In Between

2024

Stoneware, handwritten Braille, 22k gold

14 x 12 x 12 inches

NFS

Words by Person Living with Traumatic Brain Injury: In Between, Forgetting, Memory Loss, Physical, Cognitive, Cognitive, Emotional, Aphasia, Academia, Confusion, Identity, Fatigue, Noise Sensitivity, Goal Setting, Mood Swings, Following Along, Getting Lost, Giving Care, Receiving Care, Diagnosis, Qualification, Qualification, Cost, Chronic Symptoms, Health.

me 2 me

2023

Stoneware, handwritten Braille, 22k gold

12 x 9 x 9 inches

NFS

Words by cass:

apologies for the disappearance i was in the abyss

but im here now

and the sun is warm

i’ve made it 

all of me

do you love it?

can you love me?

hold me in my vastness

let me run through your fingers

consume me whole

can you feel it?

there’s room here

Nước

2024

Stoneware, handwritten Braille

NFS

Words by Sabrina Ton

The Vietnamese word for country is the same as water. 

The water had carried my family to refuge. In immigration: endless ocean transformed to endless prairie. 

Now, I am a product of the American heartland, but my heart longs for the water. 

Someday

2020

Stoneware, handwritten Braille, 22k gold

10 x 9.5 x 9.5 inches

NFS

Words by Amy Sanders de Melo

For the longest time, I had believed that no longer being able to hear or see beauty in the world meant that it would no longer exist. I was wrong. The most beautiful things are felt with our souls.

A Tragedy

2024

B-mix, handwritten Braille

14 x 12 x 12 inches

NFS

Words by Carle THE Artiste

To be touched against your will… repeatedly, periodically,  and in some cases violently. A couple of years ago I realized that I had been sexually violated by every man I had laid with since losing my virginity. Around this time I was also processing that I had been sexually violated in adolescence by a close relative.

But my violators walk free, probably having forgotten of “that black girl” that they harmed.

When will I have the liberty of forgetting what’s happened like my violators have?  When will I be free? 

The hardest part of facing my traumas was the release. For years I felt like I was completely disregarding them, but the hardest thing I had to do was acknowledge their presence and walk into the light.

Through every canvas that I paint, every song that I dance to, every garment that I wear I continue to reclaim my body, liberate my soul, and heal my broken heart.

Two Years Later

2024

Stoneware, handwritten Braille

11 x 11 x 11 inches

NFS

Words by MJ Betancourt (Elle/They)

…This year I have evolved into my 30s.  It has allowed me to see  the areas in which I have grown.  I've become more patient.  The little things in life still give me much more pleasure  than the more expansive ones, the more thrill-seeking adventures. 

I was coming to terms with a lot of grief then and now my grief is different. I hold so much more space for the process of grief and so much more patience in what that grief exploration can look like. The ebbing and flowing of it.  

And I think that's really beautiful. 

I  am now  allowing myself to be more and the craving for change is different. I'm not so much forcing myself to change. My habits are shifting and I'm getting to the foundation of where these patterns come from, whether they be thoughts or physical routines, but  I'm savoring more. I've slowed down a lot in life. Slowed down a lot and cherished more walks and sunsets. 

I am really enjoying shifting into my 30s and as we go into the new year, um, I am so excited to see who MJ at 31 is. All the ebbing and flowing of it, all the decision making. I have changed a lot. I look forward to aging. As my body is changing, I'm noticing what hurts, what cracks, what pops, what aches. And also I'm really grateful  for this body and the things that it's able to do. 

I'm sitting in a lot of gratitude. Even in the midst of immense grief, I'm still sitting with gratitude.

Untitled

2023

Stoneware, handwritten Braille

10 x 9.5 x 9.5 inches

NFS

Words by Jes McCutchen (she/her)

Masks my adaptability brag. Bi girl likes a boy. Girl crush an easy early mask. Anxiety filled and neurodiverse. Reading history textbooks upside down to keep the straight a’s coming. No one knows, a mask. Honor roll, a mask. Testing well because testing is new and adhd hyperfocus loves new. In love with girls but barely kisses them. Surrounded by closeted best friends all my life, we didn’t know, we mask. Fragile armor I tire of wearing. Rusty in old age it wore down, and I came through it. Kicking and screaming. Peeling at the mask. Tired of holding it all together. It feels good to shake my hands to flap my wings to stand pressed back against my chosen walls, unmasked. I turn to look back and seeing partner family child friends stretched out alongside me. Offering to piece back the armor, dropping the shards when I find my voice. It’s my call. Yet still, always so good at getting everyone to like me. Adaptable. My masks.

Untitled

2023

B-mix, handwritten Braille, 22k gold

5 x 14 x 14 inches

NFS

Words by Joe

You wouldn't know I live with a disability unless I told you.

Since I found out myself, I've chosen to tell people quite often. The telling helps remind me that it's real, which at times can be easy to doubt. The only story that made sense during the many years before my diagnosis was one of personal deficiency, and maybe my quickness to share what I know now reflects a continuing fear that others will construct some version of that same story, from whatever filtered version of my symptoms they might still perceive. Lazy. Aloof. Unreliable. Anti-social. Limited.

Of course, the perception that I'm limited may only follow my disclosure, but I can't control the ways that others interpret and respond to disability. Accepting my own has meant letting go of the fear of that potential reaction, alongside so much else. Grief over lost time or grander potential paths. Guilt over the distance between what I am and the partner, son, friend I'd like to be. All liable to resurface in some form, probably forever, but each time easier to consciously release, and each time more freeing to do so.

There's a tension with which I've found some comfort, as I learn to live with a condition that nearly no one around me can fully understand. On the one hand, I doubt more than ever that any of us can sufficiently appreciate the reality of each other's experiences and inner worlds, especially when it comes to disability. An hour with my eyes covered would not do much to help me understand the reality of visual impairment, and staying awake for two days would do just as little to help others understand the reality of my narcolepsy. The gap between what I'm able to explain to others and what they're able to grasp through my words is always apparent and always isolating.

On the other hand, somehow, the sense that this gap is inevitable and insurmountable ultimately lessens that isolation, at least for me. If we're all islands, if others' struggles are truly impenetrable, then effort, empathy, and grace are all the more important. Experiencing my side of this particular gulf of understanding has made me profoundly conscious of where I stand with respect to so many others. All I can do is try my best to hear those on the other sides, just as I'd like to be heard.

Untitled

2022

Stoneware, handwritten Braille, 22k gold

5 x 12 x 12 inches

NFS

Words by Omar

Most days, I am American. But today, I am Arab. Proudly, stubbornly, passionately, desperately, irrationally Arab. 

Today, I stepped aside to let a man through a subway turnstile. He looked at me as he moved through the space I had just occupied and whispered “white power.” I stopped, stunned. He smirked as he saw his rocket hit. I turned angrily and walked away, wondering where my rockets were. 

Today, I filled out a survey that asked for my race but presented no option other than “Caucasian” and “Other.” I am neither. 

In the summer, we are hazel, chocolate, cof ee and bronze. In the winter, we are beige, burnt sienna, ochre and straw. In every season, we glow. We are eternally our own, and those of us not born here suf er quietly, like exhausted strays. 

Today, a black man told me I was the wrong shade of brown. That hurt, because he and I are brothers from an age when humans first learned how to withstand. We are beautiful, brown survivors. And I’m the exact shade of brown I’m supposed to be. Just like he is. 

Today, I woke up to a plane crashing into a building in New York. It looked fake, and I had a class to get to. It wasnt fake…it was actually much simpler: Arab terrorists at it again. 

We are all terrorists after all. Terrorizing the world with science, knowledge, language, art, and an ancient code of hospitality. Teaching the world to read and navigate the stars, creating the foundation for mathematics, unearthing timeless poetry, advancing medical techniques…and inviting strangers to our hearth because our history taught us humanity and humility. 

No, just another brown guy with a bomb, ready to take down this great nation that suf ered no one on its oft-bloody path to glory. 

No, just another sand gypsy wearing Western clothes, trying to fit into a world that refuses to distinguish color from class. This world that resists importing a beautiful culture because fear is comfortable and corrosive and intentionally programmed. 

Today, I felt fractured. Arab, American, Omar. Who am I? Which matters? Where does my heart call? Where does my mind play? Where do I feel at peace? Where do I yet search for sentiment? Why am I not surrounded by salt, cedar trees and the sanctuary of my heritage? Why do I have a perfect American English lilt and no native Lebanese tongue? 

Why does that place call to me…and why haven’t I picked up? 

Today, I am Arab. Will I remember that tomorrow?

What More Do You Need

2021

Stoneware, handwritten Braille

11 x 9 x 9 inches

NFS

Words by Ryan Fitzgibbon

Far from ourselves, we long for connection. 

People are the mirrors for our self-reflection. 

When you’re feeling lost or in a bind, 

Breathing helps quiet your mind. 

Listen to your body and always treat it gently. 

Speaking of, have you had sex with you lately? 

Would you even know how? 

To love the body that took you from bed to bed to bed to now. 

Start celebrating you for all your perfection. 

Cause at the end of day, you’re your best protection. 

Words For My Brother

2022

B-mix, handwritten Braille, 22k gold

9 x 8 x 8 inches

NFS

For my brother, and all those who have been killed by a gun, war, or violence. 

Words For My Sister

2022

B-mix, handwritten Braille, 22k gold

9 x 8 x 8 inches

NFS

For my sister, and all those who have experienced addiction and loss. 

Yearning

2021

Stoneware, handwritten Braille

12 x 9 x 9 inches

NFS

Words by Debra

It’s June 2021 and I’m finally traveling again! I’m so excited to see my kids and to meet new friends. One day, my daughter and I went to the Philadelphia Contemporary to view a group exhibition called “Unfolding” that featured 22 artists-in-residence. I’m examining each piece of eclectic artwork (and enjoying the freedom to do so again after 2020) when suddenly my heart cracked! My body stiffened. I found myself standing in front of a vibrant acrylic painting entitled “Yearning”, a visual of the upper torso of a Black woman with a short Afro, her head tilted back distortedly with her facial expression twisted in grief. The image was stunning, and I was stunned--deeply engulfed in her experience of agony and pain. My mind was flooded with questions. Had she lost someone dear to her heart? Was isolation, loneliness and being alone during COVID too much for her to bear? Was she stricken with fear and guilt for not educating her son about historical police violence against Black men? After studying the painting intensely, my deduction was clear. I looked like her. I had felt her agony and pain. Those questions were my questions. I had been yearning.