I finished sweating my pants out at the American border just now. But I am still on the train, I made it past Niagara Falls after a long and painfully arduous interrogation regarding my status as an artist headed for New York. Feeling like a criminal for no real reason, hearing myself explain true yet false-sounding facts about myself, made me realize how my life does not make any logical sense! I had the strange sensation as if I was trying to pose as an adult to the US border patrol guard and was not convincing enough.
Never in all my travels have I gotten so much hassle, blessed with the privileges of a Canadian passport. However, this is the first time I have attempted visiting the States for three months, so I guess I was asking for it.
After spending a week without sleep, forcing oil paintings to dry in my Toronto studio, huffing too many fumes, packing up heavy paintings across town etc etc. I was absolutely determined not to get stuck at the border and sent home... but what power can one have!
The man in charge asked:
-You’re coming back in June! How old are you?
-28
Why are you traveling to New York?
-reunions with my peers, to see their exhibitions, see all the other exhibitions, get new inspiration… I have a show with a gallery in Toronto in June so I am returning home then….
-Where do you work, when was your last paycheck!
-I work for the City of Toronto, and for Jumblies youth programs in Scarborough… last paycheck was well, about a month ago.
-What do you do?
-I am a painter but I teach part-time.
-So are you a painter or a teacher?
-A painter, who teaches art part time.
-So you’re telling me your employers give you three months off just to look at art!
-Well, yeah.
-Your friend that you are staying with, how do you know her, where is she from and what does she do?
-I know her from when I lived in Amsterdam, but she is American, from Berkeley, living in New York. She does set design for independent films
-What does that mean? What design? What films?
-I don’t know!
This is when he came upon a form for the Pollock Krasner Foundation wedged between my paperwork… by the look in his eyes I knew there was something very wrong with that.
-This form is to get money in America! You can’t get money from America if you aren’t an American citizen. Why are you looking to America for money that is meant for Americans? This is very suspicious!
I tried to explain… it sounded insane. Why would any American foundation give money to international artists to make art outside of the United States?
And so I was asked to please take a seat on a bench next to a group of Parisian Arab men, a woman who claimed to be a volunteer for a living, and a girl of Tibetan descent, all suspect stereotypes.
Then I had to fetch my belongings while they kept my passport, so I assumed I was being sent home. But luckily it was only to thoroughly examine my luggage.
And after we each explained our individual travel histories we were gradually let back on the train. One of the Parisians chatted me up about it afterward, calling the U.S. ‘funny, huh’. He asked me about my travels and where I was from, then asked,
-So where you go now, China?
-No. New York, duh.
I get that kind of thing so much, as I get older I almost understand it.
