Introducing ourselves
Liliana: Meet Tammy Melody Gomez, who breaks stereotypes with her gentle fortitude. She hands out band-aids in pockets of survival, listening to people’s dreams. A Chicanita from Fort Worth, or “Foreswer” in Spanish slang, her feet kiss the earth in an ancient, whispered prayer. A long-haired native Yoda, she’s also a bike-riding rebel punk. An iconoclast, she’s not fooled by capitalist 9-to-5 demands. She defends her space to create and holds space for others to do the same. A multidimensional artist, her mythmaking goes from writing her own words to hosting others’ voices whether in anthologies or open mics, spoken word shindigs or original performance work, writing scripts or creating videos. Being with Tammy always infuses me with a heightened sense of possibility. Her generosity of spirit makes everything possible.
Tammy and I met in the early 90’s in Austin, Texas, when she was living here. Our common friend, poet and video artist Pilar Rodríguez Aranda, introduced us via email. I remember Tammy showing up at my doorstep, in the Clarksville neighborhood. That first meeting laid bare our many shared interests and started a conversation that has spanned over three decades. Since then, our acompañamiento includes in-person visits, lively conversation, shared dreams and projects, emails, letters and, during the pandemic, weekly Zoom sessions to keep us afloat despite it all. Together, we’ve crafted a joint mixed-genre manuscript, which is more potent than each of its parts, and which grew richer by the act of us listening deeply to one another in a time of acute isolation.
Tammy’s M.O. is to embrace the other, to listen, to extend solidarity to artists and strangers on the bus in equal measure. She has also held space for community heart-sharing events before, during and after the pandemic, whether in person or via Zoom. People know they can be themselves in her presence, which is such a gift.
Make way for this Bodhisattva of the arts, ready to be fully awake, helping others wake up. She’ll help you peek under the hood, to see what’s really there.
Tammy: Meet Liliana Valenzuela, the soft swallow who alights on a branch in your life to nudge and inspire—and the branches so many: feminism (she does what she wants without asking for permission, y qué?); performing arts (she has worked with modern dance legend Deborah Hay and poet/performance artist Rebecca Tassi); literary expression and translation (she has published widely, and has translated books by many Latina greats); bodymind health (she meditates at a Zen center, and harvests vegetables from her small garden); and global exploration (she has traveled far beyond the boundaries of North America). As widely epic as her experiences are, she never really flies away, this tender and kind-hearted friend. Her glance may be momentarily averted and her time absorbed by other fancies and the facts of routine, but always, she is still here, holding pace with me. She is hardly a weight on my arm, and our friendship is never a burden because Liliana is completely sincere and full-bodied in her concern, her voice, her creative combustion.
We first met in Austin, on that we do agree. But we hold different memories of the actual first occasion. Lol. Memories bend and twist, just like the turning of time together as friends over a span of 30-ish years. Liliana remembers me at her home, I remember a lunch together at Thai Passion. After that, we were all over the map of central Texas culture and arts. We frequented the same inspiring spots—poetry festivals, musical events, meetups during the Macondo Writers Workshop. We have so many mutuals: friends, interests, aspirations. And though Liliana is fluent in both Spanish and English, there is a separate common vocabulary that we share, rife with intonation and gesture that conveys trust, immense curiosity, loyalty, and desire for a just and harmonious world.
Our collaborative partnership & process
Tammy: I’ve collaborated with hundreds of activists, artists, and writers in projects ranging from feminist poetry collectives (Yoniverse, DRESS CODES), social practice initiatives (Jazz Bicycle Tour), and theatre works (Saliendo Abierta, SHE: Bike/Spoke/Love). I love helping emerging artists grow into their confidence and competencies, as they move on to other challenges, and eventual critical acclaim. Less frequently, I chance to ally with a seasoned artist who demonstrates skills and capabilities that I know I could benefit from in my own creative practice. You, Liliana, are such an artist, as you have nudged me to explore new fields of production and achievement. And I have introduced you to new artistic initiatives and opportunities, like when I hosted you at the Texas Book Festival (under the Poetry Tent, which I curated for half a decade). As a translator, you have helped with the Spanish language sections of my poems “Cuando Miro El Mar” and “Home Away From Home”—both of which have been published.
As writer-friend, it’s important to act as both cheerleader and challenger, one who champions Liliana’s creative efforts, and consoles when rejections, rifts, or missteps impact her in unpleasant or negative ways. We share info about grants, submissions calls, and residencies, and we do this without expectation, which has instilled a sisterly bond that makes us more than professional associates.
Liliana: While I’ve had close collaborators over the years—Sandra Cisneros, Sehba Sarwar, Celeste Guzmán Mendoza, Pilar Rodríguez Aranda, Carolina Valencia, Mariana Nuño McEnroe—my collaboration with you, Tammy, has a category all its own. It’s the way our collaboration and care merge with one another. While some are more interested in personal life updates, and others focus solely on artistic production, with you, it looks like this: we set up a time to talk on Zoom, you in Ft. Worth, me in Austin. I make sure I don’t have any other pressing obligations immediately after, as our conversations can last from one to three hours. We allow for the free flow of ideas which is, often, the point. We check in with each other (personal, global), or we dive into project updates, publications, performances, other collaborations, random inspiration, serendipitous moments; and eventually we settle back into our project or facets of our project. With no one else do I have this indulgence of time, even though we both lead very busy lives. To set aside this ample time, which feels boundless, for each other, is utterly luxurious.
Like a whale
Liliana: Early on in our process to write this joint manuscript, we came upon the idea of a whale as a fitting symbol for us. The whale is large, it contains multitudes, yet it swims submerged most of the time, covering great distances. Every once in a while, it comes up for air. Exhaling, loud and magnificent, she makes a ruckus. So do we. We’re not often in the public eye, we do not live to post or get attention, yet we move and work stealthily, steadily, and burst out into the scene from time to time. Barnacles cling to our scaly skin, seaweed strings hang from our mouths, seagulls circling above, while we traverse the open seas.
Tammy: Some female whales can live as long as 70 or 80 years. It astounds me that a huge mammal can live for so long on this planet, and is mostly unseen by humans. The female whale quietly (and maybe not so quietly if she’s a humpback) carries out her strategies for survival, traveling across the oceans for thousands of miles each year. The whale is rarely acknowledged, though she persists in perpetual glide, breeding and mothering, feeding and making her mark in life. You and I, having lived now over half a century, are continuously moving and making creative marks—in multiple genres, but most spectacularly in literature and performance. We are active female artists of color in a time of increased sociopolitical constriction, and I am proud of us for persisting—even if we are not always recognized or rewarded for our achievements. IYKYK.
Cultural contexts, our feminism
Tammy: Yes, I am definitely an earthy creature, as I’ve chosen to exist low on the food chain, living a “life of voluntary simplicity.” As a woman, I enjoy modeling liberated lifeways for other females so they can appreciate the options available to them—even today. I have published two women’s poetry anthologies, and have devised performances with women—helping them use their voices and bodies to convey power and agency. When I saw your sex-positive poems, I was thrilled to know a Mexico-born female who was writing about being ecstatically in a woman’s body. An affinity grew between us, and I stand by this 100%: we rarely spend time male-bashing during our convos. Instead, we swap truths and histories that reveal our proud and firm stance as women who are living in hardscrabble Texas. We are both petite women, but also mighty female forces. And you are the only person who’s allowed to call me “Tammycita.”
Liliana: As a collaborative unit, you and I are also a feminist unit. We reaffirm our kinship as Mexicanas, as Chicanas, as mujeres living in a deep red state. It’s less lonely, more fortifying than writing alone. We put more ganas into our projects, into our artistic lives. Our ongoing contact helps us weather the ups and downs that inevitably come our way. We’re two artistas in our 60’s, who have not stopped creating all this time. We’re peers, we enrich each other’s experience through a different frame of reference. You are a U.S.-born Chicana from West Texas, I’m a long-time Mexico City transplant to Texas. Our pop culture references are sometimes the same, sometimes wildly different. Yet we have a connection to this land, to the Texas Blackland Prairies no one can take away.
Bodhisattva impulse: our way of being in the world
Liliana: I constantly learn from your way of being in the world. You are someone who uses platforms such as Facebook intentionally. You go like, “I wonder how so and so is doing,” and you visit their page, take it in, and renew contact, if needed. You participate in instances of hurt to offer solace. You offer resources in the face of tragedy. You care deeply about what goes on in your neighborhood and beyond, and with local arts organizations. Your magnanimity is boundless. You live in a state of continual openness. It matters to you to share your life with people you care about, so if not on the same page, at least you’re in the same book.
Tammy: Thank you, Liliana, for taking note in a way that really makes me feel seen. There is a strong intention towards deep listening in our connection, offering one another a dedicated sounding board, a pouring mirror. We share an ease in how we walk on this earth, moving through turbulence and shock, discovery and elation. We share our recetas for finding equilibrium: you meditate at the Austin Zen Center, I bicycle through Forest Park. I have lived on an organic farm, you have a backyard sauna. We are gentle tenants here, earth-friendly nurturers. We love to dance, both on- and offstage. We have been through too much to sweat the petty things, the quotidian upsets. A spirit of openness allows us passage to new adventures, cool side gigs, fearless innovation.
Mutual respect
Liliana: In all our years of dreaming together, of being camaradas, partners-in-crime, only one time have you lost your cool with me. We had a Zoom appointment, I let time get away from me during and after dinner with my family, I was celebrating something, and when I showed up, 20 minutes late, you let me know my tardiness was not cool. I felt terrible about letting you down, not respecting your time, your availability, our commitment to each other, the space we were holding to share important, vital work. I apologized profusely. It’s never happened again. Now I make sure I don’t have time or attention conflicts around the time we’ve agreed to meet. And we communicate with each other through Messenger if one of us is running late. A basic form of respeto.
Regrets? I somehow missed your season performing with your band in Austin and beyond, in the mid-1990s. And I lament missing your bicycle show, which you brought to Austin with great effort in 2012.
Tammy: I must say, though, that the episode of my losing my cool with you was during the pandemic. I think I was more sensitive then because there were so many letdowns happening all around me. Being alone in my apartment with 7 cats was really tough at times, and no one was giving awards for basic survival—which was the most that many of us could achieve back then. But you are a loyal and caring friend, so I will not take you for granted, Liliana.
Travel to distant lands & how that enhances us
Liliana: One thing that sets us apart as women, as artists, as Mexicanas/Chicanas, is that we’ve had the guts to travel alone to distant lands, on our own initiative. Going back to 1987, I traveled alone to West Africa, to learn about their music and dance traditions. While some travel to Africa to see big animals, I journeyed solo to meet people and learn about their rich culture. An Anthropology student at the time, I wanted to immerse myself in a way of life as distant from my Mexican roots as possible. I felt a strong pull towards those polyrhythmic drums, the carefree dancing, the wildly colored prints enveloping their bodies. I was afraid, yet I went. I went because I was afraid. Before taking off, I dreamed of sharks. Yet making my way over to the Ivory Coast and Ghana proved transformative.
I’ve always admired your pluck to travel solo to Nepal, too. We’re both very short, but normal by Mexican standards. You said you wanted to travel somewhere where people were small like you. Brown like you. You wanted to blend in. And you did. You spoke the language of empathy, of kindness. You traveled there with eyes wide open. The mountains rewarded you.
Tammy: Yes, I felt a mysterious pull to Nepal, and spent three glorious months there. I have a mentor who lived in Kathmandu for 10 years, and she sent me off with letters to hand-deliver to poets and artists she knew there. This facilitated an amazing entrée to cultural spheres in that ancient city. I gave a poetry reading at the Royal Nepal Academy, and I got to trek in the Himalayas. I also backpacked alone in Mexico several times—riding the bus, hitchhiking, sleeping in hammocks on the Pacific beaches. How can I be a writer if I have not moved through the world, seen and explored, felt the pain of loneliness, and earned—like Neruda—the sense of being a global citizen? I love that when you talk about Guanajuato, I know at least a little of what you speak because I have traveled there before. Our bodies are here in Texas, Liliana. But otherwise, we defy borders and boundaries.
Rising to the surface, but not often these days
Tammy: Sometimes I have a breakthrough with a new work, and I am seen. These “Tammy sightings”—such as when I stage a new performance piece or am interviewed for a podcast—are more de vez en cuando these days because my art practice is in a different phase now. Since my brother died in 2023, I have become the guardian for my 16-year old nephew and am in a mothering role for the first time in my life. My priorities have shifted, and I focus more on mentoring young activists and artists, and cataloguing my archives. I am more discerning about my writing and performance practices because my tight schedule only allows me slivers of time to go deep into “the zone” of mark-making. Though I’m mostly away from the public stage, I keep up with what others are accomplishing, and am honored that you still choose to prioritize our collaborative aspirations.
Liliana: I am now a grandmother, but my grandkids live out-of-state. Being an abuelita has made me want to embrace our whole, broken world. But being past my childrearing and bread-winning years has freed up time for me to create. For years, I watched in awe as you seemed to multiply and be in several places at once. You were and still are a sought-after performer and collaborator, but now you, too, must apportion your time wisely. Even so, you always find time to mentor young artists as well as your nephew.
I have a vivid memory of going to see your work-in-progress Saliendo Abierta at the Emma S. Barrientos Mexican American Cultural Center (ESB-MACC) in 2009. I was amazed at your ability to perform this complex piece by heart over rad visuals. Your one-woman-show was gripping, cathartic.
Loss, illness, and aging
Liliana: Over the years, I’ve lost a breast, a mother, a father, and a sister. And you’ve had your losses, too. We come away from each one of these commotions with more empathy, more recognition of our frail, shared humanity. Yet we’re also vastly enriched by these experiences and people. We’re there for each other in this way, too. Except for when life has carried us in different directions for stretches of time. Yet we always find our way back, as whales returning to their old breeding grounds in the vast ocean.
Tammy: As you know, I have been thinking a lot about J35, the orca whale who researchers observed carrying two of her deceased offspring for thousands of miles—as a possible sign of grief. J35 is also known as Tahlequah, which is Cherokee for “two are enough.” I often feel isolated in my grief, as I have lost my only brother Ted (2023) and numerous cats (2011-2024). It is a lonely haul to carry the wounded feelings of not having those loved ones with you anymore. I weep about Tahlequah, and wish her comfort—which she may or may not feel deep down in the ocean where she survives. You have seen me cry (in Zoom meetings), and I know you understand the weight I carry. It ages me, it makes me heavy. I linger in slowness and a lack of light sometimes. It doesn’t bother me (or you) that I am this way. I stand with you, too, when things are rough. I’ll never forget your reading of “Mi Lisi” during one of our video chats—a hypnotizing incantation that opened me up to your profound and lingering sense of loss about your sister Lisi. The emotion of that piece coursed through me, and I was honored that you trusted me to hold space with you.
Our camaraderie is a type of accompaniment that is affirming, reassuring, uplifting.
Emails as time capsules
Tammy: I enjoy rereading the emails we’ve sent one another since the late 1990s. I savor the memories they bring up, a remarkable shared history. In 2005, you emailed me this link, and didn’t even need to write an intro for it. I knew you were proud and excited, and that you trusted me to take this in a spirit of shared exuberance and accomplishment. When one wins, we both win.
https://www.austinchronicle.com/books/2005-10-28/303777/
Liliana: Speaking of the Austin Chronicle, this early article about my work from 1996 by Abel Salas, was special to me because he mentions us both. We go back that far.
Expanding one another’s knowledge bases
Liliana: I always discover new singers such as Dua Saleh, eco arts projects such as the Black Earth Institute, and sometimes literary chisme bubbles up when we speak. We constantly enlarge each other’s worlds. And I want to make sure I remember, so I take notes. I even keep a “Tammy notebook.”
Tammy: There’s a mutual respect for one another’s intellectual leanings. We both take notes when we video chat—I see you writing, Liliana. You turned me on to the Colombian artist Fernando Botero Angulo. Remember that? You drove us—my niece Breanna, painter friend Andrea, and me—in your sporty “obsidian ranfla” to the San Antonio Museum of Art in 2007. You also helped me see ekphrastic poetry in a way that was thrilling and not as static-museum dull as when I first heard the term. I’ve even saved the numerous cards and letters you’ve mailed to me over the years. The “Liliana Collection” in my archives!
Spirituality, inner explorations
Tammy: We never worry that sharing about our internal paths of exploration is going to alienate or upset the other. I share my dream life with you, and have talked about the instances when I felt that my father or brother (QEPD) were intervening from the other side of the veil. Thankfully, we don’t freak out about these kinds of experiences.
I love this line from one of your emails to me in 2002: “I made a labyrinth on a dark sheet on the floor with flour, and walked the labyrinth during a ritual, symbolizing the mystery, the going inward, the paths yet to be traveled with no certain path.” Performance, ceremony, and spiritual intention combined in a moment you made all your own. We should do something like this together someday.
Liliana: That was for my 40th birthday celebration in a barn loft in the Central Texas countryside. I had held off celebrating for six months for various reasons. The irony was that the day of the party it poured down hard. Nevertheless, friends drove the 20 miles through blinding rain out of town to be part of my celebration. The labyrinth was meaningful, as was the self-made ritual that ushered me into my fourth decade, which now seems like such a long time ago.
Why Write Together?
Liliana: Aside from my literary translation work, where I work closely with an author after they’ve written their book, at the moment I don’t have other collaborative projects with anyone else. With you it’s a unique process, where we not only share work with each other, as some do, to get in-line editing or general feedback on a piece. We actually read our pieces out loud to each other, one or two at a time. We really absorb them in real time. You are one of the deepest listeners I’ve ever met. You are totally present, receiving the words, intonation, feeling, and creating the space for the work to flow and exist. Your feelings are also on the surface, so you’re able to respond immediately with genuine emotion. To me, that demonstrates profound care. There is no rush. There is no impatience. Only tenderness. Only attention. Only receptivity. An act of love.
Tammy: Building a strong collaboration is like deciding to walk with a friend. You don’t always know where you’re heading, but you feel a mutual trust and sense of safety along the way. No one single email message or phone conversation has cemented our writerly collab. It’s the long-term accompaniment that I would hold up as the magical accomplishment that you and I have achieved. Our current project together has immersed us in new work we’ve written as we struggled through the pandemic lockdown, and into our fraught political climate. On virtual video chats, we’ve discussed the emotional backdrop to the poems and prose about our family losses and survivor episodes. We acknowledge the kaleidoscopic range of style and tone in one another’s writing. We witness and advise. The manuscript we are now preparing will encompass our decades as comadres together, and the themes we address will hopefully reveal the depth of our creative explorations. We have long been gliding unseen—mostly out of view of the masses—but I cannot wait for others to see our body (of work) and to hear a profound and giddy splash as we break through to the surface again. Chiseled by life, self-possessed and unbroken.
