New United States Flag proposal (acrylic on unbleached cotton, thread, pole, 3 x 5 feet, back detail), 2020.
Description: a teal, black and beige painted flag on the front and back, with hand sewn edges and a pocket for a pole, hung from a wooden shelf and draped against a blue wall, surrounded by potted plants and speakers.
Just months before his assassination in 1865, President Abraham Lincoln signed a law that required federal agencies to buy American cotton bunting for all national flags. Prior to this law, many, if not most, American flags were made from British wool bunting. And while today's flags are often assembled from polyester (oil drilled across the globe), it is not hard to imagine Lincoln signing this law as a gesture of guaranteed economic solidarity with the Southern American states who just so happened to have recently lost their entire enslaved workforce.
I’ve been asking myself the question, “does America need to start over?” The United States was born from Indigenous ethnocide, slave labor, and political hypocrites that will always reinforce the inequalities America was built upon. We’ve somehow managed to build a country that cares only about those with the most profit—something white colonists tried to leave, and black and brown immigrants never asked for. Our current system protects the past more than it protects the present or the future.
But life moves on, and arcs toward justice. Because of this, I believe we too have to face the foundation of this country—especially white bodies like mine. But instead of weaponizing its racist roots, we apologize, heal, and reinvest to save ourselves from each other.
To start this process, I proposed a new United States of America flag. Using the literal hex code inverse colors of red (teal), white (black), and blue (beige), I let the colors run, bleed, and talk to each other. Teal represents climate justice, black represents BIPOC rehabilitation and reconciliation, beige represents a more humane economy. I believe these are the three most important issues of our time. It’s one part visual reset, one part getting our priorities straight. And every time I, or someone else, makes one, it might look a little different, and that’s OK.
The next iteration of this project is to take it online, collaborating with data scientist Maggie Orton to auto-generate patterns of the flag. Some early prototypes are below:
I intend to build a system that lets people generate their own random pattern, buy it, own it, and print it onto a flag or object of their choice. Profit can then be distributed to local communities in need, building a self-sufficient economic model that redistributes funds to the people who need it the most.
New United States Flag proposal (acrylic on unbleached cotton, thread, pole, 3 x 5 feet, front detail), 2020.
Only Dating People Who Have Been To Therapy 1 (text on bleached nylon, 24 x 36 in), 2019.
Flags I Might Disagree With Later in Life (series), 2019.
To me, the point of a flag is, more often than not, to visually cede power to a
nation-state while letting people “identify” and feel “part of” that nation-state.
Unfortunately, in the United States, our flag has never signaled this for
all of its citizens. Our nation was built on violence and blood; white supremacy
permitted looting Indigenous communities, enslaving Black and Brown bodies,
and owning land as a symbol of status. The tiny 200+ year history of the
United States, in many ways, is a history of human oppression
and the marginalized’s struggle to undo that oppression.
I made these flags after a difficult breakup. I finally began therapy to identify
unhealthy methods of thinking I needed to unlearn. Early on, the process
led to a lot of binary “solutions;” i.e. a lot of “I will never X” or “Doing Y is bad.”
I began to print these poems on flags from manufacturers who traditionally print
American flags and business signs. I was building my own nation to hold myself
accountable in the future.
I also liked the idea of flipping the traditional signifiers of a “flag” on their head:
Flags use color blocking and strong colors. Mine are faded and worn by bleach.
Flags use outdated languages or old 100+ year old adages. Mine use English.
Flags are often clean and celebratory. Mine look like they’ve been used like a washcloth.
Flags shouldn’t unravel. Mine often have threading that pull corners like a curtain.
In sum, flags are “easy to read.” Mine are not.
Maybe someday I’ll disagree with some of these.
Maybe I’ll revise these to be less binary, less dogmatic, more pragmatic.
Maybe some of these will remain truths in my life forever.
All net profits were donated to Black Visions Collective and Brooklyn Community Bail Fund.
Building My Own Backbone 1 (text on bleached nylon, 21 x 35 in), 2019.
When Will I Stop Looking Back? Is It Like a Cake In the Oven? Where Is the Timer? Will I Always Turn Out Burned or Undone? (text on bleached nylon, 21 x 35 in), 2019.
This is a Reminder to Process and Move Forward (text on nylon, thread, 57.5 x 35.5 in), 2019.
Drunkenly Telling Me You’re Going to Kick Me Out Is the Wrong Way to Stop My Panic Attack (text on nylon, gardening thread, 24 x 36 in), 2019.
Now I Know Why I Like Chicken Tenders: It’s Because I’m a Tender Chicken (text on bleached nylon, 12 x 24 in), 2019.
Growth Is to Fall and Get Up Again 1 (text on bleached nylon, 12 x 20 in), 2019.
Growth Is to Fall and Get Up Again 2 (text on bleached nylon, 12 x 20 in), 2019.
I Can’t Feel Needy When I Articulate What I Need 1 (text on bleached nylon, 12 x 20 in), 2019.
I Can’t Feel Needy When I Articulate What I Need 2 (text on bleached nylon, 12 x 20 in), 2019.
Don’t Overly Apologize Or Take All The Blame When They’re Angry (text on nylon, gardening thread, 12 x 20 in), 2019.
Only Dating People Who Have Been To Therapy 2 (text on bleached nylon, 12 x 20 in), 2019.
Building My Own Backbone 2 (text on bleached nylon, 12 x 20 in), 2019.
I Can Only Let Go of My Anxiety By Knowing Where It Comes From (text on bleached nylon, 12 x 20 in), 2019.
It’s OK I Try My Best But Fail (text on nylon, gardening thread, 12 x 24 in), 2019.
We Can’t De-Escalate Everything (text on nylon, gardening thread, 12 x 12 in), 2019.