Terry Yang was born in 1992 in Los Angeles, and earned her BFA in illustration from the Art Center College of Design. Terry Yang’s paintings feature hidden figures displayed in observational journalism of household diaries and outdoor expected behaviors, ruling to serve a break in the border of rejection and disbelief.
New York City is one of those places where you never know what you’re going to find. During my time as a graduate student, browsing through old antique shops became a hobby of mine. I often felt like a child on a treasure hunt searching for hidden gems on bookshelves.
I’m sure it was a hot and humid day in Seoul, South Korea. Being seven months pregnant just added to her discomfort. She was 26 and traveling on a bumpy street through the city.
THE TWO-CAR GARAGE of my three-bedroom condo only had enough space to fit one car. What took up space wasn't the random assortment of furniture, knick-knacks, and kitchen appliances I had slowly accumulated over years of living at that place. It was the cardboard boxes that these things came in.
THE FIRST TIME I was catcalled, I was 11. A young man in a pickup truck saw me and he perked up. He flashed a grin, and let out a whoop. "Wooooo!" As far as street harassment goes, this was fairly mild.
POP. POP. POP. My eyes shoot open at the unmistakable sound of gunfire and the squeal of tires. It’s after midnight. After I make sure my wife Melissa is unharmed, I turn to our 1-month-old baby boy.