Konpa star delivers energy, encouragement at ‘Sounds of Little Haiti.' Take a look
The Purforce Group monthly celebration of Haitian culture, held every third Friday at Miami's Little Haiti Cultural Complex, drew scores of enthusiastic fans who danced and waved along to Cave's high-voltage performance, which featured popular hits, heartfelt tributes to Haiti and messages of affirmation for the local community increasingly feeling torn between violence in their homeland and immigration crackdowns in the United States.
Despite the turnout, the crowd was notably smaller than usual. Some people there said it was due to the community's growing fears of Immigration and Customs Enforcement raids and deportations, which have led to many to shy away from attending public events.
Here are some of the scenes from the evening:
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San Francisco Chronicle
21 hours ago
- San Francisco Chronicle
Immigrant stories take center stage in trio of San Francisco art exhibitions
Amid nationwide raids of immigrant communities and the subsequent protests against the Trump administration's policies, the work of Napa artist Arleene Correa Valencia has felt more necessary than ever. Her latest exhibition, 'Codice Del Perdedor / The Losing Man's Codex,' now on view at Catharine Clark Gallery, draws inspiration from the Aztec Codex Boturini, which depicts the mythic migration from Aztlán to the founding of Tenochtitlán. The works are all on amate paper, the bark-based material traditionally used by her Indigenous Mexican ancestors. Correa Valencia's own migration story echoes this ancient journey. She was born in Michoacán, Mexico, and brought to the U.S. at just 3 years old. She lived for years without legal status before receiving protections under the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals program. In 2022, she became a U.S. citizen, but by then she had long created work about the complexities of coming from a mixed immigration status family — especially the fear of removal and separation by Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents. Three years ago, at age 28, Correa Valencia returned to Mexico for the first time, an experience that deeply shaped the work in her latest San Francisco exhibition. Her use of amate paper is both a cultural homage and a personal restoration of roots severed by migration. 'When I saw this (the Codex), I was reminded of how our story of migration is a universal experience that never ends,' Correa Valencia wrote in an artist statement. 'I made this work with the intention of reflecting on the current state of our community being hunted down by ICE, but also to celebrate our strength and resilience — to take pride in the beautiful ways in which we can come together and protect each other.' The Napa artist's debut show at Catharine Clark Gallery in 2022, 'Aveces Quiero Llorar Porque Te Extraño, Pero Mi Mami Dice Que Estás Bien Y Pronto Estaremos Juntos Otra Vez / Sometimes I Want To Cry Because I Miss You, But My Mom Says That You're Fine and That We'll Soon Be Together Again,' conveyed family separation in a way that still haunts me. The pieces featured in that show were small textile portraits of migrant parents and children, shown in silhouette rendered in cloth. Each work had one figure merely outlined or made from disappearing reflective fabric to indicate their absence. The personal details of Correa Valencia's work — the use of family materials, the emblems that show up in discreet ways — are what make it universally representative. She's incorporated letters from her father in her work, and clothing from family members. While the figures themselves remain vague, a familiar logo on a T-shirt or a blanket with a Mexican motif grab you with their specificity. Pieces like 'Solas Pero Siempre Juntas / Alone But Always Together,' which depict two figures wearing backpacks, an El Salvador logo hoodie to the side of them, look like any school-age youth you'd see on the street. But Correa Valencia's mix of paint and fabric to render the figures gives them a tactile quality that feels very mortal. 'Casa De La Abuelita / Grandma's House,' is a beautiful marriage of paint and textile, with figures of children surrounded by purple blooms of jacaranda. The amate paper background gives each work a spectacular texture and effect, like a fading sky. Meanwhile, 'Las Madres Inmigrantes No Se Rajan / Migrant Mothers Don't Give Up,' drives home the show's transportation theme, with a yellow pickup truck bed seemingly cradling a child and a barely outlined mother. Correa Valencia's solo show is paired with two other immigrant artists, each approaching themes of displacement, labor and ritual through deeply personal and culturally rooted lenses. Alejandro Cartagena's 'In Between Spaces — Entre Espacios' includes the Dominican-born photographer's iconic photo series 'Carpoolers' (2011–2012). The series was inspired by Cartagena's grandfather, a lifelong construction worker who led a crew of day workers carpooling to job sites. Cartagena stationed himself on an overpass during Mexico's housing boom in Monterrey, where he's currently based, and photographed laborers riding to work in pickup truck beds from a specific aerial series was inspired by Cartagena's grandfather, a lifelong construction worker who led a crew of day workers carpooling to job sites. Cartagena stationed himself on an overpass during Mexico's housing boom in Monterrey, where he's currently based, and photographed laborers riding to work in pickup truck beds from a specific aerial vantage. 'Those frames freeze an 'in-between' instant that is at once public and startlingly intimate,' Cartagena explained in his artist statement. 'The images reveal how policy, public urban programs, and economic aspiration conspire to shape the ways we occupy space in Latin American cities.' While the subjects are anonymous, the way they are positioned, their clothing and how many people are crowded into each truck bed feel distinctly human and unique. The more you look at the series en masse, the more the image reveals. You begin to see relationships between the people and the trucks that reoccur in different photos. The drivers and passengers shielded in the truck's cab even begin to appear with an elbow out the window. For those who miss his show at Catherine Clark Gallery, on view through July 19, Cartagena's work will be featured at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art this fall. He'll be the focus of 'Ground Rules,' a major exhibition opening Nov. 22 and curated by Shana Lopes, SFMOMA's assistant curator of photography. Back at the gallery, the media room showcases Nanci Amka's video series titled 'Cleanse' (2017–ongoing), which depicts the Nigerian artist's ritualistic cleaning, washing and anointing of the Ward Warehouse in Honolulu before its demolition. The first in the series, 'Three Walls,' is currently on view with this exhibition cycle; the subsequent two to be presented before the end of this year. 'It is customary in many indigenous cultures — including my own Igbo culture — to wash and dress the body of the dead before they are buried,' Amaka shared in her artist statement. 'I lost my mother to violence as a young child. Sadly, her family did not get the chance to perform the final rites of washing her body before she was buried.' Amaka's ritual for the structure was a way of resolving this past trauma with the onset of her pregnancy. There is something serene about watching the artist, clad in white, cleaning a building that will soon be gone, moving across the gallery's three walls. At a time when immigrant voices are once again being suppressed, this trio of exhibitions steps in to amplify them.
Newsweek
2 days ago
- Newsweek
Tiger Woods' Girlfriend, Venessa Trump Reveals Truth Behind Kai's Name
Based on facts, either observed and verified firsthand by the reporter, or reported and verified from knowledgeable sources. Newsweek AI is in beta. Translations may contain inaccuracies—please refer to the original content. The Trump name has long echoed through politics and real estate, but now, it's making waves on the fairways. At just 18, Kai Trump, the eldest granddaughter of President Donald J. Trump, is carving her own path in golf. She recently finished 19th for the 41st Nicklaus Junior Championship in South Florida, shooting a 3-over 74 in the final round at Tequesta Country Club. Her performance came alongside Charlie Woods, son of Tiger Woods, who finished 6th. The two rising stars, connected not just by golf but by family ties, shared the course as their parents, Tiger and Vanessa Trump, continue to make headlines with their growing relationship. But amid the buzz around Kai's swing, the internet recently got curious about her name, asking: How did she get such a unique name? LA JOLLA, CALIFORNIA - FEBRUARY 16: Kai Trump (L) and Tiger Woods arrive to the course during the final round of The Genesis Invitational 2025 at Torrey Pines Golf Course on February 16, 2025 in... LA JOLLA, CALIFORNIA - FEBRUARY 16: Kai Trump (L) and Tiger Woods arrive to the course during the final round of The Genesis Invitational 2025 at Torrey Pines Golf Course on February 16, 2025 in La Jolla, California. (Photo by) More Getty Images The answer came in a recent YouTube vlog 'My mom reveals answers to YOUR most asked questions' posted on Kai's channel, where she and her mother, Vanessa Trump, were seen cooking together in their Jupiter, Florida kitchen. The video, later teased on Kai's Instagram with the caption, "Why my mom chose to name me Kai🥹", offered a rare, intimate glimpse into the story behind the name. "Why did you choose the name Kai?" a voice behind the camera asked as Vanessa washed her hands after seasoning the beef. Kai, meanwhile, was chopping onions beside her for their maple onion cheeseburger. Vanessa smiled and replied, "My grandfather's name was Kai, and I always loved the name. I was very close to him—he was like a father to me." She paused, then added, "Kai means ocean, and that's one of my favorite places to go—the ocean." She went on to explain that the name was chosen before they even knew the baby's gender. "We didn't know if it was a girl or boy." "But I said either way it could go, 'cause my grandfather was a guy, obviously. And he was named Kai. And if it was a girl—I've named Kai," she said, gesturing toward her daughter. Vanessa's grandfather, Kai Ewans, was a Danish jazz musician and bandleader who played a pivotal role in her early life. Though she's rarely spoken about him publicly, the way she adored him during the vlog said it all! As Kai's golf career gains momentum, she's committed to the University of Miami for the 2026 NCAA season—so too does the relationship between her mother and Tiger Woods. The couple went public in March 2025, sharing photos on Instagram with the caption, "Love is in the air and life is better with you by my side." Since then, they've been spotted at multiple junior tournaments, including the Genesis Invitational and TGL events. More Golf: Open Championship makes stunning qualifying change to benefit fans
San Francisco Chronicle
4 days ago
- San Francisco Chronicle
Pride weekend kicks into high gear with Dyke March, Pride Celebration
A year after the abrupt cancellation of 2024's Dyke March, the fun was more than back — along with a strident note of defiance. Tens of thousands of queer women and their allies thronged Dolores Park on Saturday for a party in the sun, filling the public space with bursting joy and laughter as they gathered to celebrate this year's Dyke Rally and March. Abi Everywhere, 36, was setting up early Saturday with her friend, Ren Hamm, 28, as a steady stream of revelers arrived. They had an inflatable unicorn mostly puffed up, blankets spread across the lawn and cheese plates and sparkling water ready for friends who would be arriving throughout the afternoon. Everywhere and members of her Burning Man community, Camp Beaverton, were among the thousands of queer folk congregating at Dolores Park for Pink Saturday and the Dyke Rally. 'It's a unique opportunity for our community,' said Everywhere, who grew up in a religious household in suburban Houston and couldn't come out until college. 'It's like a family reunion and a good way for the old guard to welcome the new folks.' The first Dyke Marches were held in 1993, with a parade in Washington D.C. in April of that year, and others in New York and San Francisco later that year. Over the decades, the event has drawn tens of thousands of marchers and revelers. Saturday's rally was set to go from 11 a.m. to 5 p.m., with performances by musicians, comedians and a drag king, as well as speeches by San Francisco Fire Chief Jeanine Nicholson and Imani Rupert-Gordon, president of the National Center for LGBTQ Rights. The march immediately follows, leaving from 18th and Dolores streets and traveling its usual route to the Castro and back to Dolores Park. A mile and a half away, at Civic Center Plaza, an equally large crowd was assembling to hear music, eat carnival food and celebrate queerness under the sun at the annual Pride Celebration. As the march began Saturday evening, hundreds lined the sidewalks along 18th Street as the Dyke March filled the street. Dykes on Bikes, a group of women motorcyclists, led the parade, followed by a truck filled with dancers and speakers blasting music. Some demonstrators held a sign reading 'Dykes for a Free Palestine,' surrounded by marchers carrying Palestinian flags. Other signs called for an end to deportations and called Immigration and Customs Enforcement 'cowards.' The two themes provided some dissonance, if not a contrast in vibes. Marchers near the very front of the parade danced and clapped and celebrated the event, while about 100 yards behind marchers shouted common pro-Palestinian chants. The festival, which is open to the public Saturday and Sunday, includes six stages with DJ sets, bands and singers, dance battles and other performances. Lara Starr, a Marin County resident, came to the Pride Celebration as part of Free Mom Hugs, a nationwide organization of people supporting LGBTQ events. Starr, who joined the group after her son came out as gay, said the volunteers are there to give hugs — or high fives or fist bumps — to bolster queer people, especially those who do not have support from their parents, as fill-in family members. 'Hydrate. Use sunscreen. Eat your vegetables. We are doing the full mom schtick,' Starr said. Another mom, Beth Stapleton, whose teenager is trans, said she had already hugged hundreds of people hours into the event. 'Some people really need it,' Stapleton said. The theme of resisting rising anti-LGBTQ hate ran throughout the celebration. At a booth on McAllister Street, volunteers with Headcount were offering chocolate to anyone who checked their voter registration. Luis Aguilar, a team lead with the Bay Area chapter of the voter registration organization, said that LGBTQ people face barriers to voting, especially trans people who have to show IDs, so he was particularly motivated to encourage voter registration at Pride. 'There's no other act of rebellion that's bigger than registering to vote and mobilizing a community,' Aguilar said. On the main stage, in front of San Francisco City Hall, performers were connecting discrimination experienced by LGBTQ people with that faced by immigrants. 'None of us are illegal. None of us are aliens,' said Anjali Rimi, board president of the Center for Immigrant Protection. Rimi said her organization works with LGBTQ immigrants seeking asylum due to threats and violence facing them in their home countries due to their sexuality. Kiki Lopez, an artist, also connected Pride with other political causes, including the call to free Sudan, Congo and Palestine. But, despite the political messages, the festivities were still fun. Back at Dolores Park, people lolled in the late morning sun, laughing with friends, sipping on tea, water and harder beverages underneath a cloudless sky. Others set up tents or sun shades as music from nearby speakers filled the air. Venders grilled hot dogs, hawked ice cream bars and drinks. 'I look forward to Pink Saturday as much as Christmas,' said Imani Brown, 42, who was there with her wife, Jenny Kline, and friend, Esther Crane. Brown sported a T-shirt emblazoned with the words 'She/Her/Daddy' — and had her own inflatable unicorn. 'I love this city,' she said. 'It's beautiful, diverse, and not special to be a queer, Black woman. ... It's wonderful, empowering.' The day felt particularly poignant for her and others amidst the current political climate, as jurisdictions around the country have passed legislation to curtail queer rights: On Friday, the Supreme Court had handed down a ruling siding with parents seeking to opt their children out of school instruction involving LGBTQ+ books. 'We're being terrorized by the U.S. government,' Brown said. 'This us us showing up and saying 'We can't be erased.'' Across the park, Aeryn M, 37, and Lauren Stanton, 40, stood under a tent at the 'Screen Door' handing out sunscreen, drinks and snacks to passersby. 'Joy is resistance,' said Stanton, who'd traveled from Long Beach for the party. 'If you're mad because we're thriving, die mad.' This article will be updated as the festivities progress.
