You can’t compromise my joy.

Exhibition Statement

Say this out loud: You can’t compromise my joy.  

The words we speak have power. The title of this exhibition is meant to be spoken as a mantra both as you walk through the gallery and as you walk through the world afterwards. As a Black person, it feels as if our every action is under examination and compared to “perfection” (read as: white beauty, social, class, and economical standards). We are told that we can exist if we conform. Though, even if we do conform, the color of our skin is still a target for racism on a scale including suburban Karens who feel threatened by our existence; school officials and workplaces that say our natural hair is not appropriate; white men with guns “protecting” their neighborhoods from Black people walking home or out for a run; and law enforcement that kneels on us until we can’t breathe or charges into our homes in the middle of the night and kills us in our groggy daze. We face this reality every single day. That at any time, without warning we or our loved ones could be the next face spray painted on the side of a building or sketched with sharpie on cardboard signs. Our name could be a part of protest chants or a hashtag under a blank black square on Instagram. That even if we are murdered, we may not receive the justice that we deserve. Yet, amidst this terror, this threat to our existence, we live. We choose to experience joy.  

This tension and turbulence between joy and terror affect our body, soul, and mind. For this exhibition I created a Black woman’s headspace to demonstrate to how this tension between joy and terror can exist internally. The gallery windows are obscured by fabrics woven with different colored and textured Black hair to stand as a barrier between what is external to the Black woman and what is internal. Once inside, the viewer must continually choose to experience joy as they navigate between portraits of Black women from our community doing something that brings them joy and a representation of the terror that Black women face. 

This representation of terror comes from a personal reminder that on any day, without warning, I could be harmed or killed because of the color of my skin. While this notion is not unfamiliar to me (I, like many other Black people, was raised with the understanding that my skin color makes me a target for inequalities) there are certain events and stories that hit home harder than others and Breonna Taylor’s murder was that for me. A few months after I moved into my home I had a peaceful encounter with police officers knocking on my door in the middle of the night looking for the previous homeowner. I didn’t think much of that interaction until years later in 2020 when Breonna Taylor was murdered in her own home in the middle of the night because police officers were looking for people who weren’t there. To translate this reminder into something physical, I painted a piece of sheetrock the same color as my bedroom and shot it thirty-two times to represent the number of bullets police officers fired into Breonna Taylor’s home. In addition, I display pages from some of the investigative reports from her case. 

 For Black women, choosing joy is an act of resistance. We will not live in fear of terror, hate, racism, or oppression. Instead we will live for reading books or jogging in the park. We will live for wrapping our wrists and hands as we prepare to box. We will live for cozy moments with our children. We will live for good wine, food, and friends. We will live for creating art. We will live to feel the sun kiss our skin again and again. We will live for joy. 

Say this out loud: You can’t compromise my joy.