Past, Present, & Future

The tale of my first oracle card reading

When I was in New York City, a psychic lived down the street from me. We exchanged a cordial nod every now and then, as I hustled home from the ACE line after a long day of work and she sat in her folding chair on the hot sidewalk, persuading people to have their palm read. But that was the extent of our relationship. There was a mutual understanding between the two of us that I was by no means a potential client. Rather, I was 23^rd street’s local tall girl who was always in a rush off to somewhere or another, short on time to test her fate (literally).

I want to say the reason that I never supported the local psychic business is because I don’t believe in it. And that is partially it. No offense to my neighbor, but her practice did not seem all that well-founded. One evening James and my sister’s boyfriend, Scott, were sent from my apartment to pick up wine. What should have been a quick trip down the block took the two of them a suspiciously long time. When they finally came back, they mischievously informed us that they had made a pit stop to see the psychic, asking her how quickly she could give them an idea of the future, and then offering a whopping $30 for a “5-minute-speed-reading” of Scott’s palm. Scott was informed he would have real estate success and digestive issues in his near future.

This anecdote aside, I think the real reason I never visited the psychic—or any psychic for that matter— is because, quite honestly, part of me does believe in larger signs from the universe. While I don’t follow my horoscope or put my fate in the hands of chance or the whim of some larger figure above, my romantic outlook on life has nonetheless led me to find beauty and reassurance in coded dreams, symbolic flowers, chance encounters, and the stars’ alignments. From this stems my fear that, if I visit a psychic, I may take their words too literally, have too much faith. God forbid my tea leaves procure a bad omen that leaves me walking on eggshells for the foreseeable future.

I bring this all up as a belabored explanation for the reason I was not thrilled when, in Walmer, England a few weekends ago, my friend pulled out a deck of oracle cards to do our readings. It’ll provide insight into your past, present, and future, she explained. I would rather not let a card dictate my future, I rebutted. The cards generally aren’t negative, she replied. Fine, I succumbed.

So there I was, rubbing the cards to activate them with my energy or what have you, and then being prompted to ask the deck a question before drawing three cards: one for my past, present, and future.

In a constant state of back and forth between homes and places, and entrenched in the exhausting yet fulfilling work of my Fulbright project, this is the question that came to me: “Will my efforts pay off?” Vague enough for loose interpretation on the universe’s part, I decided.

I flipped the first card—the one meant to reflect my past. Underneath a whimsical drawing of an amorphous butterfly/fairy creature were the following words:

Be Your Best Self Always

I know what you are thinking: this is such a classic horoscope trope— a vague open ended line can be applied to some aspect of any given consumer’s lives. But, nonetheless, the message struck me. Bear with me.

When I was in high school, my dad would always wave my sister and me out the door in the mornings with the following statement: “Do your best.”

His intentions, I believe, were to encourage us to give our studies, our relationships, and our interests all of the genuine effort we had. My dad never told us that we had to do the best. He and my mother were not concerned with straight A’s nor our being the top of class. Rather, what mattered to him was that we approached our work and studies with full determination and effort. That we gave it our all by being our best selves, always.

These words guided me beyond high school and into college, graduate school, and the real world. There have been many moments in life when I have had to consciously divorce this line of thinking from that of perfectionism—which I am prone to. Rather than making sure everything has to be the very best, I just need to do my best. To be my best self. To always give my full effort and care to the work I dedicate myself to.

Being my best self is something I have not always succeeded at, but it is a mantra that I deeply believe has led me to where I am today.

Encouraged by the relevance of the first card, I flipped the second card to see what the deck had to say about my present moment. It read:

Culmination of Vision

Again, this could certainly be generalized. But for me, in that moment, it felt so precisely on the nose.

I moved to Dublin because of a vision I had in the summer of 2022. (Nana, here is more information on the ambiguous “project” you called me out for continuously citing but never elaborating upon). That July, during a solo trip to Venice to see the biennale, I was reminded of the power of art to provide cross-cultural spaces of discourse and discovery surrounding unseen perspectives and histories. (More on that experience here).

On the plane ride home from Europe I decided I wanted to move abroad and continue exploring these ideas. Shortly thereafter I wrote a grant proposal for a Fulbright that would be used, generally speaking, to curate an exhibition with a group of youth in Dublin, based off of the renowned collection of the Hugh Lane Gallery—the city’s preeminent museum of modern art, known as the first known public gallery of modern art in the world. With the group, I hoped to explore the purpose and importance of curatorial practice and exhibitions, engaging in a cross-cultural exchange as we activated the Gallery's collection to illuminate new perspectives on the past, present, and future.

Here I am, over a year later, leading eleven sixteen year olds through a programme called “Young Visionaries.” Every week, the ideas written into that grant proposal become real life happenings. Over the past few months, I have introduced my students to the curators and staff within the Hugh Lane Gallery, and art world professionals across Dublin at large. Together we have visited the conservation studio to see how objects are preserved and protected; gone to local artists’ studio to learn how studio practice relates to curatorial work; spent hours discussing what it means to be a curator, what the function of a museum is, and what we believe it should be. Now, relying upon these experiences and conversations, we are working together on our exhibition, opening this July in the Hugh Lane Gallery.

Unsurprisingly, I am learning just as much from the students as I hope they are learning from me. Just as I had hoped, the students are finding new perspectives in historic objects and contemporary artworks; they are keen to reframe stagnant narratives to represent their lived realities as young people in Dublin. As a result, the exhibition we are curating will be centered on their lives and futures: the daunting ambiguity of what lies ahead for them, their country, their communities, and the world at large— which we all should feel ownership over.

A preview of our process

This project is nothing short of a Culmination of a Vision. But I am also aware of what the Fulbright committee has drilled into me: my experience abroad is not just about completing a grant proposal. It is just as much about living in a new country and fully embracing the foreign culture, people, and places that come alongside that.

Generally, and somewhat idealistically, the ethos of my grant proposal is to use art as a means of connections across space and time. I feel the culmination of that vision every day, beyond my work in with my students.

I feel it as I sit in the museum’s library, which is where my colleagues eat lunch together every day, and where I have gathered the most information about Ireland’s history and popular culture. It is in the library that I learn about the delicacy of a late night, post-pub Spice Bag (a brown bag of fries from Chinese restaurants, seasoned with tangy spices, onions, and often including fried chicken) or the proper order for the famed Irish Chicken Fillet Roll (pronounced here as Chicken Filly Roll).

I feel the culmination of a vision when our lunch conversations veer towards politics. When we discuss the independence of Ireland from the British Empire in 1922, and then the ensuing Troubles in Northern Ireland— which may seem long ago to a foreigner like myself, but officially culminated in the Good Friday Agreement signed in 1998… although blatant segregation and socio-political divide persists. I feel it as we speak candidly about the conflicts and systemic consequences inherent to colonialism in Ireland, and how these problems compare to the divides I see within America, or the conflict we all are witnessing between Israel and Palestine.

I feel the culmination of a vision as I meet art professionals across Dublin. As I am introduced to the new head of Diversity and Inclusion at the Irish Museum of Modern Art and we discuss how her position is a big, unprecedented step for art institutions in Ireland—whereas it is an increasingly normalized position in many parts of America. I feel it as we discuss Ireland’s slow march to recognize and discuss diversity. We discuss the increased population of migrants seeking refuge in Ireland; the necessity to provide welcoming spaces of inclusion for these communities; the lack of conversation surrounding topics like race; the potential of art institutions in this capacity.

I feel the culmination of a vision as I walk through Phoenix Park with my new friend—also an expat in Ireland. I feel it as we discuss what brought us across the Atlantic. As we get to know each other’s stories and find we can both relate to and learn from one another. As we explain what we miss about America and what we are happy to have left behind. I feel it as I continue these conversations in the U.S. Ambassador’s residence on the 26th anniversary of the signing of the Good Friday Agreement— an anniversary the Amassador commemorates by hosting a discussion between four women crucial to the Agreement’s success. I feel it as I meet the Ambassador afterwards and tell her about my project, about my ideas of using art as a means of building new bridges across old divides.

I feel it on a day trip to Northern Ireland to witness the aftermath of the Troubles myself, by means of a Black Cab Tour through Belfast. I feel it again I abruptly shift from spending time observing a man-made “Peace Wall” that continues to physically divide Protestant and Catholic communities in Belfast to taking in the sight of Giants Causeway— another monumental structure, but this one formed by the mystical forces of nature, and this one inducing collective admiration and gathering rather than collective anger, sadness, and divide.

I feel it on a slow paced weekend in Dublin as I discover a new farmer’s market in an unexplored neighborhood only 25 minutes away from my apartment. I feel it later that night as I sing along to Riptide on the top of my lungs in a local pub. I feel it on a Monday as I walk to work and the brilliantly sunny skies release rain showers abruptly, and as I laugh with my fellow pedestrians at the absurdity of the weather here. I feel it on a Friday as one pint post-work with co-workers turns into 5 pints and an impromptu sushi dinner afterwards.

I feel it in the moment I flip over that oracle card, sitting at the kitchen table of a mermaid-cove-themed Airbnb on the English Channel, 10km north of the Cliffs of Dover. Sharing the table with a handful of girls—some I know well and some I have only just met—but bound by a love for the hostess, my oldest friend Cecily. I feel it that whole weekend, over long walks and conversations and board games and cups of wine and mugs of tea and fresh baked scones and buttered crumpets.

I feel it because even though our discussions and activities reach far beyond the realm of art, I am reminded that a passion for art is what has led to my being in this moment, and those aforementioned.

Will my efforts pay off? Will the years of attempting to be my best self and the current year of attempting to culminate a vision lead to the dream?

In moments like the ones I just described, it is hard to remember exactly what that dream is, for I feel as though my life is a dream. A glorious, exciting, sometimes scary and isolating, but often energizing and inspiring dream. A dream I would be happy to have a psychic discover in my palm. What could possibly come after this? What even is the pay off?

I flip the final card:

Leap of Faith.