ain't i a woman? for colored girls making art in the middle west when diversity and inclusion is not enough
Hey y’all. There are some heavy things in this entry, including mentions of the pandemic, uprisings, war, gun violence, white supremacy, mental health, racial discrimination, and despair. If you’d like to skip down to the part where I discuss my intentions, please scroll to the heading “Consent-Based Engagement: What I’m Saying Yes To”
“Mahalia,” from the Freedom Fighters series, by rosy petri 2022.
It feels like I’ve been underground the last six months, more estranged from society than usual the last few years. While the pandemic has taught me once again to lean into solitude, I’ve had my head down the last six months on projects and family stuff, and I have just enough time to gather my thoughts and share what’s been going on here in the studio and in the periphery. I have some things to say.
This year has already been interesting. Every time I turn on the radio, I brace myself for impact. I can’t help but feel discouraged at the state of palpable despair as we all struggle to maintain our dignity while our civil liberties and natural world are being decimated in favor of corporate interests, religious fanaticism, and the tyranny of fascism. Folks are referencing Margaret Atwood’s “The Handmaid’s Tale,’ but for me it feels more like we’re inching closer and closer to Octavia Butler’s “Parable of the Sower'' and “Parable of the Talents.” This reality does not mean life does not go on, but it shifts the way I choose to engage.
I’ve been keeping to the house and to myself to avoid layering the traumas of political violence, white supremacy and interpersonal violence bleeding out from all that has happened. I’ve kept victories quiet, because it feels like the precious good things are too easily tarnished by constant collective tragedy. We have forgotten how to communicate, and how to participate in our civic duties of care. It seems we have forgotten how to be human with one another. This is more an effect of pretending that everything is fine, turning away from the painful consequences of selfishness than from the pandemic or uprisings. Have we already forgotten the lessons?
Talking is getting harder, too. Social media has trained us to dump feelings out on folks without asking, “Do you have space for this load? Are you ok to hear this right now?” These types of interaction have left us starving for real connection, while avoiding engaging in meaningful ways because we simply can’t take in another litany of despair. Conversations feel like hostage situations, and for the sake of mental health, I’ve removed myself from people and environments where consent is not the operating model.
I’m finding myself reluctant to venture out without very specific intention, and am still learning to navigate re-entry into the post-insurrection, pandemic-fatigued world. Some have moved back to business as usual (whether out of necessity or boredom), I am still in a state of cautious ambulation. I understand we must move forward, but it feels like the last two years are being erased in the rush and bustle of “getting back to normal.” I am still grappling with the awkwardness of being asked to be physically present in spaces where even the illusion of safety isn’t guaranteed. Whenever possible, I’ve opted to participate in virtual engagements with folks I don’t know well. It’s self-preservation over celebration: I’m too tired to be defending myself in places I’m invited but not actually welcome.
There is, however, still hope where life continues to marvel. There is much room in my heart and on my porch for folks I love, especially those who know how to love me back. There is a fresh cup of coffee or tea, an ear, and fountains of laughter. There is music and there is art, all ready for the making.. Most importantly, there are possibilities. Before I get into those possibilities, I’d like to comment on a couple of shows I have up that are a very real part of this process of re-entry, and are reminding me of the need for hope, consent, and the sacred duty of hospitality.
shows
Despite the aforementioned chaos, despair, and uncertainty in the world, I have continued to participate in shows virtually and (occasionally) in-person. So far this year, I’ve had the pleasure of showing at the Art+Lit Lab, Milwaukee Artist Resource Network, Wisconsin Black Art & Culture Expo, the Museum of Science and Industry, ArtStart Rhinelander, Artdose Magazine, Trout Museum of Art, and Calabar Gallery x Artsy while maintaining a presence at Mahogany Gallery, Kujichagulia Producers Cooperative, and 5 Points Gallery and Studios. I’ve said yes to these shows and spaces because they’ve felt right, my consent was enthusiastic, and I felt supported and seen by the organizers. It has been an honor to be included in these shows and spaces, but for now I’d like to focus on two current shows I’m participating in to compare the experiences.
A little context: In 2020, I was named a Mildred L Harpole Artist of the Year by the Milwaukee Arts Board and a Mary L Nohl Emerging Artist Fellow by the Greater Milwaukee Foundation. During that time, I conducted oral interviews and portrait sessions with Black women and MaGes (people of marginalized genders) doing movement work in the midst of Milwaukee’s 2020 uprisings, using the award money to give stipends to all participants. This work was happening before vaccinations were available, and it was frightening to do because we were not sure if we were going to risk infecting each other. We did our best with social distancing, masking, and open windows through the fall and spring, and I conducted hours of interviews on zoom.
Because the pandemic was in full swing, fellows in the 2019 and 2020 years were unable to present our work in the traditional show. Because fiber-based works do not have the same presence virtually, I decided to focus on the process of developing the project, and sharing one portion of the interviews, called “Love Letters to Black Women in the Future.” Each artist had a virtual show through the Haggerty’s Google Arts + Culture page, mine can be seen here.
American Altars: Installation of photography and interactive altar at Marquette University’s Haggerty Museum of Art. Works by rosy petri, 2022. The exhibit is up until July 31st.
American Altars, Mary L. Nohl Fellows exhibit at the Haggerty Museum
When 2019 and 2020 fellows were invited to participate in an in-person show at the Haggerty, I struggled with the idea of presenting the project when everything is still so raw. I’m still processing the emotions and the interview content. My personal experiences in museums and institutions made me reluctant to ask participants to enter a space where there was no guarantee of protection from the very things we were resisting: my own interview for the project is based directly on my experience of discrimination at the Racine Art Museum when I was participating in a show. I documented my experience as part of my Nohl project through an audio recording, which will be released with the finished project at the appropriate time.
It felt too risky to ask members of my community to enter this space without a guarantee of emotional, physical and spiritual safety. It felt important to gather these stories and experiences in real time, but the project took its own toll on my spirit. I opted instead to reflect on the experience of my 2021 Storycatcher tour through a series of photo assemblages.
The installation includes photographs grouped to explore the month-long journey driving 1,400 miles alone as a Black woman from Milwaukee to Clarksdale, MI ( home of the legendary crossroads, the Delta blues, and land of my father’s people); New Orleans, LA (birthplace of jazz, historically free Creole people, and unique Black cultural experience); Birmingham, AL (a living witness of the American Civil Rights and Labor movements); Atlanta, GA (a Black Mecca of culture), and Berea KY (the bluegrass state, home of the Kentucky Derby, and Appalachian stronghold where I was heading to become the inaugural artist in residence at the bell hooks center at Berea College).
The installation is my attempt at embodying a journey of cultural remembrance, ancestral grief, and the emotional reckoning required of Black people on the move in America of all generations. The columns themselves are 4 visual altars:
Feasting The Ancestors
In Memory of Those Who Chose the Sea ( placed in the third position)
Migration to the Crossroads Through Sundown Towns (placed in the second position)
Healing Lessons
The photo altars are displayed above a more traditional altar, offering participants the opportunity to interact with the exhibit by asking: “ When have you personally failed to protect Black people?” and an opportunity to provide reparations on the spot. To date, lots of confessions have been left, and little has come in the way of reparation, but I think the exhibit has given me a chance to give a different view of the machination behind my working process. While my fabric work is generally bright and full of motion, there is a long memory of cultural endurance beyond the decision to focus on Black joy. These photographs are a bit closer to home.
I’m grateful to have this work in a strong show with the other Nohl recipients, many of whom used this opportunity to step outside of their regular creative practices as a way of bearing witness and holding space for what has been lost these last few years.
Exhibition catalogue, photographed without permission from “Ain’t I A Woman: Wisconsin Triennial” Artwork by Chrystal Denise Gillon, titled “I Exist.. And I AM Woman.” They can cuss me out if they want to, but first they need to fix this mess.
Fannie Lou + Muhammad, from the Freedom Fighters series, by rosy petri 2022. This piece was created specifically for the Wisconsin Triennial, along with the “Mahalia” piece at the top of the post (due to spacial constraint, Mahalia is not part of the exhibit). It’s yet to be determined whether the works on display will remain in the show.
Ain’t I a Woman: 2022 Wisconsin Triennial, Madison Museum of Contemporary Art
Where to begin with this exhibit? Let’s start with the basic intentions: the historical importance of the show; the beauty of the concept and executions by a group of phenomenal artists; and the curatorial practice of Fatima Laster in post-insurrection America. If this were the end of this narrative, I doubt I’d have spent hours at my computer writing all of these thoughts down. But, here we are, and here we go.
When I received the invitation to submit and create works for the 2022 Wisconsin Triennial, I was over the moon. Having completed my 2021 artist residency at the bell hooks center in July, it felt serendipitous to be included in a show honoring the legacy of Womanist theory and praxis through visual and performance-based works by some of the region’s most gifted Black women artists and femmes. What sweetened the deal was knowing that the exhibition had a guest curator for the first time in its near 40-year history, and that curator was Fatima Laster, an artist-gone-gallerist who happens to live and work just down the street from me. For the past few years, Fatima has been making her way, in her own way, and on her own terms.
I don’t know that I’ve ever been in a show like this one, and wanted to experience the way works would be received. The possibility for Black Girl Joy, Black Femme Rest, Black Auntie Chemistry in this show was a needed blessing for me at this specific moment in history. In spite of feeling weary from the aforementioned experiences of pandemic and post-insurrection life, I made my way to the opening to show with so many of my sheroes and sister artists like Della, Portia Cobb, Chrystal Gillon, Martina Patterson, Kierston Ghaznavi, LaNia Sproles, Ariana Vaeth, Sharon Kerry Harlan, Blanche Brown (BB) , Ruthie Joy, Rhonda Gatlin-Hayes, Gabrielle Tesfaye, Rosemary Ollison, Sonji Hunt, and Tanekeya Word. Even better, I was introduced for the first time to an entirely new to me group of Black women artists, including Anika Kowalik, Emily Leach, Joya Jean, Maxime Banks, Nakeysha Roberts, Nia Wilson, and Lilada Gee. (*I wasn’t able to find websites for Joya and Maxime, but you can click through to find the work of all the other artists listed)
It was hard to choose, but if pressed I would admit my favorite works in this show were crafted by Joya Jean: beautiful thrones woven in assemblage of weave, beads and objects whose very presence vibrated with the knowingness of Black womanhood. The works slammed me into a vortex of diasporic temporal reality: in the Black world hair care is a community ritual, and these timeless sacred objects of community experience intertwined and on view in this specific context was unforgettable.
In spite of all this intention, excitement, and raw talent that went into making the collective vision for the 2022 Wisconsin Triennial come to life, the shit hit the proverbial fan even before the doors were open on this one. Now we need to talk about what this show cost Black women and femmes in dignity, in energy, and in belief in these institutions that want our works and labor without wanting us.
Without going deep into the specifics, the first bump on this journey came in March, when artists Lilada Gee and Annik Dupaty (who is also a MMOCA staff member) were accosted by a staff member of the Overture Center. MMOCA and the Overture Center are co-tenants in the same building. This incident was handled precariously: great lengths were taken to conceal the identity of Beth Barlow-Bingham, the employee who verbally assaulted the artists while Lilada was working to install an on-site exhibit. No such care was taken in protecting the artists or their privacy. Eventually, Beth was fired from Overture, and in lieu of a public apology, the Overture Center offered to double artist stipends and requested to be listed as sponsors for the event. Thankfully, this request was denied. In a meeting between participating artists and MMOCA curator Christina Brungardt, we were asked to voice our concerns and offer solutions to repair the damage that had been done. Many of the artists acknowledged the trauma of this incident, but hoped to move forward with the show in a way that was meaningful for us.
The ultimate decision was made in spite of our requests for a public apology and additional measures toward restorative justice: the Overture remained silent, the stipends were doubled, and the show went forward. Lilida presented her unfinished installation and a letter addressed to the “Beths” of the world at the show opening in April. MMOCA decided to close shared entryways between itself and the Overture Center, leaving one entrance available at an opening where nearly 600 people showed up throughout the day.
There were performances, conversations, and powerful works by the artists, but still a palpable sense of tension marked that special moment where Black women and femmes gathered to make regional history. As we smiled and did the best we could to engage, we wondered if our bodies and our works were safe. Like Black women often do, we put on our brave public faces in order to make the most of this moment, a moment drenched simultaneously in pride and pain. We made it through that opening, and I was proud to be part of it. I’m proud of my fellow artists, and I’m damn proud of Fatima for this one. She’s taken a majority of the heat when all she wanted to do was open a pathway for Black women and femmes in this regional art scene.
And still. It’s not over. A few days ago, Lilada’s unfinished installation was vandalized on site while museum employees did nothing to stop it, even when the vandals removed some of the work from the museum. They even had the nerve to ask if they could come take the rest of it. The show is scheduled to be up until October 9th, but several artists have already requested that their work to be de-installed in solidarity. I don’t blame them. Once again, the onus is being placed on the artists to come up with solutions to fix the mess.
This second incident targeting the same artist is shameful, and an important example of Madison Museum of Contemporary Art’s inability to provide the same level of consideration, care or protection to Black women and femme artists as they would any other group. Now, the artists and curators must determine how to move forward, creating additional labor and trauma around something that should have been a celebration. This was important to us: an art museum in the state capitol was holding space to nurture Black creativity at a crucial moment in history. This was important, and they dropped the ball. I am so sorry this happened to Lilida, not once but twice. I am sorry that this important show has been tarnished by these events. We deserved so much better than this.
These events are especially triggering after my own experience last year at the Racine Art Museum, and incidents other galleries, arts organizations, and institutions throughout the state. The humiliation, disrespect, and tokenism that is so common in these environments is fundamentally counterintuitive to the spiritual nature of art-making and community building. So too is the silence of our fellow non-Black artists around the matter. Where is the sense of collective outrage? We are so tired, y’all. Tired of stepping up to the plate and standing up in solidarity for others, only to find there’s no one there for us when the wolves are at the door.
Now, before anyone feels the need to say “not all galleries/museums/arts orgs/institutions” me, I invite you to take several seats. After the performative chants of Black lives mattering in post-racial America last year, it’s gone back to business as usual. The community moved on, but Black folks (women, femmes and MaGes in particular) are still navigating the wounds left from the last two years. We are still tending the repercussions of systematic racism, gendered violence, and invisibility. The silence (followed by the blatant intellectual theft of Black femme and queer culture) is loud. What are you doing to protect Black women, femmes, and MaGes from this unneccessary violence?
If you think this is about your gallery/museum/organization/institution, it probably is. A hit dog will holler.
If you’re not 100% certain there are areas for improvement, you are only fooling yourselves. If you are not actively working to minimize harm experienced by Black women and people of marginalized gender in your arena, your institution is causing harm. Also, if you believe you’ve done every possible thing to “win” at Diversity + Inclusion (tm), chances are Black women and Mages (as well as indigenous and other people of global majority, differently-abled or neurodivergent folks too) are glaringly absent from your board, staff, audience, and collection. They’re not benefitting from your work, you are exploiting the angle of checking boxes in the interest of performative allyship. Check your barometer, it’ll tell you where you really stand. A healthy and just arts organization, museum or gallery will attract and retain talent and audiences from all walks of life. if you feel like you need help, and stop asking Black and other marginalized folks to do the work to assuage your guilt for free, and hire a professional.
consent-based engagement: what i’m saying yes to
I shared all of this because I needed it off my chest and out of my head. I’m no longer interested in educationing, arguing or attempting to calmly convince folks of my worth, or the worth of Black women and MaGes who so clearly show up giving 110%. I’m more interested in serving my purpose. I’m here for the sacred art of creating, of offering the gift of hospitality to my creative siblings, and building community with folks who believe that the journey to collective liberation and dignity includes as much joy as struggle. I want bread and roses, and I want that for you too.
I’m saying yes to :
building the makespace: creating a sacred refuge for artists to be supported in creative practice while engaging in as little or as much community building as they’d like. more info will be available as the build progresses.
community-based partnerships: facilitating and engaging with small groups to vision and create beautiful places and spaces. This is an equitable way of integrating arts into our real lives, and can develop the kinds of environments we’re happy to protect.
creative coaching: helping folks build their own creative practice in 1:1 sessions virtually or in the studio (outdoors, weather permitting). I love to see others grow in their practice, and this is a good fit for folks who are ready to start showing up for themselves in a creative way.
pop up portrait sessions: I’ll be making appearances at some small events to do on site portraiture. I love looking at your beautiful faces, and want to see what we can make of this kind of work.
being with other artists, creatives, visionaries, and community builders who believe joy is an essential part of the struggle. I’ll see y’all when we schedule porch sessions.
What this means is that commissions are closed until further notice. I need to spend more time fostering community-based partnerships (like the project I did with Metcalfe Park Community Bridges last year, or the summer apprenticeship series I’ll be doing with Artists Working in Education and Adams Park this month), making art that speaks to my heart, and helping folks develop their own creative practices. I’m also making some adjustments in service: I’m going to continue to engage in service with organizations that willingly admit that while they may not have all the answers to creating diverse and thriving environments, they’re willing to do the work in bring in the professionals. Any work I’m engaging in needs to be consent-based and clear in their intentions of supporting and believing Black women while also uplifting folks who are often left out of important conversations.
If you want to support me in this work, please check the Shows and Events page. Work is available for sale at most if not all of the places listed. If you’re local, stop by Kujichagulia Producers Cooperative inside the Sherman Phoenix, 5 Points Gallery + Studio, or Mahogany Gallery in Racine. You’re also welcome to reach out for community based partnerships or creative coaching through my contact page.
Thanks to everyone who made it through this long post. I appreciate your willingness to hear what I have to say to these matters. I’m looking forward to the consent-based yeses to come.