An ongoing project which reconstructs uniforms to honor and make visible the many roles working class immigrants often take on.
"My father puts on a jumpsuit in the morning. He works on cars for eight hours. Then he’ll join my mom in wiping tables and taking orders for the dinner rush at our family restaurant. The restaurant is small. Ten tables. Soft acoustic pop covers play. We have 4 stars on Yelp and 4.4 on Google. When the restaurant is slow my mom tucks herself away in the storage closet and uses Line to gossip with relatives.
Microsoft is nearby. So is DigiPen, Oculus, and others . People in pressed suits come to the restaurant. Most of them are nice; a lot of them leave good tips. And then they get into their Auddis and Teslas and drive away.
When you smile at them your expression should convey that their patronage pays your bills, your mortgage, your health insurance.
I’ve never even seen my dad wear a tie. He is always somewhere between a Dickies jumpsuit and an apron. The deep navy blue of his collar is many shades different than the crisp white of those he and my mom serve. "
- Writing from the artist.