Bourgeon’s mission, through our online publication and community initiatives, is twofold: to increase participation in the arts and to improve access to the arts. Bourgeon is a project of the not-for-profit Day Eight.
This article was selected as the winner of the 2016 DC Student Arts Journalism Challenge, an annual competition designed to identify and support talented young...
This article was selected as a finalist in the 2016 DC Student Arts Journalism Challenge, an annual competition designed to identify and support talented young...
In 2009 I traveled near South Korea's Demilitarized Zone to visit and write an article about the then 79 year old shaman Kim Keum Hwa. During my second visit, she surprised me by asking me to get up and dance. After, and for the duration of the day, she and several of her disciples encouraged me to pursue a path as a shaman.
One time when I was young my father asked me to help him in the shop by sanding some wood. I began sanding the board against the grain. When my Dad barked at me for it I threw the sanding block down and never helped him again. So perhaps it’s fitting that for the past thirteen years my work has focused almost exclusively on the natural beauty of wood.
My family never identified as Creole. We always identified as Black. Creole was an integral aspect of our lives, but we embraced it as a way of life; we didn't identify as it. As I create this work my thoughts are circling around my Creole ties and notions of bloodlines and legacy.
Theater Comedian Dhaya Lakshminarayanan was once accidentally lodged in former president Bill Clinton's cleavage. "I shook his hand and then someone behind me pushed me so I kind of ended up in his man boobs — this was big Bill Clinton — and I got sort of squished in there,"
“What is natural?” is the intriguing inquiry surrounding the National Museum of Women in the Arts summer 2015 exhibition, Super Natural. This frustratingly broad question could be answered in a plethora of ways
New Day, New War
dawn breaks over dust—jets thunder into IranIsrael’s warning
missiles cross at dusk—sirens bloom in BeershebaTel Aviv trembles
bunker busters boom—America joins the fraycall...
Glass Houses
We hide behind glass—thin, trembling breath,shattered silence,each crack a raw wound,a secret bleeding light.Truth fractures us—yet in jagged breaks,strength flickers, trembling,not a mask,...
