People First

“What has been the linchpin of my practice is recognizing that these are people first before they are a book topic or exhibition material. They’re people first and foremost, they want to know that they are not just commodities, they need to feel they are valued.”
Dr. Kiara Hill

I met Dr. Kiara Hill at one of my classes for the MFA in Art + Social Practice at PSU. Her way of weaving social justice into the history of art and holding space for us to find our questions, ethics, and problematic thoughts made me feel both safe and challenged. Which is what good stories and educational experiences are all about. 

We discussed her thoughts on the importance of telling complex stories, treating people as humans, not commodities, and having learning spaces that are conducive to critical thinking. Her warm demeanor, I hope, steams out of the words here recorded.

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Adela: Kiara, on previous occasions, you have talked about curation as storytelling, and about the fact that we have the responsibility to think about whose stories we are telling, whose artworks are we showing, and whose stories are left out. So I wanted to start by touching on the importance of centering narratives that are usually excluded, both in your work and your personal life. 

In that sense, I would love to know: what was the first exhibition, TV show, or artwork that you felt was reflecting your experience?

Kiara: Growing up, I went to a black Baptist elementary school, which I don’t even think exists anymore. And while it had its issues, especially with the Christianity portion of it, the cultural aspect was way more pronounced than any school that I went to after that. I didn’t realize at the time that everybody didn’t go to culturally specific schools where they could learn about their history as a people. 

On top of that, my godmother, who has been instrumental in my life, has been collecting 20th-century African-American memorabilia and material culture since before I was born. And so I grew up with the sensibility that black culture and the narratives of black people were important.

Also, I should say that I came from a community-oriented context. I’m not religious or active in the church now, but I grew up in the black church. And I was part of various social programs of the church aimed at uplifting black achievement. 

However, when I think about my time in the church, there were also questions I was raising that people could not give me answers to. One of them was: Why does it seem like women are doing all of the work, yet men get the credit and  are not dealing with the same restrictions? 

At the same time, I had a sensibility around queerness and saw that even within black spaces the experiences of cis hetero black men were the ones that were often being told. The Martin Luther King and Malcolm X figures were more prominent—sometimes you had Rosa Parks or Coretta Scott King mentioned, but it wasn’t the norm. So this sensibility of knowing that ‘this is not the full story’ is something that I’ve had for a while. 

Fast forward to the first art exhibition I curated, which was for an African art show where there were five graduate students chosen and I was the only one who did not come from the art department. The perspective that I brought to my curation was looking at African feminine figures in relation to African cosmology and spirituality.

I should also say that I have a master’s in Women’s Studies, and because of that I had an adequate command of black feminist thought and black feminism. Learning about that was what changed my whole perspective, more than any one artwork. 

When I’m thinking about the moments when I saw myself for the first time, it was while being exposed to black feminist thought in various iterations.I felt seen because it gave me the language to talk about racial issues in connection to gender, class, and sexuality. It allowed me to understand the positionality of black femmes in society; particularly how black femmehood functions within black communities. 

Adela: Were there any specific texts or entry points into black feminist thought that you found impactful? And is there an example that embodies what you mean when you say ‘how black femmehood exists within the community’?

Kiara: Yeah, I think that one of the first texts that I read was Bell Hooks’ Feminism is for everybody. I also remember being impacted by the work of Patricia Hill Collins and June Jordan, who is one of my favorite Black feminist writers, period.

To go back to your other question, the ways that women were told to behave and act in a demure posture did not make sense to me.Looking at my aunts and other commanding women in my life who got shit done, but when it came to men for some reason started to shrink. I did not understand why they did that. But reading black feminist texts helped me understand structures of power.

I remember, for example, when I was in my master’s program, my thesis was about how black women relate to their sexual identity and looking at it through the lens of reality television.

But that topic came out of a conversation that I was having with my mother where she was essentially saying: ‘Ladies don’t act like that, or ladies don’t do that’. I was like,‘how did you get these ideas? Where does this come from? Because you seem to know what ladies are supposed to do, and other women seem to know what ladies are supposed to do, but I don’t. I’ve also seen examples of women not adhering to those standards and seemingly being happier. 

Adela: That resonates with me, even knowing that my experience is different in the context of a white-passing Latin person. My research is about family stories, and what I realized within my family was that the women in my lineage are wild, but they married men who were not brave enough to love them as they were. 

Kiara: Exactly, and connecting that with black feminist thought made me understand that experiences are a lot more complicated than history often allows. And that even though black femmes are not always allowed to be complicated in the public sphere, they are complicated beings. And they should be allowed to be complex in ways that white people are allowed to be. 

I think we’re at a different moment now, to be honest, from where I was when coming up and coming to these ideas. You have way more depictions of black womanhood, black femmehood, and black queerness. I’m happy that that is the case. But I also think that there are moments where things could be pushed further, because complexity is part of what it means to be a human being.

The conversation I had with my mom about gender ignited in me the desire to tell nuanced stories where there is more at play than what you may see on the surface.

Adela: I feel like telling those nuanced stories is pervasive in everything you do. And it seems to me that it translates also into your teaching style. 

Having been your student in the MFA of Art + Social Practice and reading about your experiences in KSMoCa curating alongside school students, I know the importance you bestow upon spaces of mentorship and teaching experiences of joy in art. So I would like to know: how do you see yourself as an educator? What’s your style?

Kiara: As an educator, one of the things that I strive to do, in addition to imparting the content, is to help students garner the tools to think critically about themselves, their experiences, and the world around them. 

A lot of that comes through being able to talk things out. Because when you’re thinking about something, you can’t hear or recognize the contours of your own thinking because it’s so familiar to you. But when you say your thoughts out loud you’re able to see them. That’s why my approach to teaching has always been discussion-based. 

Because the only way I’ve learned is by asking questions. And it’s important to me that people feel confident in their ideas and their ability to defend them. But it is also relevant that they feel emboldened to recognize when they don’t know something, that they understand that not knowing doesn’t have to be the end of the world. That they are open enough to sit with the discomfort of uncertainty, open enough to listen. 

When I think about the moments that have shifted my thinking, it is the moments where I have been offered the opportunity to take in new information and I took it. I want to teach students how to do that too. Because to me, the point of college, the point of being in the university setting, isn’t just about regurgitating information. You could do that on your own.  It’s about learning how to think, it’s about enjoying thinking critically. 

I also model the fact that I don’t know everything. Yes, I’m a professor. Yes, I have a PhD, but I don’t know everything. I can learn some things from you too. 

When you make students feel like they are valuable contributors to the classroom environment and the ongoing body of knowledge, I have found that that is how you get the best out of students.

Adela: Speaking about getting the best out of students, you curated a KSMoCa exhibition with the kids with the concept of a Happy Place. And I am curious about what space, song, person, or activity you consider your happy place.

Kiara: My apartment is a happy place for me. But also, one of my other happy places is listening to people talk about themselves, listening to them narrate their lives and experiences. It is fascinating what they choose to say or not to say, and what memories are not even on the horizon until a certain word or phrase is spoken. 

Adela: Absolutely. I share that. And I want to discuss your way of doing precisely that, community storytelling and archiving the stories of black elders. What does that process look like for you?

Kiara: The artist who I’ve been working with, specifically archiving his belongings, comes from the Black Arts Movement. He is part of the visual arts collective,  AfriCOBRA, which is probably one of the most prolific groups to come out of that period. I’m also currently spearheading a Black artist archival project here in Portland.

In terms of the process of doing that work, one of the things that I’m realizing is that relationships matter. I have also been taking it upon myself to be flexible in my approaches. 

Before I came to Portland, when I was trying to do some research on black artists here, I essentially hit a wall. Maybe one or two links popped up—this was before the Black Artists of Oregon exhibition opened up at the Portland Art Museum. 

And even though you have some of these Black Arts Movement artists who reach national and international acclaim, that was largely not the case. This was a community-oriented movement, so I ended up finding info about these less prominent figures in people’s basements and in places that were not an archive or repositories. 

But for someone to feel comfortable with you coming into their house, you also have to demonstrate yourself to be somewhat trustworthy. I think doing this community storytelling work comes down to that, to being someone with manners. While at the same time recognizing your positionality with them. Because, even though I’m black and I’m interviewing black people, I’m a representative of the University. 

Another important piece of it is that I pay people for their time, because nobody, especially in this economy, should ever be doing things for free. Everybody I’ve interviewed has gotten paid. 

In terms of the methods in general, I do research on the person beforehand and try to be methodical about the questions, but I am more flexible now. Before, I would have like twelve questions and I would break them off into like three different categories: their early life, their practice, their career in Portland and navigating the Portland art scene as a black artist. 

I also keep in mind that these narratives that I value are people’s lives. So there’s a certain kind of reverence and sensitivity that I bring to each interview because people don’t have to tell you anything. 

It is interesting that one of the ways that I end up getting a lot of good information outta people though, is because at some point in time, they forget that they’re talking to a professor, now they’re just talking to someone interested in their work and life experiences. 

I think too, because I’m someone who looks like a lot of people that I interview, that also helps. People see me as being just like their niece or cousin. One of my collaborators sent to me recently that they were like ‘You wouldn’t even know you had a PhD. unless you ask,’ because that’s not something I lead with.

It is about who you are as a person and what you’re bringing to your process. Because you can do the same thing that I’m doing, but if you’re someone who is not consistent, who has demonstrated yourself to be only there for what you need and you are ready to get out, then you’ll get nothing.

What has been the lynchpin of my practice is recognizing that these are people first before they are a book topic or exhibition material. They’re people first and foremost, and that is something that I am attentive to. Because they can feel when you just want something from them and don’t give a fuck about them.

I think that for me as well, it is the fact that I am so interested in the mundane, the ordinary, the quotidian. And this goes back to your earlier question about telling more complex stories; there are things that you can learn on a macro scale by looking at key figures, but I think if you’re gonna get to the minutiae of something, you gotta go to the everyday, ordinary people. 

When I think about the women that I grew up around, they weren’t the who’s who of whatever. They were just women in my community who were doing the things that make a difference. And their lives are not more or less valuable than Martin Luther King’s.

If anything, the people that I’m looking to are more representative of most people. And most people don’t think their life is that important, or that experiences are that valuable. And I think making people feel like they are is necessary and important.

Adela: In this action of making people’s experiences feel valued, I think there is also the responsibility to hold their pain. How do you hold other people’s trauma and make them feel safe when you are doing this community storytelling work? 

Kiara: An interview that comes to mind is one with a woman who was the niece of an artist named Charlotte Lewis. She talked about her mental health issues and her aunt’s mental health issues, about her nervous breakdown and how that breakdown came about from being in an abusive relationship. 

But her niece touched on how, from that breakdown, her aunt finds her calling to become a community artist. During that time, though, her family doesn’t understand what she’s doing. Having to live with mental illness, as a black woman in the seventies and eighties where there was little to no conversation about that publicly, and the shame that comes as a result of having to deal with those situations on top of feeling misunderstood and alienated from your family, that takes a toll on people. 

So as her niece was telling me the story she just broke down crying saying, ‘My family didn’t understand who she was and what she was doing and if they had only supported her, maybe the ending of her life could have been different.’ And I just stopped the interview, went up to her and hugged her and we waited until she was back at a place where she could continue the interview. 

So, for me, in those moments, I respond like a human being. Maybe a professional would give them ten minutes, but as a human being if you’re breaking down crying in front of me, my instinct is to go in for the hug or to go make sure that you’re okay, and that’s what I did.

People want to know that they are not just commodities. People need to feel they are valued as people

Adela: Yeah absolutely. And in that direction, a lot of this storytelling work has to do with archiving people’s stories and experiences and giving them a valued place. 

I want to learn what frameworks other people have designed to archive, because I know this can be of service to other people who do not know where to start with the belongings of their loved ones. What has that looked like for you? 

Kiara: I think that archiving, like a lot of things, is more intuitive than people think. And people go to school for that, which I am not trying to disregard, but think there is part of it that is instinctual. The name of the game is preservation. It is like curating, in that sense. I did not go to school for museum studies, but I think that at the core of curating is the ability to care for the objects. 

Similarly, with archiving, the objective is preservation. Now, when you talk about wanting to get those archives into certain repositories or create an index, then that’s a different situation where certain techniques are needed. 

But I will say that for the archival project that I’ve been working on, I am part of a team of people and one of them is an archivist. She has helped create an inventory list, helped think about putting it together in a specific way, and what materials to use to better preserve what we found. 

I have contributed to the team by knowing what I am looking for, since I have studied the Black Arts Movement in depth. Being a researcher, I also know what materials would be useful for me if I had a project to research. We all bring our strengths to the table. 

But for me, in the end, the biggest objective is just the preservation aspect of it. There was a time when, since people did not move around as much, your grandma was living in the same house that she had been living in for the last fifty years, and in the basement, she kept her mom’s baby pictures. What I’m saying is people have naturally been archiving for a long time. At the core of it all is caring and preserving our history. I’m always excited about the things that we take for granted. 

Adela: I am too. That is why I am shooting videos of recipes or how to do hummus for plants, passed down from my grandma and great aunts. They have never cooked with measurements and neither do we. So our recipes and their stories would otherwise get lost. 

Kiara: Exactly, and I think that is so important because people take a lot of things for granted until you realize how quickly the world changes. 

For example, when I was growing up, cursive was one of those things that you had to know how to write, but they don’t teach that anymore. When I was in grad school one of my classes visited a historic house and while we were there one of the preservationists mentioned that highschoolers these days don’t know how to read cursive. Many of them had a hard time analyzing some of the older documents from periods where people exclusively wrote in cursive. I never imagined that would be a thing. 

Some traditions and things will just die out without preservation intervention, which is why it is so important. But there are moments when I question, ‘Man, is what I’m doing even important?’ 

But it is paramount because the thing about community arts is that for a lot of these people, their livelihoods were in relation to a very specific place. And their contributions shifted the culture, and if their stories aren’t preserved. It’s like they did not exist. 

Adela: Thinking about place, and community, I want to know what makes you feel at home. 

Kiara: You know what? I love mangos. 

Adela: Yes!! There’s a mango at my window tree back home.

Kiara: Amazing. As a child, my mom used to tell me that she ate a mango and sweet potatoes when she was pregnant with me. 

I also love watermelons, and how they signal the beginning of summer, a shift in the season. It also reminds me of home, of California. I only understood when I moved to the East Coast that getting good watermelon for cheap was not a thing everywhere. And so sweet watermelons are summer and home for me 

Adela: Finally, if someone were archiving your home and belongings, what is one object they would find that speaks to who you are today?

Kiara: I have recently introduced the juicer in my life and I love juice but I never made it because it is not a quick task. But doing it now is fulfilling because of the effort it takes to make, it is meditative for me 

Adela: I get it. It’s a simple thing you do just for you. 

Kiara: Yeah exactly!

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Adela Cardona is a “profesional en ver las maricaditas lindas de la vida” (professional in seeing the little beautiful things of life). She’s a universe made being that sometimes poses as a poet, a storyteller, a gatherer or Sustainability/ Social Impact Director. Her universe given gifts include an insane ear for music, as well as weaving words and people together. She’s now in the process of getting her MFA in Art + Social Practice at PSU, in Portland, Oregon. 

As a Colombian-Lebanese, Autistic x ADHDer, Queer woman she is constantly inhabiting the borderlines and bringing her roots everywhere, to help other people flow with the rivers of their own stories. Her art touches on the themes of family, legacy, mental health, fashion, community storytelling, identity, creativity and sustainability. 

The work she’s in the muddy middle of is The GrapeVine, a space to tell stories and inherit the skills of our ancestors, alive, dead or nature being. She’s also in the process of making a series about neurodivergent people and wanting to develop spaces to tackle decay and grief. She has a thousand ideas on her mind at a time. 

She’s the co-founder of an Open Mic called Mujeres No Graciosas, that has held the stories of more than 2000 women and LGBTQ+ people, since 2018. She’s also the producer and host of the podcast of latinx creators, La Bombillera. She has written articles in both English and Spanish on topics ranging from Alzheimer’s disease to drag culture and sustainable fashion. Her journalistic work can be seen in magazines and portals such as Bacánika, Eco-Stylist, Malpensante and her own Medium. Her poetry can be read, heard and seen at the IG: oceanasoyyo. 

Kiara Hill is the James DePriest Visiting Assistant Professor of Art History in the Schnitzer School of Art + Art + History + Design at Portland State University. She teaches courses on African American art and socially engaged art in the Art + Social Practice MFA Program. Hill earned her B.A. in Mass Communications at Sacramento State University, her M.A. in Women’s Studies at the University of Alabama, and recently completed her Ph.D. in Afro-American Studies at the University of Massachusetts. Her research focuses on the Black Arts Movement of the 1960s and 1970s with an emphasis on Black women artists and cultural workers. Hill is also a curator of African American visual art and culture and curator-in-residence at Dr Martin Luther King Jr School Museum of Contemporary Art (KSMoCA).