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| "Truth," by Julie Tián. |
Artist's Note
As I reflect, I observed that truth is held and kept by the women in my family, including myself as I grow older. And specific kinds of truths are passed to women in the next generation, down the maternal line, in an indirect way.
This is a painting of me, my mother, and my grandmother. I have few memories of my grandmother on my mother’s side because she passed away when I was very young. My mother rarely brings her up and never talks about the kind of person she was or what she did. The only times I catch a glimpse is when at random, while my mom and I are doing something like cooking or trying to solve a problem. She’ll recall memories of herself with her mother and say whether it's familiar or she’s acting entirely different from the way her mother did. Through these off-hand moments I gathered an idea of my grandmother. These moments seem casual but always hold a deep sincerity as she is sharing her truth with me, and sort of a rare thing. When she does this, they’re also often like bombs that break and reconfigure my idea of my childhood, family, and our relationships.
So, I find truth in observing the way my mother navigates her world and reading between the lines of the stories she told me, and I carry that with me, along with my own truth. Truth is kept and passed this way down the maternal line of my family. Because of this, truth also changes with each iteration as we include a piece of ourselves in it. But that connection can be mapped, and a piece of the original truth is always there and held on to.
As I reflect, I observed that truth is held and kept by the women in my family, including myself as I grow older. And specific kinds of truths are passed to women in the next generation, down the maternal line, in an indirect way.
This is a painting of me, my mother, and my grandmother. I have few memories of my grandmother on my mother’s side because she passed away when I was very young. My mother rarely brings her up and never talks about the kind of person she was or what she did. The only times I catch a glimpse is when at random, while my mom and I are doing something like cooking or trying to solve a problem. She’ll recall memories of herself with her mother and say whether it's familiar or she’s acting entirely different from the way her mother did. Through these off-hand moments I gathered an idea of my grandmother. These moments seem casual but always hold a deep sincerity as she is sharing her truth with me, and sort of a rare thing. When she does this, they’re also often like bombs that break and reconfigure my idea of my childhood, family, and our relationships.
So, I find truth in observing the way my mother navigates her world and reading between the lines of the stories she told me, and I carry that with me, along with my own truth. Truth is kept and passed this way down the maternal line of my family. Because of this, truth also changes with each iteration as we include a piece of ourselves in it. But that connection can be mapped, and a piece of the original truth is always there and held on to.