ARTIST STATEMENT

I come from a long line of witches. From brujería. From smokey palo santo and salt circles and sacred chants. From refugees with the power to transform; those who manifest wishful dreams into reality. Who were given nothing yet create everything.

I come from those who tell fortunes, and then re-tell them. When I am writing, they speak. When I am standing on stage, taking up space, they are summoned. When I am healing, together we heal.

I didn’t always believe in magic. Truth be told, witchcraft is not the only thing I’ve inherited. Before I embraced my power, there were wooden pews and guilt-ridden Sundays; plenty of queer-panic-induced apologies and prayers. But between the bouts of doubt and devotion, between panic attacks and existential crises, I have never stopped practicing witchcraft. I know this because I have never stopped making art.

When I was in the sixth grade, I was severely bullied. For my Asian and Latinx features and culture, of course, and for my interests, which included my love of musical theater. Still, I signed up for the talent show, belting “The Wizard and I” center stage in a black frock. I understood intuitively the first step of spellcasting:  setting your intention.

I know I am capable of magic because I am capable of creation.

My artistic expression has transformed alongside me, and with that has come many growing pains. I have been Child In Front of Mirror Putting On White Foundation To Test Whether She Could Ever Play (Insert Role Here). I have also been Color-Blind-Casted Annie with Curly Red Wig. I have been Diversity Hire, been “We Needed An Asian”.

And I have been authentic. I have been Little Body, Big Voice. I have been an angry slam poet reclaiming slurs that were once weapons (and still are). I’ve portrayed fictional people who feel and done so in a way that felt real to me (or at least tried). I play characters like Kaylee in Gruesome Playground Injuries, who create mosaics out of their own broken pieces, even if it hurts them; even if it hurts others.

If finding reality in the midst of fantasy isn’t magic, what is?

My reality includes the impossible, and therefore my work does too. It rejects the models it’s been commanded to conform to, breaking down Eurocentric, & cis-heteronormative barriers in order to create open space to play, express, and exist. I will continue to write poems and plays that center the voices that’ve been systemically drowned out by gunfire. I take great pride in my queer, Latinx, Southeast Asian identity, and while I vow to never compromise my humanity or values, I also vow to create space for myself and others to take risks, adapt, and hold ourselves accountable for missteps. I will ensure that I hold myself to my values of liberation and equity as I become more involved with community groups like Philadelphia Asian Performing Artists and Asian Arts Initiative. I trust and encourage that my growing network of BIPOC and queer artists will continue to inspire, encourage, and critique my work.

My art is curious; confrontational. I alchemize my emotions into plays that criticize and empathize, like my ten-minute play Requiem for Tyranny, a satirical piece that rips into capitalist, neoliberal complacency with humor and some horror. Or my full-length play Pure White, which explores intersections between race, gender, class, and addiction in an equalizing environment: The Void.

As a resent University of the Arts graduate, I am at a point of transformation. I am beginning to manifest my artistic future into reality, and soon, I will be a recognizable force in Philly and beyond—whether acting on film or stage, singing in musicals or cabarets, performing poetry, or producing my own work, I will do so through community, self-sufficiency, legacy, and, most of all, through magic.