Oh, Jamaica!
Jamaica, Queens, is both out there and right here. It is at once where the city begins but also where it ends. As such, the place is invested with the power to challenge the hegemony that Manhattan holds in the imaginary of many New Yorkers as the epicenter of the metropolis, the navel of the world. If the tendency has been to measure how long it takes to commute from the so-called outer boroughs to, let’s say, Times Square, Midtown or TriBeCa; Jamaica claims a prominence that effaces privileged notions based on nearness or farness in relationship to a made up nucleus.
From June to October 2016, I launched with No Longer Empty (NLE) HERE IN JAMAICA, an open call inviting people citywide to enact actions highlighting any connections between art and their day-to-day. HERE IN JAMAICA was part of Once Upon A Place, a five-part public engagement series that presented an arts-based oral history model expanding upon the town hall panel format, and was also presented in conjunction with Jameco Exchange, an exhibition curated by Rachel Gugelberger with an educational platform and a social practice initiative curated by Sara Guerrero. Similarly, Guido Garaycochea with the Queens Museum's New New Yorkers Program provided the opportunity for a workshop that I titled Our Time Together Performing. HERE IN JAMAICA hosted over twenty actions ranging from Shervone Neckles’ wellness cart offering free herbs, to Priscilla Stadler’s slow breathing lessons, and to a reflective graffiti rendered by Lady K. Fever (Kathleena Howie) on the window of a former furniture store.
While prior to HERE IN JAMAICA, neither the neighborhood nor I were exactly new to each other, it was during the run of my open call that I became aware of the distinctive energy that characterizes Jamaica from hour to hour. The area comprising the pedestrian promenade on 165th Street, my home base with NLE, reminded me of a living organism always in flux. More than an urban artery facilitating the mere flow of consumers, the promenade embodies a sentient being with whom groups and individuals interact throughout the day in a wide range of capacities. There was the late afternoon when a sudden storm broke and forced everyone to flee the street in a matter of seconds, except for the man with the new florescent sneakers, who put them on as he prepared to discard his old shoes in a nearby bin. There was also the early afternoon when Ayana Evans dropped on Jamaica Avenue for Rolling, a performance during which she rolled her body all along the promenade’s cobblestones, taking time here and there to talk to puzzled onlookers. Her action shifted the promenade’s foot traffic pattern into a circle of passersby who congregated around her body; some trying to get a selfie of the scene, and others seeking to convince the performer in the tight catsuit to “Get off the ground.” Evan’s presence halted shopping momentarily, briefly, since life and commerce on the promenade must go on uninterruptedly.
Performing in Jamaica is certainly not for the faint of heart. The goings on of its rather busy streets can easily disarm any strategies to artify life. The commercial section of the place doubles up, symbolically speaking, as an on-going stage, as a fashion runaway, and as a heavenly as well as an apocalyptic zone. Some of this became apparent to me when Rory Golden strolled down Jamaica Avenue in an outfit resembling those worn by Spanish Conquistadores. People either commended him on his attire or the artist simply blended in with the throngs of stylish passersby on Jamaica Avenue. Golden’s performance entailed asking directions to El Dorado: the mythical city of gold. Other actions happened matter-of-factly, just like that, yet they offered a deep insight into the soul of the neighborhood, especially about its business section.
Outside Jay’s store, Reggae Hot Spot, reggae classics blast out of a speaker, enticing patrons to enter what I identify as the unofficial embassy of the Island of Jamaica in Queens. Jay performs Jamaica and Jamaica in ways that appeal to all of the senses, through music, food and herbs, incenses, movies, the textures provided by crochet dresses depicting the Jamaican flag, and through the pervading energy in his store that points to a strong connection with the African continent. Shelly Smith across the street braids hair, and designs handbags and shoes using a variety of materials that includes condoms. Much of what she does speaks as well of a creative force that, according to her, does not rely on the tools that she uses as part of her art, but that is all in her hands—in her fingertips. For HERE IN JAMAICA, I suggested Shelly choreograph the hand movements she performs when braiding hair at her parlor.
On the Saturday I visited Jamaica with Alicia Grullón, Laia Solé, and Thelma García, I walked to the Tabernacle of Prayer on Jamaica Avenue lured by the orgiastic architectural details of the building and its enigmatic persona. At my request, a woman dressed in white from head to toe kindly stepped out of the Pentecostal church to answer my request for a prayer. Several weeks later, I met a street vendor who sold aromatic oils. Among his wide inventory there were two separate glass jars named after Michelle and Barack Obama. I put the two together, meaning the prayer at the Tabernacle and the oils inspired by the presidential couple, and realized that I was indeed standing on Performance Ground. I used my interior voice to tell myself loud and clear that, “If one can perform in Jamaica, Queens, one can for sure perform anywhere.”
With gratitude and respect to Jamaica, Queens, to the vendors and to everyone I met while working in the neighborhood with No Longer Empty. Thank you for allowing me to experience the beauty of your place.
Nicolás Dumit Estévez Raful,
November 3, 2016, Bronx, NY
Photo: Sherese Francis
Jamaica, Queens, is both out there and right here. It is at once where the city begins but also where it ends. As such, the place is invested with the power to challenge the hegemony that Manhattan holds in the imaginary of many New Yorkers as the epicenter of the metropolis, the navel of the world. If the tendency has been to measure how long it takes to commute from the so-called outer boroughs to, let’s say, Times Square, Midtown or TriBeCa; Jamaica claims a prominence that effaces privileged notions based on nearness or farness in relationship to a made up nucleus.
From June to October 2016, I launched with No Longer Empty (NLE) HERE IN JAMAICA, an open call inviting people citywide to enact actions highlighting any connections between art and their day-to-day. HERE IN JAMAICA was part of Once Upon A Place, a five-part public engagement series that presented an arts-based oral history model expanding upon the town hall panel format, and was also presented in conjunction with Jameco Exchange, an exhibition curated by Rachel Gugelberger with an educational platform and a social practice initiative curated by Sara Guerrero. Similarly, Guido Garaycochea with the Queens Museum's New New Yorkers Program provided the opportunity for a workshop that I titled Our Time Together Performing. HERE IN JAMAICA hosted over twenty actions ranging from Shervone Neckles’ wellness cart offering free herbs, to Priscilla Stadler’s slow breathing lessons, and to a reflective graffiti rendered by Lady K. Fever (Kathleena Howie) on the window of a former furniture store.
While prior to HERE IN JAMAICA, neither the neighborhood nor I were exactly new to each other, it was during the run of my open call that I became aware of the distinctive energy that characterizes Jamaica from hour to hour. The area comprising the pedestrian promenade on 165th Street, my home base with NLE, reminded me of a living organism always in flux. More than an urban artery facilitating the mere flow of consumers, the promenade embodies a sentient being with whom groups and individuals interact throughout the day in a wide range of capacities. There was the late afternoon when a sudden storm broke and forced everyone to flee the street in a matter of seconds, except for the man with the new florescent sneakers, who put them on as he prepared to discard his old shoes in a nearby bin. There was also the early afternoon when Ayana Evans dropped on Jamaica Avenue for Rolling, a performance during which she rolled her body all along the promenade’s cobblestones, taking time here and there to talk to puzzled onlookers. Her action shifted the promenade’s foot traffic pattern into a circle of passersby who congregated around her body; some trying to get a selfie of the scene, and others seeking to convince the performer in the tight catsuit to “Get off the ground.” Evan’s presence halted shopping momentarily, briefly, since life and commerce on the promenade must go on uninterruptedly.
Performing in Jamaica is certainly not for the faint of heart. The goings on of its rather busy streets can easily disarm any strategies to artify life. The commercial section of the place doubles up, symbolically speaking, as an on-going stage, as a fashion runaway, and as a heavenly as well as an apocalyptic zone. Some of this became apparent to me when Rory Golden strolled down Jamaica Avenue in an outfit resembling those worn by Spanish Conquistadores. People either commended him on his attire or the artist simply blended in with the throngs of stylish passersby on Jamaica Avenue. Golden’s performance entailed asking directions to El Dorado: the mythical city of gold. Other actions happened matter-of-factly, just like that, yet they offered a deep insight into the soul of the neighborhood, especially about its business section.
Outside Jay’s store, Reggae Hot Spot, reggae classics blast out of a speaker, enticing patrons to enter what I identify as the unofficial embassy of the Island of Jamaica in Queens. Jay performs Jamaica and Jamaica in ways that appeal to all of the senses, through music, food and herbs, incenses, movies, the textures provided by crochet dresses depicting the Jamaican flag, and through the pervading energy in his store that points to a strong connection with the African continent. Shelly Smith across the street braids hair, and designs handbags and shoes using a variety of materials that includes condoms. Much of what she does speaks as well of a creative force that, according to her, does not rely on the tools that she uses as part of her art, but that is all in her hands—in her fingertips. For HERE IN JAMAICA, I suggested Shelly choreograph the hand movements she performs when braiding hair at her parlor.
On the Saturday I visited Jamaica with Alicia Grullón, Laia Solé, and Thelma García, I walked to the Tabernacle of Prayer on Jamaica Avenue lured by the orgiastic architectural details of the building and its enigmatic persona. At my request, a woman dressed in white from head to toe kindly stepped out of the Pentecostal church to answer my request for a prayer. Several weeks later, I met a street vendor who sold aromatic oils. Among his wide inventory there were two separate glass jars named after Michelle and Barack Obama. I put the two together, meaning the prayer at the Tabernacle and the oils inspired by the presidential couple, and realized that I was indeed standing on Performance Ground. I used my interior voice to tell myself loud and clear that, “If one can perform in Jamaica, Queens, one can for sure perform anywhere.”
With gratitude and respect to Jamaica, Queens, to the vendors and to everyone I met while working in the neighborhood with No Longer Empty. Thank you for allowing me to experience the beauty of your place.
Nicolás Dumit Estévez Raful,
November 3, 2016, Bronx, NY
Photo: Sherese Francis
