tonite, thriller was
abt an ol woman, so vain she
surrounded herself w/
many mirrors

it got so bad that finally she
locked herself indoors & her
whole life became the
   mirrors

excerpt beware: do not read this poem, Ishmael Reed, 1972

(there goes the neighborhood…)

I grew up in North American suburbs. Although as an adult I’ve lived mostly in cities, ultimately, I came back to the ‘burbs.

still from (there goes the neighborhood...), 2015
still from (there goes the neighborhood…), Site-specific installation, 2015

The redeeming qualities of suburbs are few, and, like cities, socioeconomic equality is not among them. In the US in particular, suburbs are emblematic of the racism at the heart of the nation’s character. But, in their sprawl and ‘quaint’ neighborhoods, I’ve always found ‘scope for the imagination’.

At night in the city, I am anonymous; at night in the suburbs, I feel alone.

I’ve always wondered where my neighbors – whom I’ve never known – are. Whereas for urbanites the city is their living room, I guess most suburbanites like their homes – a lot.

And that’s the tip of a phenomenon: without equivocation, in the suburbs, we are keenly aware of each others’ surface lives (comings and goings, new driveway, new baby, the strange language of stickers on the backs of SUVs) and totally disconnected from the substance below.

It’s this paranoid reading of appearances that drives (there goes the neighborhood…): at what point does watchfulness turn into surveillance?

daytime view of (there goes the neighborhood...), 2015 installation site
daytime view of the installation site for (there goes the neighborhood…), 2015

I am, I think, one of maybe four Black people/families that live in my gated community. Here, there are grassy knolls where people can run or walk themselves and their dogs. Each knoll slopes down into our back gates and decks, so, stop long enough – to ‘chat’ or watch the dog poop – and see right into the neighbors’ homes. I feel particularly ‘glanced’ at because I’m Black. Hyper-visible.

For one month on even days from 7:30P to 8:00P (prime dog walking time), I gave my neighbors something to look at.

installation view of (there goes the neighborhood...), 2015
installation view of (there goes the neighborhood…), Site-specific installation, 2015

(there goes the neighborhood…) is a site-specific single-channel video installation. Through translucent vertical blinds, I project a looped scene from a mainstream film about voyeurism images of an idyllic Black family waving at their neighbor. These ‘screenings’ are my protest, a response to the bass note of dread that accompanies my every act in my neighborhood.

installation view of (there goes the neighborhood...), Site-specific installation, 2015
installation view of (there goes the neighborhood…), Site-specific installation, 2015

excerpt from (there goes the neighborhood…), Site-specific installation, 2015

Tell Me About Your Mother

Tell Me About Your Mother is a project built from filmed interviews I conduct with those closest to me. To create each piece in the series, I ask sitters similar sets of questions about their mothers, remove ‘textual’ information like sound and visible talking, and use footage from moments just before and after questions are asked and answered.

excerpt from Tell Me About Your Mother #3, Multimedia, 2013 –

Mythology surrounding the phrase ‘tell me about your mother’ holds that it was central to Sigmund Freud’s psychoanalytic theory and practice. The trope of Freudian analysis is embedded in American pop culture consciousness; thrown around in casual conversation and played for laughs in movies is the notion that the root of our ability to adjust to the world around us is ultimately tied to our relationships with our mothers. And, while Tell Me About Your Mother owes a great deal to this surface reading of the phrase, its source, and its current place in American culture, the project was borne not from discussions about immediate anxieties or neuroses, but rather of conversations about home and heritage, our private origin stories.

Yet, what meaning is really there when I remove from interview footage my questions and sitters’ responses?

still from Tell Me About Your Mother #1, Multimedia, 2013
still from Tell Me About Your Mother #1, Multimedia, 2013
still from Tell Me About Your Mother #1, Multimedia, 2013
still from Tell Me About Your Mother #1, Multimedia, 2013
still from <em>Tell Me About Your Mother #2</em>, Multimedia, 2013 still from Tell Me About Your Mother #2, Multimedia, 2013
still from Tell Me About Your Mother #2, Multimedia, 2013
still from <em>Tell Me About Your Mother #2</em>, Multimedia, 2013 still from Tell Me About Your Mother #2, Multimedia, 2013
still from Tell Me About Your Mother #2, Multimedia, 2013

Allison Bolah is a fiscal year 2014 recipient of an Artist Initiative grant from the Minnesota State Arts Board. The on-going project Tell Me About Your Mother, 2013 and its corresponding activities are made possible in part by the voters of Minnesota through a grant from the Minnesota State Arts Board, thanks to a legislative appropriation from the arts and cultural heritage fund.

Allison Bolah is a fiscal year 2014 recipient of an Artist Initiative grant from the Minnesota State Arts Board. The on-going project Tell Me About Your Mother, 2013 and its corresponding activities are made possible in part by the voters of Minnesota through a grant from the Minnesota State Arts Board, thanks to a legislative appropriation from the arts and cultural heritage fund.

Public Speaking ( )

The on-going installation series Public Speaking ( ) began as my contribution to Shh! at Minneapolis Central Library. Because it is available for public use, Azisa Koesoema, Adam Hamilton, Sieng Lee, and I used Cargill Hall exhibition space to consider the meanings of various public silences.

What happens after a speech is made?

excerpt from Public Speaking (Read-Along), Multimedia, 2014

In Public Speaking (Read-Along) and Public Speaking (Marginalia) respectively, I source and ‘re-mediate’ into contemporary dialogues about citizenship and scholarship speeches like Barbara Jordan’s Statement on the Articles of Impeachment and Martin Luther King Jr.’s Beyond Vietnam – A Time to Break Silence. Installed like a ‘study partner’ across from the seated viewer, each video is accompanied by a hand-bound draft of the text of the speech and a #2 pencil that invite the viewer to contribute to the community marginalia elucidating each speech’s relationship to contemporary life.

still from Public Speaking (Marginalia), Multimedia, 2014
still from Public Speaking (Marginalia), Multimedia, 2014
still from Public Speaking (Marginalia), Multimedia, 2014
still from Public Speaking (Marginalia), Multimedia, 2014
still from Public Speaking (Marginalia), Multimedia, 2014
still from Public Speaking (Marginalia), Multimedia, 2014

On the same page

On a shelf within the Language Arts Department’s warehoused novels, On the same page is a lending library of fiction literature that is NOT being taught this school year.

On the same page (Secret Stash), Lending library as installed, 2015
On the same page (Secret Stash), lending library as installed, 2015

Before and after school, between classes, at lunch, and during my planning period, readers (students) can check out books from the Secret Stash. Readers who make notes/notations in Secret Stash texts can add a corresponding unique mark and their initials to the Key on the inside or back cover of the book so that future readers can know where and perhaps what some previous reader thought about passages in the text. Selections in the Secret Stash go in and out of ‘official’ circulation based on Department instructors’ syllabi.

On the same page exists within the purview of the institution; all Secret Stash texts are school/board-approved and purchased. I keep track of who checks out and returns a book. But, wherever current readers communicate with future readers through notes/notations, a ‘radical opening’ exists.

Current Secret Stash Book List

No Accident

In my Black communities, a ‘neutral’ North American accent is either prized for the doors it might open, or reviled for its seeming alliance with whiteness. As a child I was admonished for adopting my parents’ Caribbean accents and made to repeat Ts, ‘th’, and other sounds precisely. Built from an alphabetized list of those primary words, words used in accent and stutter reduction classes, and my own word associations, the video installation piece No Accident examines accent as an embodiment of a Black middle class aesthetic.

excerpt from No Accident, Multimedia, 2012