Born and raised in Sri Lanka to a Peruvian mother and Sri Lankan father, my household was a pocket of multiculturalism that didn’t seem to exist elsewhere in the city of Colombo. Though, this seems to have come with hindsight. As a Sri Lankan growing up in Sri Lanka, I thought my childhood was like any other kid. Even in the midst of all the questioning from my classmates about why my skin was whiter than theirs, or why my hair was straighter, between the interrogations of what religion I followed and what language I spoke at home, I never saw myself as different to my peers. Even though I was actively made to feel like a foreigner when the Sri Lankan identity was all I knew. 

I think it was hard for me to identify as Peruvian, as it still sometimes is, when my mother was trying to assimilate into the culture. Sri Lanka will happily welcome tourists but when it comes to really being a part of the fabric of the country, that just doesn’t happen. Rejection is natural, it’s easy, it’s practiced. I didn’t grow up speaking Spanish. Sinhala and English were both taught to me as my native tongue, yet even from first grade I would be asked about where I was from.

Being a hybrid kid felt something to be ashamed of. It’s only when I went to university and one day introduced myself as Sri Lankan-Peruvian, did I see the value in what it meant to be from two totally different worlds. “Wow! That’s amazing!” people would say, and it was the first time I realized that there was value in a hyphenated identity.

Caught in between two cultures, this seems to be a common dilemma and gift and in my arts practice as I embrace the hyphen. Being both invested in arts practice and research, engaging in creation as well as technical, the title “photographer – projection designer” is a hyphen I hold dearly as I reject any terms that seem to sum the multitude of experience and perspective I can bring to the table. The hyphen serves as bridge, emphasizing that these two things go together but that there’s also something to be said for the space in between. 

It is at this point in time I find myself caught in the bridge between artist and curator. 

As a digital artist – video technician, adapting to the pandemic in terms of my work and interests wasn’t as big a challenge for me. In fact it was exciting to finally see so many resources being made available to artists that would not previously have been accessible. Suddenly festivals that would be impossible for me to go to because of the visa process and the cost, were free and online regardless of what passport I held. With so many arts festivals and performances happening online, I began to question the content I was seeing. Where are the creative technologists? Shouldn’t this be the time where greater funding is given to the digital artists, to the theater technical specialists, to the creative technologists to work with the technology before us and create something amazing?

The pandemic forced us to open our eyes to the opportunities we were openly rejecting. “No, we can’t do this online,” or “no, we don’t have the money for this,” whether it be in healthcare, education, or the arts. 

In the gallery context, a lot of work has been digitized and gallery exhibitions were quick to be replicated as virtual worlds. Which is absolutely fantastic – for about 5 minutes. I began to wonder why we prioritize the white gallery wall, creating spaces that actively distanced artwork. Where artwork would still, virtually, be mounted on a wall. 

It would seem that people are thinking about technology as a tool, and specifically a tool for archival and replication. But what about technology as a collaborator? 

In 2018 for my undergraduate thesis, I did a performance called “Afterlife” which was rooted in traditions in both film and theater (of course it has to be both and in between the two). The project looked at 18th century magic lantern phantasmagoria shows and their dramaturgy to create a performance that reimagined the phantasmagorical experience for the 21st century using digital projections. I firmly argued in my thesis that light – the projected light – was an actor in my piece. In this way I hoped to treat light as an energy, a presence but most importantly, a collaborator and the process of directing the piece also involved uncovering how best to work with light. 

While the pandemic has led to the closure of geographical borders, in other ways it has also removed these borders with information and art being made more accessible in some instances. We cannot let our imagination be stifled by a desire to recreate. The real is still there; it never left. Our ability to adapt has been tested but in some ways is rooted in nostalgia. But what if we removed that nostalgia and instead looked not at how technology can replace, but how can it contribute?  

Perhaps it is because of the time the pandemic has allowed me to reflect, that I remember little moments from my childhood I had long forgotten. With cassettes of Ricky Martin being played in the morning before a traditional plate of kiribath and lunu miris were served, there’s a way in which both these ideas and cultures can exist. Being Sri Lankan-Peruvian always felt like something I had to wrestle with or quantify. But now it feels harmonious. Neither takes away from the other, and I don’t know who I would be without this collage of cultures. Rather than condense, I implore you to look at the hyphen and the spaces in between. The maps of identities and experiences with all its alleyways and hidden gems. And if we embrace the in between, what new heights can our imagination and creativity reach?