David Campos – List Their Highest Level of Education

List Their Highest Level of Education This is a collage of 3 different photographs. On the left is a profile photo of my father. On the right is my grandfather. In the middle is me facing forward. They are all in black and white. Each photo lists their highest level of education from left to right as follows: Highest Level of Education: Some college; what this really means is that I went to K-12 in Mexico, except for that small window of time spent in the US. I went to college there, but was too poor to continue. Too many days I went hungry because I had to choose between the pesos for the ride there and back or for food. When I went to the US looking for something else, the real education came from working in the strawberry fields and knowing that wasn’t for me. I wanted to use my mind to build. That’s how I came into construction. Once, I fell from a high ledge and was told I would never work again. I went to Fresno City College to try to learn again. But I was told I didn’t have the right transcripts to enroll. My education beyond these borders didn’t mean anything here. I returned to drywall. And spent the rest of my time building walls until my spine finally said, enough education. Highest Level of Education: Masters/Graduate degree. I said my dream job was to teach at Fresno City College. It wasn’t until years later, after having earned tenure, that I learned about my father’s rejection from the school that now employed ME. At the beginning of every semester after, I think about my father coming onto campus and attempting to enroll. I look for him in others roaming the campus and trying to find something. I learned English because assimilation was encouraged. I lost any hint of accent because of the same. I majored in English because I thought it would be able to protect me from discrimination. Like hey now, I can speak the language better than you. But it was never enough. That lesson was the hardest to learn. Highest Level of Education: Elementary. I really wanted to be a pilot. When I worked in our family ranchos I would love to see the planes flying across the sky. How great it would be to leave the land I tended and finally see the big picture. Though I must say my education really came in the form of grief. When I lost my eldest son at a very young age, it broke me. I learned grief was at the bottom of bottles. I learned the limit my family would take before they finally threatened to leave me because even the threat of losing my own life was not enough; the only doctor I ever listened too was my heart being broken when I lost him. I understood then finally that medicine was family. I left alcohol behind in hopes that my family could thrive. But it took me eating orange rinds in an alley when I first got to the US to survive. It took me years of working the fields. It took me years to finally board a plane and look out the window.

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Artist’s Statement: In the article “The Resegregation of Jefferson County,” Nikole Hannah-Jones writes that “since 2000, at least 71 communities across the country, most of them white and wealthy, have sought to break away from their public-school districts to form smaller, more exclusive ones.” This led to research into my state’s segregation and integration efforts. The rhetoric, the maps, and the data were all there—coded language, school boundaries, and even diversity statements covered the stagnant “struggle” toward integration. As an educator, this project provided context for my experience and those of the students in the classroom. Notes and citations will appear at the end of the project. 

Hermelinda Hernandez Monjaras – BRAINFØG VII

Visual poem with a title that reads: BRAINFØG VII. There is a light gray, blooming image behind the words. The poem’s orientation is landscape. Across the poem, there are five columns of text, and the text reads: I. * arms trail below grass * the backyard the dirt water she struggles jolt * her side my window it won’t rain * weeds & plants the roof * her hair slips in the brush * pitcher plants regulate be sensing electrical signals II. * cockroach followed by authorities * i’ll admit at 88 i loved her i drift blur * cagesilent brown eyes sifted by dusk * the width of a room argues * my head tickles inside * mist guided by yellow moon *tornadocycles fleshrecycles * uterus absence of period III. * swimclarity my skull reverberates * abyss owls tired of disconnectedflames * an eviction she kicked me out * I drank every day * in July nearly homeless I fed stray cats * called the manager a bitch * I never invited him to my graduation * bright sultry red rose anger boils on canvas IV. * DNA a ghost walks alone * worms tendrils profiles sit on a boat pedal fresh air * naked flame sun set * limbs hold a helix temporal shift * weave germinate waterfalls ripping acoustic * a bee stings my depression * I pour paint on paper until its petals bleed on my dress V. * spider thumb inhabits border * my veins turn into slugs lungs constrict * listen to water twist and turn it spins me into a haze * pore ear inside fountain it kills a woman for smiling * each sapote lays bare the evergreen of my cadaver * it begins with an obsession * introvert solitude woman

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Artist’s Statement: For The Fresno 15 Creative Writing Marathon, I used 15 Rorschach blots I made by dabbing a red rose with paint onto paper. This series is an attempt to write on brain fog: forgetfulness, incoherent thoughts, mental fatigue, lack of clarity, and more. Each day became a challenge: the strings attached within me were reluctant to push, create, and pull; memory became a mass of confusion to frame. Luckily, these 15 days were possible due to persistence and help from my mentor, Anthony Cody, author of The Rendering. Lastly, this series is one step forward towards my future poetic work.

David Campos – English Class | Past, Present, and Future Tense

English Class | Past, Present, and Future Tense It’s a photograph of a teacher going over an assignment with a child. It’s black and white. On the blackboard is the following inserted text: This is not my father. Nor was this child, to the best of my knowledge, smacked across his knuckles with a ruler for speaking Spanish in the playground. He didn’t beg to go back to Mexico. He didn’t go all the way back to the rancho to stay with an uncle. This is not my father. Sometimes I think of a future that could have been if he just stayed. Sometimes I’m the ruler. Over the teacher’s is the following text: There are times when I can’t reconcile that my mother cannot read the books I’ve written. All the language I’ve learned feels like a betrayal.

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Artist’s Statement: In the article “The Resegregation of Jefferson County,” Nikole Hannah-Jones writes that “since 2000, at least 71 communities across the country, most of them white and wealthy, have sought to break away from their public-school districts to form smaller, more exclusive ones.” This led to research into my state’s segregation and integration efforts. The rhetoric, the maps, and the data were all there—coded language, school boundaries, and even diversity statements covered the stagnant “struggle” toward integration. As an educator, this project provided context for my experience and those of the students in the classroom. Notes and citations will appear at the end of the project. 

Hermelinda Hernandez Monjaras – BRAINFØG VI

Visual poem with a title that reads: BRAINFØG VI. There is a light gray, blooming image behind the words. The poem’s orientation is landscape. On the left-hand side of the poem, the text reads: dishes spill slip they fall grip weakens strangers yell scream don’t fight back indoor infrared beams run don’t wash the crevices shriek shatters another plate psyche overwhelmed brain wants to eat livers grip into sweat In the center of the poem, the text reads: surroundings buzz murmur drum my ears escalate image smoke detector turns freerelease boil heat ignite my mind erupts cave paintings nasal silhouettes obscure rabbit feathers glare repeat action rejectextract dimensions eagle stretches radius cramps numb I am reluctant to open up mindbody fuzzy apertures dry xylophone spirits extract uterus the cup overflows how do I let go mist visions fluid motion future cheekbones cavity agape occupied empty On the right-hand side of the poem, the text reads: flesh I am an on & off switch I wake up inside another frame memory gaps patterns I mirror reflect a picture breathes within throat absorbs infests & creaks an indistinct nebulous adrenaline rush self break down stutter I float I spleen another me outbursts

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Artist’s Statement: For The Fresno 15 Creative Writing Marathon, I used 15 Rorschach I made by dabbing a red rose with paint onto paper. This series is an attempt to write on brain fog: forgetfulness, incoherent thoughts, mental fatigue, lack of clarity, and more. Each day became a challenge: the strings attached within me were reluctant to push, create, and pull; memory became a mass of confusion to frame. Luckily, these 15 days were possible due to persistence and help from my mentor, Anthony Cody, author of The Rendering. Lastly, this series is one step forward toward my future poetic work.

David Campos – School Was the Place Where

School Was The Place Where Over a yearbook photo of David Campos in the 7th grade, there are lines pointing to different parts of his face, hair, collar, etc. They lead to boxes of text. They read from top clockwise as follows: Read the title “School Was the Place Where” before you read each box… a) (Text box points to hair): There is a code for how long my hair can be; my hair is a code; the code has a part down the middle to hide. b) (Text box points to left eyebrow): I learned the importance of shaving off the connection between me and my family c) (Text box points to right eye): The code also mathed what color these were and what colors they saw. d) (Text box points to right ear): language snapped across classrooms grouped desks asphalt and concrete and grass always grass different ages of grass fresh cut grass and sand and dirt; my name all but forgotten and replaced with hacksaw blades and bats and cleat bottoms; I was a good listener. e) (Text box points to mouth): the first time I stood up for myself I echoed the systemic racism lashed out by colorblindness. It took me a long time to undo the twisted knots of my tongue. For too long language became entangled in distrust unearned and passed down like jewelry from the abuela that whispered the beso de judas into your mother’s ear; she learned of my girlfriend and said she better not be... Love is an idea I learned about in textbooks and literature. I first had to learn to spell it in the original language to reset. f) (Text box points to chin): the stubble was against the code; the code listed all these ways in which I couldn’t simply be a young man because to be a man was to learn obedience and confuse it for respect. Respect my father. Respect my teachers. Respect the gang members in my neighborhood. They all can kill you if you don’t watch your back. I shaved even when I didn’t have to thinking the cuts would thicken my beard thinking the cuts would quicken the transformation to that what must be obeyed. The blood stains on my collar are code. g) (Text box points to jaw): this was punched so hard my jaw still clicks when I open wide to eat. To live is to be reminded of the kick that followed. Sometimes I think each click is an echo. h) (Text box points to nose): the importance of smell | I smelled | poverty can smell | others could smell me | they can smell my chorizo burrito wrapped in foil | lunch bags were plastic bags from the grocery store | I washed my uniform every day | I only owned a few pairs | sometimes they were second hand| thrift store scents all over my uniform i) (Text box points to shirt collar): This faded. Color faded. My clothes faded. I faded. My color faded. My songs faded. My writing faded. My learning faded. My pants faded. My shoes faded so much sometimes my toes would peek out and yell “I’m too poor!” into a hallway. Ironing faded away the wrinkles. Ironing made me focus on the color slowly going away. Ironing the creases on my pants was a reminder of how school ironed me. Here, I’m only two dimensions. Here, I’m inks in different states of fading. j) (Text box points to left ear): the sounds of music prohibited at home were danced to. To move in this world is to find a rhythm that somehow breaks away from that ancestral song but still somehow honors the key it was originally sung in; sample is not the right word but it’s close. The most sampled beat in music is called the “Amen Break.” The sound of myself still had my family’s “Amen Break.” I may speak English, but the background beat is Spanish. Notice how even the structure of these words sound differently if you’ve heard me Speak. k) (Text box points to left eye): I saw the future; it was more overwhelming that I expected. Each day a different color my eyes had yet to learn the name of. Nameless colors. Bless you.

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Artist’s Statement: In the article “The Resegregation of Jefferson County,” Nikole Hannah-Jones writes that “since 2000, at least 71 communities across the country, most of them white and wealthy, have sought to break away from their public-school districts to form smaller, more exclusive ones.” This led to research into my state’s segregation and integration efforts. The rhetoric, the maps, and the data were all there—coded language, school boundaries, and even diversity statements covered the stagnant “struggle” toward integration. As an educator, this project provided context for my experience and those of the students in the classroom. Notes and citations will appear at the end of the project.