{"id":657,"date":"2025-07-11T21:38:04","date_gmt":"2025-07-11T21:38:04","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/blog.lankina.com\/?p=657"},"modified":"2026-03-25T23:54:15","modified_gmt":"2026-03-25T23:54:15","slug":"when-the-art-sees-you-back","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/blog.lankina.com\/index.php\/2025\/07\/11\/when-the-art-sees-you-back\/","title":{"rendered":"When the Art Sees You Back"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

I stepped into the gallery and was immediately swallowed by the noise\u2014the voices, the low thrum of conversation, the soundtrack bleeding from the moving images on the walls. It overwhelmed me. At first I thought the soundscape clashed with the work. But the longer I stood inside it, the more I realized: it was working with<\/em> it. That disorientation, the layered frequencies of voices that aren\u2019t yours, spaces you don\u2019t quite belong to\u2014that<\/em> was the art. That\u2019s the immigrant condition. That\u2019s my condition.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The exhibition was The Only Way Out Is Love and Forgiveness<\/em>, by Juan Luis Matos<\/a>, at David Castillo Gallery<\/a> in Miami\u2019s Design District. I hadn\u2019t planned on being so moved. But I stood in the corner of the room, beside a makeshift bar and a pile of stapled press releases, headphones in, my own song \u201cBorn Ready\u201d<\/a> playing in my ears\u2014music I had just finished that same afternoon. It was suddenly just me and the work. The crowd fell away. My track synchronized with the fragmented, dreamlike conversations unfolding in the archival and original films on the gallery walls. And for the first time in a long time, I didn\u2019t feel like I was watching. I felt seen<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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\u201cThese videos were not for us,\u201d Matos says in the exhibition text. \u201cMy parents were sharing our progress, our survival.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

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That line shattered me. Because I, too, have spent years documenting my own progress\u2014through art, through photography, through storytelling\u2014trying to show the world that I am still here. Still surviving. Still trying to belong.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Matos\u2019s show presents five moving image works: four archival films and one recent piece, The World is Not Our Home<\/em>. The works examine how cameras have been used both as \u201cnefarious tools\u201d of voyeurism and colonial documentation, and as instruments \u201cto bear witness, to remember.\u201d In The World is Not Our Home<\/em>, filmed in Paris during his Cit\u00e9 Internationale des Arts residency, Matos blends myth, migration, and memory, weaving together the lives of exiled artists and his own poetic narration.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Watching it, I felt my own exile. I\u2019ve been in the middle of my U.S. immigration battle for what feels like forever. There are days I forget what safety feels like\u2014what rootedness, or home, could even mean. But standing there in the gallery, in front of the flickering rituals and moments of quiet power in the film, I remembered something deeper than safety. I remembered recognition.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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\u201cPerhaps the same could be said of Hurston\u2019s film, of G\u00f3mez\u2019s, even of Weed\u2019s… but The World is Not Our Home<\/em> is certainly a kind of love letter.\u201d
\u2014Gallery text<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

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Yes. That\u2019s what I felt in the room: a love letter. Not romantic love, but the kind of love that comes from being witnessed in your mess, your resilience, your unfinished transformation. It reminded me that storytelling\u2014especially the kind that mixes truth with magic\u2014is a way of surviving and self-making. A way of saying I am still here<\/em>, even when the system or the world around you forgets to look.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Later, I met Juan and his father, who stood proudly by his side. I was able to tell them what the work meant to me. I saw myself in his story. In their story. And I felt the sacredness of sharing that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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\u201cIs a film still anthropological if the subject is not otherized by its maker, and is instead part of their own beloved world?\u201d
\u2014Gallery text<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

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That question struck me. It echoes the deeper question I\u2019ve asked myself over and over: Can I exist fully without being objectified? Can I be a witness to my own becoming without asking others for permission? Can I stop othering myself?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The answer isn\u2019t clear. But the art helped me ask it from a softer place.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

What moved me even more than the films was the way the day unfolded into connection. I felt surrounded by friends\u2014new and old\u2014who didn\u2019t need me to perform anything. Joana<\/a>, thank you for looking out for me, for giving me the gift of presence. Paul<\/a>, thank you for sharing the way you see the world\u2014through your stories and your gaze. That afternoon, watching the show with you made me feel connected instead of untethered. That\u2019s rare. That\u2019s everything.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was a good day. A day when art met me where I was. A day I felt seen not just by the work, but by the people around me. A day I was brave enough to show up as myself\u2014and that was enough.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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\ud83d\udccd Exhibition Info<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

Juan Luis Matos: The Only Way Out Is Love and Forgiveness<\/strong>
\ud83d\udccd David Castillo Gallery, Miami Design District
\ud83d\uddd3 July 10 \u2013 August 30, 2025\ud83c\udf10 www.davidcastillogallery.com<\/a>
\ud83d\udd17 Artist: juanluismatos.info<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Author\u2019s Note<\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n

As a Russian-born immigrant living in Miami, my own experience of migration and displacement is shaped by a different cultural and historical context than the one explored in Juan Luis Matos\u2019s work, which honors the Black diasporic experience and interrogates the colonial gaze.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I write this reflection not to interpret his intention, but to honor the personal resonance I felt while standing in front of his films. Our paths differ, yet the ache of exile, the search for safety, and the need to be witnessed felt uncannily familiar.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In a brief exchange after the show, Juan mentioned how America felt like a place of stability. I understood what he meant\u2014but it also stirred a question inside me that hasn\u2019t left:
How do you ever truly feel safe after migration?<\/strong> Even in a new place you choose, even among people who love you\u2014how much of your past do you carry into your new life? And how much are you allowed to leave behind?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I don\u2019t know if this is what his work intended to ask. But it gave me permission to ask it\u2014and to listen for the answer from within myself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Art like Matos\u2019s doesn\u2019t just reflect\u2014it invites. It doesn\u2019t flatten experience\u2014it deepens your capacity to feel your own. I hold this reflection in that spirit: personal, reverent, and open.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Born Ready meets The Only Way Out is Love and Forgiveness.<\/em><\/strong>
A 30-second immersion in movement, memory, and migration.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n

https:\/\/blog.lankina.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/07\/aca21ef4-3ad0-4269-a235-afd76a142cff.mp4<\/a><\/video><\/div>\n\n\n\n
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Image Credits & Fair Use
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This essay includes low-resolution images of artworks and photographs for the sole purpose of commentary, critique, and educational analysis in accordance with fair use principles. Full credits and source links are provided. No infringement is intended, and works remain the property of their respective rights holders.
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