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ONE HUNDRED NINETY SEVEN
This portrait is rebellion—
a response to a Forbes article warning that 197 words might cost you your funding.
Words like Female, Racist and Historically.
Words that name who we are, what we’ve lived, what we dream.
Part of the HOOPLA collection, the hoop skirt in this image carries those very words—printed on recycled cans, each one clinking softly like a warning, like a prayer.
Modeled by Janae White, a friend of the artist, this isn’t just a photograph.
It’s a moment—a breath—where language becomes visible.
Becomes heavy.
Becomes armor.
This portrait asks:
What happens when our truths are labeled “unacceptable”?
When words meant to heal are treated like threats?
It’s a love letter to those 197 terms.
A shield made of everything they told us not to say.
A celebration of the power we carry in our mouths, even when they try to quiet us.
Some pictures say more than a thousand words.
This one dares to hold 197—
and every life they tried to silence.
Because when they say “hush”, we HOOPLA!
197, A SOUNDSCAPE
Do you like what you hear?
No?
Good. That’s the point.
With 197 Soundscape, Perrin Marie reminds us that art is meant to make us feel—and those feelings aren’t always warm or comforting.
The sounds of HOOPLA—clinking cans, the sweet swish of plastic—are, by nature, joyous.
But the most memorable experiences are both sweet and salty.
And sometimes, salt burns.
This piece offers an audible window into the artist’s overwhelm and anger after reading a Forbes Magazine article titled, “These 197 Terms May Trigger Reviews Of Your NIH, NSF Grant Proposals”—a warning that the inclusion of certain language in research proposals could lead to the denial or withdrawal of federal funding.
Even the title is jarring.
But as Perrin read through the 197 “trigger” terms, she realized something deeper:
These words describe the people she loves.
For days—weeks—she couldn’t shake the weight of it.
Grief took hold.
This soundscape reflects that process.
The tracks are layered, like her response: disorientation, rage, sorrow, clarity.
It begins with a child’s laughter, a heartbeat, and a sub-bass ascent—setting the stage with innocence and an undercurrent of dread.
A generic censor tone cuts in.
AI-generated voices fill the space, whispering, speaking, overlapping—reciting all 197 terms.
A Shepard tone builds and builds, mimicking the rise of emotion that consumed the artist.
Eventually, the heartbeat ceases, and the censor continues.
There is an alternate ending—where the heartbeat continues, and the censor ceases.
Because sometimes, words have to be sharp to get through.