strange and
abnormal.//
where the sky is below,
and sea is
above//where
the sword fish cut
my thought patterns
o/f/f/
where I
walk on cloud 9.
Here we are, darling.
Where our insides
shimmer gold where
we bleed sun
rays and float
on hope I
think you'll like it
here.

In Collaboration with Various Artists, Educators, Poets, Activists, & Friends

 

"Mahalo to all the people that worked along side me to create art. In all my experiences, I have learned the most through my interactions with all of you."

 

 
This art piece is inspired by Bryan Kuwada's poem, "We who share breath" (featured below) We who share breath "Our word for breath is ea. Ea is breath is life, ea is life is sovereignty, ea is sovereignty is rising, ea is breath is breath. Rising. This is what lay between us as my forehead pressed against yours, our noses touching, our lips a breath apart. Our eyes are closed to imagine the future, to see beyond the horizon. I walked the land you exhaled looking for my moʻolelo, perhaps it had found home there, sheltered in your words. Growing across this distance. Joining my hand at your hip and shoulder. When you shared your breath, I heard the flutter of stone wings taking flight, feathers clattering to the ground like pebbles, witnessed how you found bravery by stepping into the sea from a great height. A breath and then ea. You once told me you were broken, and that lay like breath between us as well. Yet here wind from our lungs wraps around our wounds, light showing through where we are both shattered and coming apart. Breath and touch are meant as salves on our skin, healing together these wounds we suffered apart. You are a star, a dancer. I am a stone worn smooth by waves. Not meant to stand so close, pressed together in an embrace. Sea meets sky meets river, and here we are. Water, and air, and blood. This is what we have shared. A confluence of ea. My breath stands witness to your flight, as you exhale ʻāina rising from my ocean. Lean toward me, my friend, and let us share breath again. "  

This art piece is inspired by Bryan Kuwada's poem, "We who share breath"
(featured below)

We who share breath "Our word
for breath is ea. Ea is breath is life,
ea is life is sovereignty,
ea is sovereignty is rising, ea is
breath is breath. Rising. This
is what
lay between us as my forehead
pressed
against yours, our noses touching,
our lips
a breath apart. Our eyes are
closed
to imagine the future, to see
beyond the horizon.
I walked the land you exhaled
looking for
my moʻolelo, perhaps it had found
home
there, sheltered in your words.
Growing
across this distance. Joining my
hand at
your hip and shoulder.

When you shared your breath, I
heard
the flutter of stone wings taking
flight, feathers
clattering to the ground like
pebbles, witnessed
how you found bravery by
stepping into the
sea from a great height. A breath
and then
ea.
You once told me you were broken,
and that lay like breath between us as
well. Yet
here wind from our lungs wraps
around our
wounds, light showing through
where we are both
shattered and coming apart.
Breath and touch
are meant as salves on our skin,
healing
together these wounds we
suffered apart.
You are a star, a dancer. I am a
stone worn
smooth by waves. Not meant to
stand so close, pressed together in an embrace.
Sea meets
sky meets river, and here we are.
Water,
and air, and blood. This is what we
have
shared. A confluence of ea. My
breath stands
witness to your flight, as you
exhale ʻāina rising
from my ocean. Lean toward me,
my friend,
and let us share breath again. "
 

Images for Kathy Jetnil-Kijiner's 2017 Honolulu Biennial Installation Model: Kathy Jetnil-Kijiner Creative Direction: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng Make up: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng Photographer: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng Photo Editor: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng

Images for Kathy Jetnil-Kijiner's 2017 Honolulu Biennial Installation
Model: Kathy Jetnil-Kijiner
Creative Direction: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng
Make up: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng
Photographer: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng
Photo Editor: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng

Images for Kathy Jetnil-Kijiner's 2017 Honolulu Biennial Installation Model: Kathy Jetnil-Kijiner Creative Direction: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng Make up: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng Photographer: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng Photo Editor: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng

Images for Kathy Jetnil-Kijiner's 2017 Honolulu Biennial Installation
Model: Kathy Jetnil-Kijiner
Creative Direction: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng
Make up: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng
Photographer: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng
Photo Editor: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng

Images for Kathy Jetnil-Kijiner's 2017 Honolulu Biennial Installation Model: Kathy Jetnil-Kijiner Creative Direction: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng Make up: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng Photographer: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng Photo Editor: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng

Images for Kathy Jetnil-Kijiner's 2017 Honolulu Biennial Installation
Model: Kathy Jetnil-Kijiner
Creative Direction: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng
Make up: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng
Photographer: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng
Photo Editor: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng

"Yumi harim karai bilong ol brata susa blo yumi na yumi tanim baksait. Wan solwara, yumi i mas kirap na sanap wantaim West Papua." -Aravapo Leo Last year my mentor Lyz Soto gave me a "We Bleed Black and Red" shirt that motivated me to educate myself on the Indonesian occupation of West Papua. For myself as a Polynesian artist in the Pacific, I decided to start an artistic campaign using face painting as a platform to try and help bring more awareness to the plight of the West Papuan people that has been mostly ignored and silenced for more than fifty years. One year later, the news from West Papua has not gotten any better. One year later the genocide of West Papuan people continues. One year later, there is still so much silence in my home and my area of the world surrounding West Papua's struggle for independence from an Indonesian government that cannot defend its own track record of human rights abuses and political corruption against the West Papuan people. One year later we still bleed black and red. As I write this, I am working in the Marshall Islands and fortunate to collaborate with Aravapo Leo, a PNG muralist. My criticism of my own work has been that it lacks representation from the Melanesian region of the Pacific. Thank you, Apo for allowing me to use your face as a canvas, to share your words, representing Melanesia. I offer part of this poem again. It was written last year by myself, Harrison Ines, Sarah Daniels and Malia Derden. Please feel free to share, to listen, to start a conversation. Dear world what is it like to be a secret keeper? To have the military force innocent blood into your clenched fists and ask the victim to apologize What will we do then? How do we fight back when every dawning voice gets turned into dusk? how much stomach does it take to join the revolution? what is time but what we remember? what is distance But what are afraid to touch? Dear world, we are here today in the Pacific to make a difference We make a difference by giving voice to the silenced to give voice we wrote this poem to write this poem we first learned how to listen

"Yumi harim karai bilong ol brata susa blo yumi na yumi tanim baksait. Wan solwara, yumi i mas kirap na sanap wantaim West Papua." -Aravapo Leo

Last year my mentor Lyz Soto gave me a "We Bleed Black and Red" shirt that motivated me to educate myself on the Indonesian occupation of West Papua. For myself as a Polynesian artist in the Pacific, I decided to start an artistic campaign using face painting as a platform to try and help bring more awareness to the plight of the West Papuan people that has been mostly ignored and silenced for more than fifty years. One year later, the news from West Papua has not gotten any better. One year later the genocide of West Papuan people continues. One year later, there is still so much silence in my home and my area of the world surrounding West Papua's struggle for independence from an Indonesian government that cannot defend its own track record of human rights abuses and political corruption against the West Papuan people. One year later we still bleed black and red. As I write this, I am working in the Marshall Islands and fortunate to collaborate with Aravapo Leo, a PNG muralist. My criticism of my own work has been that it lacks representation from the Melanesian region of the Pacific. Thank you, Apo for allowing me to use your face as a canvas, to share your words, representing Melanesia. I offer part of this poem again. It was written last year by myself, Harrison Ines, Sarah Daniels and Malia Derden. Please feel free to share, to listen, to start a conversation.

Dear world what is it like to be a secret keeper?
To have the military force innocent blood into your clenched fists and ask the victim to apologize
What will we do then?
How do we fight back when every dawning voice gets turned into dusk? how much stomach does it take to join the revolution?
what is time but what we remember?
what is distance But what are afraid to touch?
Dear world, we are here today in the Pacific to make a difference
We make a difference by giving voice to the silenced to give voice we wrote this poem to write this poem we first learned how to listen

In collaboration with PNG muralist Aravapo Leo & Marshallese Poet Kathy Jentil-Kijiner. For anyone reading this post, this face paint honors the mural done by a group of Marshallese youth in Apo's art class this week. (Please see part 1 to see the mural). Below is a beautiful poem by Kathy Glass Marbles I am a mouthful of glass marbles a rolled tongue stuck raw in my clogged throat white man’s burden boiled syrup sweet slowing down my speech When I was six I moved to Hawai’i learned my name was no longer Dede it was Kathy I became blacktop negotiations tetherball tied tongues a new culture to learn When I was 22 I moved back to Majuro a small strip of land an ocean of knowledge I no longer knew a sea of blank spaces a place that was no longer home When I was 24 another Micronesian told me that girls like me are westernized americanized therefore lost I stood and watched my cousin tattoo a stick chart into her back the buzz of ink a map to find our way back home When I was 26 I saw my last name spelled proper just how it sounds for the first time jetn̄il-kijiner realized I been shaping it wrong all these years for colonial ears to hear jet-nil kijiner how do you say your name? how do you say your country? Where is your country? Show it to me Dance for me Hang on the wall for me I am a burden of representation I am boxed in at the bishop museum An indigenous voice woven for your display Here you go step right up listen To this poet listen to this Native tongue - look She walks and she/ Talks too But before I was A label verifying contents before I was a glass cage before the water creeped up to our shores before I learned Not To trust that tide Before I was confronted with roots grown braided into a plastic umbilical a mountain of trash that’s consumed our home Before I was four I was crouched slippers on the dirt path outside my house shooting marbles watching this world through a sea glass glow

In collaboration with PNG muralist Aravapo Leo & Marshallese Poet Kathy Jentil-Kijiner. For anyone reading this post, this face paint honors the mural done by a group of Marshallese youth in Apo's art class this week. (Please see part 1 to see the mural).
Below is a beautiful poem by Kathy Glass Marbles

I am a mouthful of glass marbles a
rolled tongue
stuck raw in my clogged throat
white man’s
burden boiled syrup sweet slowing
down my speech
When I was six I moved to Hawai’i
learned my name was no longer
Dede it was Kathy I became
blacktop negotiations
tetherball tied tongues a new
culture to learn
When I was 22 I moved back to
Majuro
a small strip of land an ocean
of knowledge I no longer knew a
sea of blank spaces
a place that was no longer home
When I was 24 another
Micronesian told me that girls
like me
are westernized americanized
therefore
lost
I stood and watched my cousin
tattoo a stick chart into her back
the buzz of ink a map to find our
way back home
When I was 26 I saw my last name
spelled
proper just
how it sounds
for the first
time jetn̄il-kijiner realized I been
shaping it wrong
all these years for colonial ears to
hear jet-nil kijiner
how do you say your name? how
do you say your country? Where
is your country?
Show it to me
Dance for me
Hang on the wall for me
I am a burden of representation
I am boxed in at the bishop
museum An indigenous voice woven for
your display
Here you go step right up listen
To this poet listen to this
Native tongue - look
She walks and she/
Talks too
But before I was
A label verifying contents before I
was a glass cage before
the water creeped
up to our shores before I learned
Not
To trust that tide
Before I was
confronted
with roots
grown braided into a plastic
umbilical a mountain of trash that’s
consumed our home
Before
I was four
I was crouched slippers
on the dirt path outside my house
shooting marbles watching
this world through a sea glass glow

Images for Grace Taylor's 2nd Book, "Full Broken Bloom" Model: Grace Taylor Creative Direction: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng Make up: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng Photographer: Jakob Bauwens Photo Editor: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng

Images for Grace Taylor's 2nd Book, "Full Broken Bloom"
Model: Grace Taylor
Creative Direction: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng
Make up: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng
Photographer: Jakob Bauwens
Photo Editor: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng

In collaboration with Aotearoa Poet, artist, & educator: Grace Taylor. Model and poem by Grace Taylor. Creative Creation by Jocelyn Ng. "I am told The gloy of my jaw is the most seductive thing about my body. This gold is inviting. This gold is poisoning. Many have left with rust bittne teeth."

In collaboration with Aotearoa Poet, artist, & educator: Grace Taylor.
Model and poem by Grace Taylor.
Creative Creation by Jocelyn Ng.

"I am told
The gloy of my jaw
is the most seductive thing about
my body.
This gold is inviting.
This gold is poisoning.
Many have left with rust bittne
teeth."

Images for Grace Taylor's 2nd Book, "Full Broken Bloom" Model: Grace Taylor Creative Direction: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng Make up: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng Photographer: Jakob Bauwens Photo Editor: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng

Images for Grace Taylor's 2nd Book, "Full Broken Bloom"
Model: Grace Taylor
Creative Direction: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng
Make up: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng
Photographer: Jakob Bauwens
Photo Editor: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng

Images for Lyz Soto's Poetry Series Model: Bryan Kuwada Creative Direction: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng Make up: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng Photographer: Jakob Bauwens Photo Editor: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng

Images for Lyz Soto's Poetry Series
Model: Bryan Kuwada
Creative Direction: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng
Make up: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng
Photographer: Jakob Bauwens
Photo Editor: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng

Images for Lyz Soto's Poetry Series Model: Jahra Rager Creative Direction: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng Make up: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng Photographer: Jakob Bauwens Photo Editor: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng

Images for Lyz Soto's Poetry Series
Model: Jahra Rager
Creative Direction: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng
Make up: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng
Photographer: Jakob Bauwens
Photo Editor: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng

Model: Grace Taylor Poem: Jocelyn Ng & Lyz Soto Creative Creation: Jocelyn Ng "First: call me leviathan dream me devourer of children plague of my own flesh. Second: say no. Eater of worlds would have too much power in her belly. Strip me of fangs and marry me. Third: watch this world, make her chimera, and call her only the wife of a monster. Say even your stray pieces belong to a king."

Model: Grace Taylor
Poem: Jocelyn Ng & Lyz Soto
Creative Creation: Jocelyn Ng

"First: call me leviathan
dream me devourer of children
plague of my own flesh.

Second: say no. Eater of worlds
would have too much power
in her belly. Strip me of fangs
and marry me.

Third: watch this world,
make her chimera,
and call her only the wife
of a monster. Say even your
stray pieces belong to a king."

Images for Lyz Soto's Poetry Series Model: Jahra Rager Creative Direction: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng Make up: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng Photographer: Jakob Bauwens Photo Editor: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng

Images for Lyz Soto's Poetry Series
Model: Jahra Rager
Creative Direction: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng
Make up: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng
Photographer: Jakob Bauwens
Photo Editor: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng

Model: No'u Revilla Photographer: Bryan Kuwada SFX Make-up: Jcoelyn Kapumealani Ng Concept & Creative direction: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng Poem by No'u Revilla: on my body, a battle between skin I grew for you & skin freshwater born unto me. no mother of mine has perished waterlogged & forgotten. yet you call me drowning as if it hurts. drowning woman bitch of bedlam so much precedent in my rippling face. did you forget? the only thing separating rage and ravage is va. the space between -  where my body was born. where mothers eat. where drowning is an art from.

Model: No'u Revilla
Photographer: Bryan Kuwada
SFX Make-up: Jcoelyn Kapumealani Ng
Concept & Creative direction: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng

Poem by No'u Revilla:

on my body, a battle
between skin I grew for you
& skin freshwater
born unto me.
no mother of mine
has perished
waterlogged & forgotten.
yet you call me
drowning
as if it hurts.
drowning woman
bitch of bedlam
so much precedent in
my rippling face.
did you forget?
the only thing separating
rage and ravage is va.
the space between - 
where my body was born.
where mothers eat.
where drowning is an art from.

"Of Monsters & Of Men" Model: Jakob Bauwens Photographer: Lyz Soto SFX Make-up: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng Concept & Creative Direction: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng

"Of Monsters & Of Men"

Model: Jakob Bauwens
Photographer: Lyz Soto
SFX Make-up: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng
Concept & Creative Direction: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng

 "Rising Sun Hauntings" Model: Troy Takahashi Photographer: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng Make-up: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng Concept & Creative Direction: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng

 "Rising Sun Hauntings"

Model: Troy Takahashi
Photographer: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng
Make-up: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng
Concept & Creative Direction: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng

Collaboration with Rosanna Raymond for the 2017 Smithsonian Culture Lab Exhibit 'Ae Kai Model: Rosanna Raymond SFX Make-up: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng  

Collaboration with Rosanna Raymond for the 2017 Smithsonian Culture Lab Exhibit 'Ae Kai

Model: Rosanna Raymond
SFX Make-up: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng
 

Actress, Co-writer, Director, Producer

 

"From California to Hawai'i. From one-womyn shows to full cast ensembles. From page to the stage. Just another realm to evolve in"

 
Her Bodies of Stories is a new spoken art work exploring themes of diaspora, colonialism, settler colonialism, hopeful decolonization and growing up in Hawaiʻi. This performance piece combines slam poetry choreography with theater producing scenes that move from fierce to playful to thought-provoking. The work was written and will be performed by local spoken arts poet, Lyz Soto, cofounder of Pacific Tongues and mentor of its award-winning program, Youth Speaks Hawaiʻi. Lyz will share the stage with fellow performers, Jocelyn Ng, Serena Simmons, and Grace Taylor. This theatrical performance of poetry, which experiments with theater, movement, and sound, was developed in collaboration with Jocelyn Ng and Serena Simmons and directed by Grace Taylor. Performed at the Doris Duke Theatre in Honolulu, Hawai'i & The Maui Arts and Cultural Center.

Her Bodies of Stories is a new spoken art work exploring themes of diaspora, colonialism, settler colonialism, hopeful decolonization and growing up in Hawaiʻi. This performance piece combines slam poetry choreography with theater producing scenes that move from fierce to playful to thought-provoking. The work was written and will be performed by local spoken arts poet, Lyz Soto, cofounder of Pacific Tongues and mentor of its award-winning program, Youth Speaks Hawaiʻi. Lyz will share the stage with fellow performers, Jocelyn Ng, Serena Simmons, and Grace Taylor. This theatrical performance of poetry, which experiments with theater, movement, and sound, was developed in collaboration with Jocelyn Ng and Serena Simmons and directed by Grace Taylor.
Performed at the Doris Duke Theatre in Honolulu, Hawai'i & The Maui Arts and Cultural Center.

Her Bodies of Stories is a new spoken art work exploring themes of diaspora, colonialism, settler colonialism, hopeful decolonization and growing up in Hawaiʻi. This performance piece combines slam poetry choreography with theater producing scenes that move from fierce to playful to thought-provoking. The work was written and will be performed by local spoken arts poet, Lyz Soto, cofounder of Pacific Tongues and mentor of its award-winning program, Youth Speaks Hawaiʻi. Lyz will share the stage with fellow performers, Jocelyn Ng, Serena Simmons, and Grace Taylor. This theatrical performance of poetry, which experiments with theater, movement, and sound, was developed in collaboration with Jocelyn Ng and Serena Simmons and directed by Grace Taylor. Performed at the Doris Duke Theatre in Honolulu, Hawai'i & The Maui Arts and Cultural Center.

Her Bodies of Stories is a new spoken art work exploring themes of diaspora, colonialism, settler colonialism, hopeful decolonization and growing up in Hawaiʻi. This performance piece combines slam poetry choreography with theater producing scenes that move from fierce to playful to thought-provoking. The work was written and will be performed by local spoken arts poet, Lyz Soto, cofounder of Pacific Tongues and mentor of its award-winning program, Youth Speaks Hawaiʻi. Lyz will share the stage with fellow performers, Jocelyn Ng, Serena Simmons, and Grace Taylor. This theatrical performance of poetry, which experiments with theater, movement, and sound, was developed in collaboration with Jocelyn Ng and Serena Simmons and directed by Grace Taylor.
Performed at the Doris Duke Theatre in Honolulu, Hawai'i & The Maui Arts and Cultural Center.

36th Street Blues tells the stories of housewives from different ethnic and cultural backgrounds. They all reside on 36th Street. At sunrise, we are brought into their world. They share stories of love in remembrance of their adolescence, loss, pain, and triumph. Through movement, music, and poetry these women are in search of their Blues.  36th Street is a true place. It exists whether you are in LA, Brooklyn, China, or Palestine. These stories of struggle and triumph are relatable. It doesn’t matter the age or gender. These stories are your stories. 36th Street Blues was work-shopped at San Francisco State University. Bill Peters (Master of Fine Arts, Yale University), the director of the Brown Bag Company, granted the freedom to bridge gaps and make connections through combining Poetry and Theatre and invited 36th Street Blues to be a part of the Brown Bag season. After a successful crowd-funding indiegogo.com fundraiser, and having revamped and reworked the show, it is now ready for its World Premiere. Presenter / Producer: Jasmine Williams   

36th Street Blues tells the stories of housewives from different ethnic and cultural backgrounds. They all reside on 36th Street. At sunrise, we are brought into their world. They share stories of love in remembrance of their adolescence, loss, pain, and triumph. Through movement, music, and poetry these women are in search of their Blues.  36th Street is a true place. It exists whether you are in LA, Brooklyn, China, or Palestine. These stories of struggle and triumph are relatable. It doesn’t matter the age or gender. These stories are your stories.

36th Street Blues was work-shopped at San Francisco State University. Bill Peters (Master of Fine Arts, Yale University), the director of the Brown Bag Company, granted the freedom to bridge gaps and make connections through combining Poetry and Theatre and invited 36th Street Blues to be a part of the Brown Bag season. After a successful crowd-funding indiegogo.com fundraiser, and having revamped and reworked the show, it is now ready for its World Premiere.

Presenter / Producer: Jasmine Williams 
 

36th Street Blues tells the stories of housewives from different ethnic and cultural backgrounds. They all reside on 36th Street. At sunrise, we are brought into their world. They share stories of love in remembrance of their adolescence, loss, pain, and triumph. Through movement, music, and poetry these women are in search of their Blues.  36th Street is a true place. It exists whether you are in LA, Brooklyn, China, or Palestine. These stories of struggle and triumph are relatable. It doesn’t matter the age or gender. These stories are your stories. 36th Street Blues was work-shopped at San Francisco State University. Bill Peters (Master of Fine Arts, Yale University), the director of the Brown Bag Company, granted the freedom to bridge gaps and make connections through combining Poetry and Theatre and invited 36th Street Blues to be a part of the Brown Bag season. After a successful crowd-funding indiegogo.com fundraiser, and having revamped and reworked the show, it is now ready for its World Premiere. Presenter / Producer: Jasmine Williams  

36th Street Blues tells the stories of housewives from different ethnic and cultural backgrounds. They all reside on 36th Street. At sunrise, we are brought into their world. They share stories of love in remembrance of their adolescence, loss, pain, and triumph. Through movement, music, and poetry these women are in search of their Blues.  36th Street is a true place. It exists whether you are in LA, Brooklyn, China, or Palestine. These stories of struggle and triumph are relatable. It doesn’t matter the age or gender. These stories are your stories.

36th Street Blues was work-shopped at San Francisco State University. Bill Peters (Master of Fine Arts, Yale University), the director of the Brown Bag Company, granted the freedom to bridge gaps and make connections through combining Poetry and Theatre and invited 36th Street Blues to be a part of the Brown Bag season. After a successful crowd-funding indiegogo.com fundraiser, and having revamped and reworked the show, it is now ready for its World Premiere.

Presenter / Producer: Jasmine Williams
 

"She Who Dies to Live" - 2017 Smithsonian Culture Lab Exhibit 'Ae Kai. What if our health depended upon telling the truth about what is happening to us? This multimedia spoken word experience reimagines Death as a vital vein of Pasefika experience, rather than an end to our island narratives. Featuring an all-female linup of performers representing Fiji, Samoa, the Marshall Islands and Hawai'i, She Who Dies to Live represents a convergence of different Pasefika Voices, and of various art forms and storytelling methods. Come take part in this reconisderation of Death as the fulcrum on which Life in Oceania balances the realities of nuclear tearing, militarism, suicide and colonization.  Written, Directed and Starring: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng, Jahra 'Rager' Wasasala, Kathy Jetnil-Kijiner, and Terisa Siagatonu.  

"She Who Dies to Live" - 2017 Smithsonian Culture Lab Exhibit 'Ae Kai.

What if our health depended upon telling the truth about what is happening to us? This multimedia spoken word experience reimagines Death as a vital vein of Pasefika experience, rather than an end to our island narratives. Featuring an all-female linup of performers representing Fiji, Samoa, the Marshall Islands and Hawai'i, She Who Dies to Live represents a convergence of different Pasefika Voices, and of various art forms and storytelling methods. Come take part in this reconisderation of Death as the fulcrum on which Life in Oceania balances the realities of nuclear tearing, militarism, suicide and colonization. 

Written, Directed and Starring: Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng, Jahra 'Rager' Wasasala, Kathy Jetnil-Kijiner, and Terisa Siagatonu.
 

International Slam Poetry Champion/ Award winning Spoken Word Performer

 

"This is where my art is rooted. My first love. Where I come from. "

 

 
http://www.hawaiiwomensjournal.com/ http://www.facebook.com/hiwomensjournal http://www.twitter.com/hiwomensjournal

Outreach Coordinator, Event Organizer, Certified Poet Facilitator

"The village raises the child, so the child grows up to help raise the village."
Jocelyn Ng, Lead Organizer for the 10th Annual Pacific Tongues Grand Slam Finals 2015. A poetry slam that gathered youth from across Hawai'i to share their stories at the Doris Duke Theatre.

Jocelyn Ng, Lead Organizer for the 10th Annual Pacific Tongues Grand Slam Finals 2015. A poetry slam that gathered youth from across Hawai'i to share their stories at the Doris Duke Theatre.

Free West Papua Campaign. Models: Sarah Daniels, Lyz Soto, Harrison Ines, & Malia Derden. Face / Body Art by Jocelyn Ng. 

Free West Papua Campaign. Models: Sarah Daniels, Lyz Soto, Harrison Ines, & Malia Derden. Face / Body Art by Jocelyn Ng. 

Guest Spoken Word Poetry Facilitator at the 2016 Festival of Pacific Arts in Guam. Along side Kathy Jetnil-Kijiner, Melvin Won Pat Borja, and Nicole Quintanila.

Guest Spoken Word Poetry Facilitator at the 2016 Festival of Pacific Arts in Guam. Along side Kathy Jetnil-Kijiner, Melvin Won Pat Borja, and Nicole Quintanila.

4x Interscholastic Slam Poetry Coach. Leading multiple high school slam poetry teams to share their words on larger platforms created by Pacific Tongues.

4x Interscholastic Slam Poetry Coach. Leading multiple high school slam poetry teams to share their words on larger platforms created by Pacific Tongues.

Pacific Tongues in Collaboration with University of Hawai'i Center For Pacific Island Studies: Fundraiser for Hurricane Winston Relief in Fiji 2016 at the Arts At Mark's Garage in Honolulu, Hawai'i.

Pacific Tongues in Collaboration with University of Hawai'i Center For Pacific Island Studies: Fundraiser for Hurricane Winston Relief in Fiji 2016 at the Arts At Mark's Garage in Honolulu, Hawai'i.

Representing Pacific Tongues at the Annual Hawai'i People's Fund Dinner. Along side many mana wahine that do amazing work within Hawaii's community.

Representing Pacific Tongues at the Annual Hawai'i People's Fund Dinner. Along side many mana wahine that do amazing work within Hawaii's community.

An online collection of original erasure poems by Jocelyn Kapumealani Ng

"The beginning asked the end, "where do we start together?"