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Note From The Curator | Spring 2021

We find ourselves at this collective crossroad as the nightmare of the global pandemic persists but hope for the future is impossible to ignore. Our trauma has been both individual and shared, subtle and profound, fleeting and forever. Our lessons are blurry at best.

I'm hesitant (or embarrassed?) to admit that this forced hiatus was a necessary one. Not for clarity, because clarity has proven itself an illusion. Not for rejuvenation, because let's be honest, we're exhausted. Not for justice, because every tiny step forward has been followed by crushing blows back.

My lessons aren't your lessons, nor are my emotions, frustrations, dreams. My appreciation, however, is for you all. While crawling out of the rubble of 2020 and checking myself for breaks, I have never felt more thankful for the support, the kindness, the community around Colony. Thank you for seeing us, even in this hazy, exhausting and devastating time. 

There's a moment in each day, when we're neither asleep nor awake, when the drama of our dreams fizzle into mist, and when the reality of the morning has yet to settle.

This familiar haze, dimly lit by a hopeful morning glow, offers us unexpected clarity in its temporary version of contentment -- free of expectations but full of the purest form of hope: undefined possibilities.

We walk into the day with restrained reverie, and hope you will join us.

-Jean Lin


After Ada Limón

Instructions on Not Giving Up

Ada Limón - 1976-

More than the fuchsia funnels breaking out
of the crabapple tree, more than the neighbor’s
almost obscene display of cherry limbs shoving
their cotton candy-colored blossoms to the slate
sky of Spring rains, it’s the greening of the trees
that really gets to me. When all the shock of white
and taffy, the world’s baubles and trinkets, leave
the pavement strewn with the confetti of aftermath,
the leaves come. Patient, plodding, a green skin
growing over whatever winter did to us, a return
to the strange idea of continuous living despite
the mess of us, the hurt, the empty. Fine then,
I’ll take it, the tree seems to say, a new slick leaf
unfurling like a fist to an open palm, I’ll take it all.

Chaise Lounger by Moving Mountains
Moss by Hiroko Takeda
Sculpture by Phaedo
Perennial by Flat Vernacular
Bound Hand Mirror V2 by Grain
Molten Sconce by Allied Maker