Embrace. Dieser Artikel ist nicht verfügbar.Embrace

Isolated in the confinements of her Los Angeles home during the covid lockdown, Rohina Hoffman takes a metaphorical journey of connecting her roots to food through the rituals of daily meals. In Embrace she combines two photographic projects. In Gratitude showcases the food she used to make dinners for her family. Generation 1.75 is a visual memoir of identity, belonging, and the complexities of acculturation.

For Hoffman, photographing family members holding dinner ingredients turned into a tool of expressing new deep gratitude for the food. She often thought of all the effort and the hands that had touched the produce before it ended up with her family. The food also became the means of connecting with her family members and reconnecting with her Indian roots in a more profound way. As part of Generation 1.5/1.75 (a term coined by Professor Ruben Rumbaut in 1969 to distinguish those who immigrate as children from their parents who immigrate as adults), Hoffman has struggled with issues of identity and the feeling of “Otherness”.

The photographs of food and family are seasoned with Hoffman’s poetry. Her essay, 'Not All Peacocks are Blue', both in English and Hindi, provides a deeper look into the photographer's background and serves as a bridge between the two projects. Embrace is a visual examination of how life’s simple pleasures expand the quality of human existence and how that expansion helps an individual to secure their identity.

1968: On the day I was born my father left India for New York. He was the first of our family to pursue the American Dream. On the heels of the Civil Rights Movement, the 1965 Immigration and Nationality Act had been passed, eliminating immigrant quotas and prioritizing family reunification and skilled professional labor. My father fit that latter category. He started his residency in orthopedics at Queens General Hospital, despite already being a fully certified orthopedic surgeon in India. This was the path to the Dream. My mother followed three months later, leaving me to be raised by my paternal grandparents.

May 2020: I am riveted to the television. My children and I watch parts of Los Angeles burning, storefronts being vandalized and a massive riot happening a few miles from home. The chronic and entrenched pandemic of racism is being revealed. Superficial laws had made it possible for immigrants like my parents to arrive in the United States, make me an American, and allow me to enjoy the privileges of citizenship, class, and upbringing. But the Civil Rights Movement of 1965 did not fully address the economic inequities, attitudes, and power structures that continue to plague the United States. My own accomplishments are dependent on my proximity to whiteness. As I look at my kids, whom I affectionately refer to as hybrids, I wonder, what is their role, and what is their responsibility?