Not My First Time—A Lesson
Spring 2024
Not My First Time—A Lesson, 2024: Pomelo, Mandarin, and Navel citrus essence and dried peels and teas, graphite, Okawara paper.
I infused the essence of Pomelo, Mandarin, and Navel citrus oils into the paper.
Resembling the gentle, intimate unmasking of these fruits, the drawings are like its skin, revealing vulnerability and sweetness. Crafted with gifted citrus of kin, friends, and the self, each mark is tender, savoring moments of peeling and sharing its fruits.
Citrus fruits have become to mean this act of commensality, or the practice of eating together, in togetherness. It was the first time I found myself at the touch of love, a silent love—a lesson. My parents peeled its skin—with access, sharing each piece. And to share abundantly, right.
It’s a lesson that doesn’t require words.
I love citrus fruits, and my parents would pay attention to that. Tangerines and Mandarins would be brought back from the street vendors of Chinatown in New York City every Sunday afternoon, carefully placed in the front seater of the car, to travel such a distance to Connecticut—carried—to the palms of me, my brother, and my youngest brother now.