May We Know Our Own Strength
Summer 2021
4037 sq ft
Receipt paper, incandescent light bulbs, thermal printers, wire, string
NYC Commission on Human Rights
NYC Department of Cultural Affairs.
Exhibited at 401 W14 St in the Meatpacking District.
The only thing harder than suffering is suffering alone in silence.
We each carry inside of us burdens, wounds, and heartaches that we might never reveal publicly. And yet in those rare moments when we do share our vulnerability, we find not just common ground but deep connection. Moved by this watershed moment in which Asian and Pacific Islander youth in New York City are increasingly sharing their stories of sexual assault and gender-based violence, multidisciplinary artist, Amanda Phingbodhipakkiya, created this piece to enable the healing power of honest disclosure.
During the creation of “May We Know Our Own Strength,” the artist occupied physical space in a storefront at 401 W 14th Street in the Meatpacking District for 6 weeks. New Yorkers were invited to anonymously share a personal story through a public website. A row of sixteen internet-connected receipt printers wired to incandescent bulbs sat on a platform at the installation site. Each personal submission was immediately printed on location, illuminating a corresponding bulb to let visitors know their voices were being heard. Through the always-on webcam, viewers could observe an organic pool of shame, anger, doubt, grief and hope emerge from cascading ribbons of paper.
In one sculpture form, the paper is separated into thin strands that hang around a wire structure. They have a duality, some days they might look like the monsters and demons of our past lurking near us, other days they might seem more like willow trees, known for their soft, pliant branches, but tough and tenacious roots. Willow trees are known to sprout directly from cut branches - and likewise even after trauma we can still grow and bloom.
In another, the paper is folded and affixed onto sheets of interfacing. The texture in one light might seem like the misshapen mass of pain and doubt we carry within us, while in another light, they can appear like flowers blooming with hope and healing.
In yet another sculpture form, the paper is embedded into wire mesh rolled into a cylinder or woven pieces are sewn into hanging masses, giving the paper a lichen-like quality. Lichen describes the symbiotic relationship between fungus and algae which grow together and support one another, like how young people are supporting their friends through difficult moments. Lichen are incredibly hardy organisms, able to survive freezing temperatures and grow directly on bare rock, making them a symbol for anyone seeking to rise and grow from adversity.
Reminiscent of confession or healing spaces, this piece created a new kind of ritual for a community to share sins, secrets and suffering. Participants could safely experience the relief that comes with having an audience bear witness to their private pain. By manifesting someone’s digital thoughts into a large-scale sculpture, we communicated the significance of their story while reminding them that they are not alone. When we encounter these vessels of hope, we have the opportunity to lay down old burdens and pass through them with a sense of renewal and rejuvenation. A new beginning. Through this work, participants and the community at large experienced a cathartic release and witnessed their anguish transformed like alchemy into a work of art.
Eight people, six of them Asian women, Xiaojie Tan, Daoyou Feng, Hyun Jung Grant, Suncha Kim, Soon Chung Park, Yong Ae Yue, Paul Andre Michels and Delaina Ashley Yaun were murdered by a white gunman in Atlanta, GA during the creation of “May We Know Our Own Strength.” As a memorial to their lives, Phingbodhipakkiya held a nightly vigil during the installation’s run. Every evening at 8:00 PM, the installation lights dimmed and the names of all eight victims printed out before an eight minute moment of silence, with all 16 incandescent light bulbs shining resolutely into the darkness.
