 Hello everyone. Hi. Thank you for being here and thank you for this warm celebration of Pat's work. I think a lot of you know me for this film called The Watermelon Woman. Thank you. That turned 20 this year and I know, right? Okay, so it's a magical year. I'm a young one. Well, we know Black don't crack, that's all we have to say. She deserves a whole lot more of the introduction that I did, but I'm still kind of out on Jonestown, so forgive me. Give her a big hand for the work she's done. So yeah, you know, in making The Watermelon Woman I think it was so important for me to include my community and find my community and I, you know, I came, I was always out and I was never in. Some people could say that. I'm one of those gold star individuals. Remember the gold stars, right? Gold stars in the house, right? I was like, few. But in that discovery as a young person, I went to the library and I went to look for books and I went to look for people and I went to look for my identity and I went to try to find myself and, you know, stumbled into Pat's work and Pat's somebody who's not up there in the picture, but I was like, oh, this can be me. In the kingdom of could be me. This is it, right? So I was really blessed to see somebody who looked like me and have the courage to make work. And I think that's the most important thing about words. I turned them into images. So the words of Pat, the words of Audrey, the words of Joel, the words of so many other people, Marlon, Essex. I mean, I could just continue on the people who made me percolate and boil. But I wanted to like bring down what I felt Pat's work was about or what I was reading again and again was about a couple of points and that's why I picked four works. I think it's about spirit. I think Pat's work is about courage, anger. I mean, we're angry, right? And then love and I think we always forget about the love part. So I'm going to read some poems that I think from Pat's work that really kind of touch on that for me. I guess I'll start with anger because we are at that moment right now with being hella angry and, you know, what can we do about that, but work and turn our anger into something. And as we approach Thanksgiving, Pat's poem, One Thanksgiving Day, is something that really... I'm so glad you're going to do that. One Thanksgiving Day, Priscilla Ford got into her Lincoln Continental, drove to Virginia Street in downtown Reno and ran over 30 people. Six of them died. One Thanksgiving Day, Patricia Ford got into her Lincoln Continental, drove to Virginia Street in downtown Reno and ran over 30 people. Six of them died. Priscilla, Priscilla, who did you see? What face from your past? Was it the waitress who waited to wait on you? Was it the clerk who tried to sell you only the brightest colored clothes? Was it your child's teacher who tried to teach her that she was slow? Was it the security guard at the bank who guarded you from the bank's money? With his eyes. On Thanksgiving Day, Priscilla Ford got into her Lincoln Continental, drove to Virginia Street in downtown Reno and ran over 30 people. Six of them died. Screams filled the street. Panic ran through the crowd like a losing streak at the blackjack tables and the state of Nevada was stunned. A tired middle-aged black woman was not thankful that day, not thankful for her job rocking gifts at Macy's, not thankful for the state taking custody of her child. She was not thankful for her Lincoln Continental. Priscilla Ford got into her Lincoln Continental and hurled through the streets of Reno. The killer made in Motown factories, swept down on tourists looking to make a big hit, hit by a navy blue steel bludgeon. Screams dying beneath its wheels and the state of Nevada was angry. She went to trial in Sanity. Her lawyers pled. She was crazy with anger. She was crazy with fear. She was crazy with defeat. She was crazy with isolation. No sane person kills strangers with their cars. Priscilla Ford said, yes, I drove my car into the whiteness of Nevada streets. She would say, nothing more and the state of Nevada was frightened. If Priscilla Ford could do it, who else? How many black faces that employed emptied garbage, weighted tables, bagged groceries, wrapped presents were capable. Reaction was swift. One entrepreneur printed a card. It said, happy Thanksgiving with a picture of Priscilla Ford on its front. Inside it said, sorry, I missed you. Priscilla Ford got into her Lincoln Continental, drove down Virginia Street in downtown Reno and ran over 30 people. Six of them died and the state of Nevada was vindicated. You cannot be insane to be enraged. It's not insane to be filled with hatred. It's not insane to lash out at whiteness. It's not insane. It is being a nigger. It is your place in life. Priscilla Ford got into her Lincoln Continental, drove to Virginia Street in downtown Reno and ran over 30 people. Six of them died. And now Priscilla Ford will die. The state of Nevada has judged that it is not crazy for black folks to kill white people with their cars. Priscilla Ford will be the second woman executed in Nevada's history. It's her highest finish in life. All right. So I guess that's the anger I talked about. I guess. I don't know. I don't know. I don't get me in a Lincoln Continental. Watch out. Drive through Palo Alto. Drive in car. Take that wheel. So let me move on to love. And I've been traveling a lot with the watermelon woman. I just actually flew in from the one archive, which is a lovely, lovely place. We need to all give our stuff to archives. We have one here, but the one archive in LA. Just wonderful. So they had some stuff about the watermelon woman up and I was there. So I'm going to read words. Writing from the airport, she says, my partner, I say, my lover. Neither word seems right. Partner brings pictures of offices and desks going to bank, having policy meetings. Lover brings images of sweating bodies and touch sheets, smells of sex. Wife, no, that brings pictures of husbands and a wife. I'll never be a significant other. But that's not enough. When I opened my eyes after surgery and saw your face, you were not another. When you bathed me because I could not raise my arm above shoulder, you were not another. When you told me I was beautiful and desirable, you were not another. When you held me as I talked of death and the world still undone, you were not another. You were my one true love, my one significant one. So we have to think about love in these times and turn to the other and just so courage. I'm like falling apart myself, so it's really like shaking. So yeah, I'm just going to continue on and I want to do more about love and the complications in love. I think the film, The Watermelon Woman, does portray an interracial couple and their path in life and it was part of the narrative so it didn't work out. These narratives don't work out for film. But I wanted to talk about the contradictions in life and love and a woman's love is a one that talks about the heart. A woman's love, I have sat in a lonely room cluttered with words of other voices making wallpaper figures dance dance for me like gestures before a queen's court. I have lain in our bed while you love made word pictures for others eyes. I have listened at your keys clicked snap to your orders like scarred soldiers in your private war. I have hated your words, the thousands of words, words in a citadel I can never share. I have hated your words more than any woman yet loved your words because they're your words. Give her a big hand. This woman has done 15 films at least so check them all out as soon as possible. Do you have a website where they can get you? Yes, CherylDunye.com. So yeah and I wanted to again end on you know I'm a little wacky I think people know that but I wanted to do a fun wacky poem about love and short and sweet and just fun and it's I come quite you because someone said to say I love you is corny. Thank you.