Two nights before my conversation with Activation Residency founder Kamra‚ I dream of entering a warm bath in the woods‚ steam rising into the autumn night. My naked trans body slipping into ease and then‚ limb by limb‚ into liquid. The bathtub didn’t enter my subconscious by osmosis but‚ rather‚ from images taken of Black and brown queer and trans frontline activists at rest during Activation Residency’s Respite as Resistance program. A new world of care.

While feeling existentially depleted after protesting the state-sanctioned murders of George Floyd‚ Breonna Taylor‚ Tony McDade and Layleen Polanco‚ Kamra decided their place in the revolution was to center community care and rest. For five consecutive weekends from September 11 through October 11‚ 2020‚ a small group of Black‚ brown‚ Indigenous‚ disabled‚ trans and queer‚ and immigrant activists‚ organizers‚ and artists on the front lines were nominated for a respite experience. Rest practitioners from across the country came to co-create with these folks‚ including facilitators‚ healers‚ and producers. There were workshops on flower essence‚ energy healing‚ and soul retrieval. Time for movement‚ reiki‚ kink‚ and breath-work. Energy‚ sound healing‚ and massage therapy. In this world‚ linear time doesn’t exist. There is only adjusting your legs in the bathwater‚ listening for the small waves that hit the edges of the porcelain tub.

Kamra takes my call from the Outlier Inn‚ a 12-acre property located 90 miles from New York City in the state’s southern Catskill mountains. They are three weeks into the five-week space experiment. And‚ as we barreled toward the 2020 presidential election in the midst of a pandemic and protests against police brutality‚ I had care and community on my mind.

ALEXIS ACEVES GARCIA: What is Activation Residency?

KAMRA: Activation Residency is a Black trans-led residency experiment—experiment meaning the residency iterates to meet the needs of its residents at the time. Activation Residency is what happens when dreams are actualized. I had a dream, I reverse-engineered the steps to make it happen, and I trusted my intuition to see that reverse engineering through. It’s a space project, and it’s an experiment in what the world can look like when care is centered and prioritized, particularly prioritized for Black trans people, and those within activist and artist communities and spaces.

Photography by Dana Chang and Makeda Sandford. Courtesy of Activation Residency.

AAG: I got chills. I love the idea of reverse engineering.

KSH: I’m a very big ideas person. I’m a visionary. And I’m surrounded by mentors and coaches who are like, “Love this for you. Now what are we going to do to actually make it a reality?” They help me figure out the steps to bring that dream into the physical realm. It’s a really beautiful process. It takes a lot of discipline and dedication, and a lot of work around self-ship and self-love, because in order to be able to do this work habitually, I constantly have to be checking in with myself and making sure that I’m integrating all of the things that I’m trying to bring into the world, because, it’s one thing to manifest, but it’s another thing to transform and to be able to live in that manifestation in a way that supports it and gives it sustainable life. There’s a whole ecosystem of things I have to lean into in order to be able to do this work, but I feel honored and privileged to be able to do it.

AAG: I love how you’re thinking about the process of bringing an idea into the physical realm—I don’t think people talk enough about the transformations that need to occur in order for that manifestation to happen. What about a residency model inspired you to create Activation Residency?

KSH: This project is inspired by the transformative power of intimate gatherings. Most of my transformation has happened in intimate group settings where my care is prioritized. In integrating what that did for me, it only felt right to replicate that experience for others, especially Black trans folk. And, I am using the idea of a “residency” in a subversive way, to reclaim our spaces to be more than just prestigious studios where only a particular group of people get to go and reside; instead, I want to use the residency as a tool to bring Black bodies back into nature, back into sanctuary, and back into luxury, in a way that isn’t bougie. It’s doing a lot.

AAG: As someone who’s applied to some artist residencies in the past, it has felt like an antiquated, exclusive process that takes the intimacy out of the interaction. No one is prioritizing creating intimacy between artists, nor do I necessarily feel my art is always safe among my peers. I think that cutting that anxiety really does subvert the traditional residency model. How is Activation Residency also your form of abolition?

KSH: I love this question. It really got a lot of wheels turning. My understanding of abolition is to transform harm and our relationship to how we are trained to think about harm. I think that harm happens when choice is absent, but also harm is bound to happen. How can we soften our edges around harm by encouraging autonomy and dismantling hierarchy? This can be done through sharing information, listening, and identifying underlying needs, as well as training our nervous systems to get intimate with receiving feedback. For example, as somebody who is growing very quickly, and putting big ideas out into the world, I’ve had to do a lot of personal work around retraining my nervous system to receive feedback lovingly rather than using it to diminish or deplete myself.

Using feedback to diminish or deplete yourself is one of the symptoms of living in a Black trans body in a white supremacist society. I am constantly being taught to find ways to put myself down, but, I think that in doing this transformative work, this abolition work, I have had to do a lot of cellular shifts in my own body to be able to show up in a way that is going to contribute to the group, rather than me spiraling out.

Activation Residency is designed for you to be the master of your body and experiences, which is at the core of abolition and liberation work. How do we let people be free? One example of how this happens is that we do a lot of checking in.

You don’t come into Activation Residency needing to follow already pre-established protocols and rules because all of the protocols and rules are going to change based on the group and their access needs. For example, if somebody is sensitive to substance use or doesn’t want to see anyone naked, we have conversations about how to keep everyone in the group comfortable, and there will always be competing needs. This is also a form of abolition—how do we figure out how to let people be free by prioritizing their needs and getting clear about what is going to make someone feel safe in a space?

My last thought around that is: I feel like Activation Residency is a direct divestment from curatorial establishments and institutions. I think that turning our attention towards projects like Activation Residency dismisses the validity and legitimacy of established systems and hierarchies. When we focus on building new models of moving through the world that do not rely on violence and genocide to function, that is abolition at work.

I know I said a lot but that question really got me thinking.

Photography by Naima Green. Courtesy of Activation Residency.

AAG: I love what you said about letting people be free, because I feel like preset rules often prioritize the organization’s sense of safety over the needs of the individuals who are coming there. What about care is revolutionary to you? What about your life experiences led you to this breakthrough?

KSH: Care work intersects and flirts with sex work in a way that is really fascinating to me. These types of work intertwine by acknowledging that we all have needs that need to be tended to. I always wonder, what if care is the work? What if caring for ourselves is the revolution, meaning, what would happen if we divested from dismantling white supremacist capitalist patriarchy and invested our energy in equitizing the care we are able to provide one another? I think that the American project would collapse, would no longer even be relevant, and that we would have more resources to provide care in a way that challenges oppression and systematic racism by making it entirely obsolete. I see an experiment with care as an untapped resource with the potential to undo capitalism.

My mother owned an in-house daycare when I was between the ages of five and eight years old. I was always surrounded by other people and watching my mom model what it looks like to care for others. We also had a neighbor who had an adult child in a wheelchair; they would come over often and we’d play UNO. Care was always a part of my childhood. Coming into my adulthood, dating other trans people and sex workers, and reading Leah Lakshmi and developing my understanding of what transformative justice can look like also led me to these very real and tangible breakthroughs. When you do deeper digging, there isn’t much pedagogy around care outside of healthcare.

This idea is both very new and not new. We’ve always been caring for each other, but I’m talking about care as a pedagogy and praxis. Artists like Leah Lakshmi, Mia Mingus, Alice Wong and adrienne maree brown are bringing these topics to the surface. It’s a network of information-sharing that is finally getting the attention it deserves because folks are waking up to a reality beyond what we’ve been presented. That makes me excited about the future.

Photography by Naima Green. Courtesy of Activation Residency.

AAG: What is Respite as Resistance?

KSH: Respite as Resistance is Activation Residency’s attempt at centering care in the revolution by providing respite experiences for Black and brown trans and queer activists, organizers, and artists on the front lines, fighting from bed, the streets, and everywhere else. A lot of mainstream resistance work and movements de-center care, requiring long hours in the streets and violent interactions with the state. This program aims to provide another way to resist oppression—a way that is filled with ease, joy, pleasure, and play.

AAG: What mantras or ideologies have you held close during the iteration and manifestation of Respite as Resistance?

KSH: The big one that really resonates for me is that we take care of us. I am us. I think oftentimes when folks think about existing in groups, their self sort of gets lost. But, actually, caring for yourself—and, maybe, reinventing the individual narrative that has been so Americanized into something that’s going to contribute to the group’s care—is what I’m getting at.

I also love that self-care is care for all. I think that one is pretty straightforward. If I’m showing up cared for, if I’m showing up embodied and at ease, that’s the energy that I’m bringing to the room and that’s the kind of experience that I’m going to illuminate for others. I’m really interested in asking the question: what work do I need to be doing to be safer for other people? What is the impact that we’re having? The question of impact is my favorite. If the people doing the impacting are tired and sick and frustrated and have all these needs that are not being met, what good is that impact? The quality of work that we can do for each other depends on the quality of care that we’re experiencing and cultivating for ourselves. I can’t say that enough.

“This project is inspired by the transformative power of intimate gatherings. Most of my transformation has happened in intimate group settings where my care is prioritized.”

AAG: There was a tweet going around the other day that said something like, “your healing affects everyone around you”—another expression of the idea that our personal wellbeing affects our impact on our community. How did you design the experience of Respite as Resistance? What considerations were most important? Has the experience changed as the weeks progressed?

KSH: I took it one step at a time. I knew respite could be supported through healing sessions. And I knew there were hundreds of frontliners who would be nominated by their pods to participate. In July of 2020, our food source—the Center for Bioregional Living—planted seeds in their garden for us to harvest when the program began. This level of intentionality and care is woven throughout the project, which is one of my favorite parts about Activation Residency.

As I mentioned earlier, the protocol is developed in real time, based on the access needs of each person in the group. It was important to curate a lineup of healers with a diverse range of modalities and practices. We are also actively adjusting to COVID-19-related boundaries and guidelines. It really took checking in with everyone around us to determine what would work best. We decided on COVID-19 testing as a prerequisite for participation, as well as checking in on each person’s personal boundaries around masks, touch, and interactions in general.

As the founder of this project, I have had to sharpen my ability to set boundaries with grace. A lot comes up. I have had to shift and develop the skills to ask folks to take a step back and reflect when it seemed they were not prioritizing their own care in the space. As the weeks have progressed, the load in and load out processes have become more streamlined and I have noticed an increase in flow. Each weekend has had an entirely different vibration, and I’m very much looking forward to the reflection process after our final residency wraps up this week.

Photography by Naima Green, Dana Chang and Makeda Sandford. Courtesy of Activation Residency.

AAG: How does time operate during Respite as Resistance? I’m really interested in how rest is structured, and how you create an environment for rest.

KSH: I love this question too. First thing: abolish time and maximize the liminality of rest. During opening day, we provide everyone with the information they need to navigate the space autonomously, including where to find fresh towels, how to request the temperature of the hot tub or sauna be increased, and COVID-19 protocols for eating meals and booking appointments with practitioners, as well as altar setting to hold space for any healing or trauma that may come up.

Frontloading the information means frontliners got to be in respite, free of interruptions. On Saturday, folks are in leisure, taking breaks for meals, portraits with the photographer, a dip in the pond, or a hang with their friends in the outdoor kitchen. AR aims to empower folks to move through the space as they need, rather than designing an operational schedule that may not work for everyone. Leisure continues into Sunday. Sunday morning, before lunch during the closing ceremony, folks are presented with an opportunity to explore what glowed about the program for them, as well as identify areas of growth and aftercare needs.

Though we have a loose structure, the objective is to provide beautiful space that encourages rest. There are several bathtubs throughout the property. There’s a hot tub, sauna, snacks everywhere, tea and coffee 24/7. There’s also a nightlife culture developing; sometimes, someone will DJ. It’s just been so beautiful—beauty everywhere.

AAG: Do the sauna and baths run all night, or is there a timeframe for that?

KSH: It’s 24/7 service. We set everything up in advance. We make sure all of the tubs are stocked with bath salts and soaps and essential oils—all kinds of goodies.


AAG: That is beautiful. What are you hoping frontliners take away from the experience—physically, spiritually, and emotionally?

KSH: I want all folks involved, staff and practitioners included, to take what they need and leave the rest. I think that the “structureless structure” is in place so that a good amount of agency and experience-making can happen. When I say experience making, I mean, how open is the space? I have no interest in curating an experience based on what I want folks to take away from their respite, though I do hope that every person involved leaves the residency feeling activated and cared for.

Photography by Naima Green, Dana Chang and Makeda Sandford. Courtesy of Activation Residency.

AAG: Something I really appreciate about Activation Residency is your precision with language. For example, when you correct folks who say “donate” to instead say “invest” in Black trans futures: the move from asking to demanding. How have you moved through language to arrive where you are now?

KSH: Desperation. One of the things I always think as an artist is that, if I have to bear witness to oppression and suffering, so does everyone else. I think that language is a tool and I use it for clarity. I think about how I can get specific with language to really call in what I need. I don’t need donations. I do, however, need investments, and investment signifies a commitment to seeing something through, while a donation usually exists as a one-off gift. How is language being used to reprogram the way that we’re putting energy into the world? Money that’s invested is money that’s going to multiply.

AAG: This approach also speaks to the idea of futurity and I think you have been such a beacon for that. What does being a futurity artist mean to you? How do you use the concept of portals in your healing practice?

KSH: I love this question too: there’s a legend that trans people are entities from the future who have come back to the present to beckon everyone else toward liberated being-ness. In many of her speeches, Angela Davis reminds us that trans people show us what an intersectional world can look like. As a futurity artist, I am committed to using my actual body and beingness as a portal to the future—a future where cis and hetero normativity are not only challenged, but completely obsolete. Where violent male-dominated structures are no longer trending. In this work, I am using portals as pathways, sort of like an underground railroad.

I think almost every artist who has participated in Activation Residency has excelled in their work. We’ve seen people start new businesses. We’ve seen people publish books. I feel like I’m whispering to them, “come this way, I’ve got a portal for you, I’ve got a door, I’ve got an opening.” This is an access point and anyone who goes through Activation Residency is now a part of this larger network of people who are doing the kinds of things that I want to see in my future.

It’s flirting with the liminality between the present and the future. I think portals can exist as little hopping moments; I’m in the present, obviously, but I’m also experiencing future realities. How can I use portals as little keys, to bring those two into symbiosis?

AAG: It’s a constant reminder that we do have the energy and the capacity to divest from these violent realities and to recalibrate by stepping through these access points. Do you consider your work to be a form of pedagogy? How might you package and share these ideas around care and rest with others, so that this mode of learning can be disseminated?

KSH: I believe the work I do is a form of pedagogy. I think that Black trans lived experiences have been a form of pedagogy since the beginning of time. I think intuition as a spiritual technology is highly understudied, and the majority of my approach to Activation Residency is intuitive. I am currently working on publishing a manual on care to be available for purchase in early 2021. This manual will detail how respite as resistance works, as well as insights on developing sustainable care web building strategies. I’m also in the process of developing a year-long healing and training program that will take folks through a series of curriculum and practicum to help them shift their behavior and their way of living on a cellular level. It’s going to allow folks outside of the immediate Activation Residency world to get a taste of what it is to be activated.

Alexis Aceves Garcia opens portals into ease through their work as a poet‚ curator‚ and facilitator.