Michelle Shiyu Chen

This past weekend was a whirlwind! Big thank yous to @lestalusan + @_luckydanger for hosting me at Chinatown Funk Express and to @peabodyheightsbrewery for inviting me to run a calligraphy workshop at their Lunar New Year celebration! It has been so heartwarming to see community gathering in these times. Special thanks to @oldheneel for assisting with set up/break down and treats, @panstarri for helping get all my fire horses in order, @glutenlibration for impromptu paper cutting! If you missed me, come out to Cylburn Arboretum this Saturday Feb 28 for the @naaapbaltimore Artists Market!

#day2

四季發財 #day1

SONGS FOR THE PEOPLE (Perpetual Canon) // The 2025 BRUSH festival invited artists to “reimagine” the city. This mural highlights Baltimore poets past and present, including Lucille Clifton, Frances Ellen Watkins Harper, and Lady Brion. There are dreamers, poets, agents of change in every era. To look forward, to speak of re-imagining or creating anew, let us draw on the foundations laid by those before us. “Songs for the People” references a poem by Frances Harper. Thanks again to @brushmuralfest for the opportunity and @jadamcalileyart for the assist! #brushmuralfest #baltimoremurals #lucilleclifton #francesellenwatkinsharper #ladybrion

I Talk Black Lady Brion @ladybspeaks I have been folding my tongue beneath itself, bleaching my language, clenching my jaw with shackled teeth, because the moment I open my mouth, uprisings spring from my saliva. My dialogue is sullied, trampled with the muddy boots of trade and migration. Battling nations in my diaphragm so the rhythm in my diction sounds like a war cry and despite — the white — stuffed down my windpipe. I talk Black with nappy language — syllables that kink and twist, knotty expression that beads under pallet, Soul Glow in this spit shine flow, Jheri Curl jargon, bongo drums in my diction. This slang is semantic resistance. Off with the head of the king’s English. Can’t you smell the riot on my breath? Char in my esophagus? My laugh is arsenic. And ain’t enough opiates in this elementary education  to hook me on phonics Or gentrify the djembe out of my pronunciation. Love the taste of this cornbread accent, sugar cane stand. My tongue is: Motherland- mama of civilization-birth of every nation- scat-boom-bat-high hat-jazz-sax. There is music in my melanin and I be talking’ hella Black. With a neck roll to articulate my tone. Conversations get you high as my cheekbones. Lingo ‘bout lush as these hips done grown. Thick thighs and deep-fried vernacular. Hand motions and sound effects. Hieroglyphics hidden in my messages. My breath is the building of the pyramids on repeat. I’m like a Negro spiritual sampled over a Trap beat. There is a Black anthem inside my belly so I will lift every voice and speak. #baltimoremurals #baltimorecreatives #baltimorepoet #ladybrion

Bury Me in A Free Land Frances Ellen Watkins Harper Make me a grave where’er you will, In a lowly plain, or a lofty hill; Make it among earth’s humblest graves, But not in a land where men are slaves. I could not rest if around my grave I heard the steps of a trembling slave; His shadow above my silent tomb Would make it a place of fearful gloom. I could not rest if I heard the tread Of a coffle gang to the shambles led, And the mother’s shriek of wild despair Rise like a curse on the trembling air. I could not sleep if I saw the lash Drinking her blood at each fearful gash, And I saw her babes torn from her breast, Like trembling doves from their parent nest. I’d shudder and start if I heard the bay Of bloodhounds seizing their human prey, And I heard the captive plead in vain As they bound afresh his galling chain. If I saw young girls from their mother’s arms Bartered and sold for their youthful charms, My eye would flash with a mournful flame, My death-paled cheek grow red with shame. I would sleep, dear friends, where bloated might Can rob no man of his dearest right; My rest shall be calm in any grave Where none can call his brother a slave. I ask no monument, proud and high, To arrest the gaze of the passers-by; All that my yearning spirit craves, Is bury me not in a land of slaves. #baltimoremurals #francesellenwatkinsharper #baltimorepoet #brushmuralfest #baltimorecreatives

Lucille Clifton won't you celebrate with me what i have shaped into a kind of life? i had no model. born in babylon both nonwhite and woman what did i see to be except myself? i made it up here on this bridge between starshine and clay, my one hand holding tight my other hand; come celebrate with me that everyday something has tried to kill me and has failed. #lucilleclifton #baltimorepoet #brushmuralfest #baltimoremurals #baltimorecreatives

Still reeling a bit from BRUSH fest but I’ll start with some thank yous and a look behind the scenes :) ✨️ @jadamcmaliley I could not have asked for a better rising star (go follow her right now if you haven't already!) You’ve got such a strong voice and eye and I’m so excited for your journey! Thank you for rolling with me trusting the process and letting loose with some big drippy brushes 🧹 🪼 @elliethecosmicjelly what an inspiration! I'm so grateful to have been able to paint alongside you, your talent and heart! Thank you for modeling collaborative process and thoughtful engagement while sharing many laughs, grounding breaths, and a place to land. Also for taking photos + video! 🙏 🎨 @brushmuralfest thank you for this first opportunity to create in community here in Baltimore! Coming up through an apprenticeship program with artists of @muralsdc and @wordsbeatsandlife has made this feel like a full circle moment.  🌺 Thank you to everyone who visited and brightened our days, especially @hannahatallah for wise words, the perfect ladder, karkaday & sweets; Will from @artistcraftsman_baltimore who helped me bring supplies down to the wall; and @jastheshoota for an amazing impromptu video shoot! 💙 Last but not least big big thanks to @katiepetitt and @seehartart for holding things down at @makingspace_bmore during the festival!

More from the archives... but new work is coming soon! Frances Ellen Watkins Harper (b. September 24, 1825) was a poet, orator, abolitionist, and suffragist who became a household name in the nineteenth century. Frances was born to free African American parents in Baltimore, Maryland, but was orphaned at a young age. She was subsequently raised by her aunt and uncle, Henrietta and William Watkins. Her uncle was an abolitionist and medical practitioner who established the Watkins Academy for Negro Youth in 1820, where Frances studied until the age of thirteen. After entering the workforce as a nursemaid and seamstress, she wrote her first volume of poetry, Forest Leaves, by age twenty-one. #francesellenwatkinsharper #baltimorepoet

Something from the archives... When she began rapping at age 16, @mare.advertencia.lirika was the first female MC in Oaxaca, Mexico. As a Zapoteca woman, she draws on her experiences and cultural heritage in her art and advocacy-- her lyrics engage complex threads of community, identity, and gender to comment on historic and institutionalized sexism and social injustice.