Disclaimer: I always wanted to be a baseball player, thus idiotically sacrificing my education along the way. If Grammarly occasionally misses a grammar mistake, yet you still understand the point, keep it moving.
I’m a sell-out.
I have succumbed to the overpowering weight of Instagram likes and Retweets long before I sold my first painting, and the reactions of my followers have dictated my creative style.
When a person listens to a song, they often feel an emotion. They may get chills when the bass suddenly drops or when Lady Gaga comes on stage for the first time with Jackson Maine. Visual art is no different. Viewers of my work should feel something.
For me, the question that keeps me up at night is what are my viewers feeling? I’ve spent years identifying my signature style bouncing from subject to subject, materials to materials. I once worked for months with the world-renowned pop artist, Shelby & Sandy, and afterward thought I could draw perfectly weighted lines just like them. But truth be told, I can’t refill the ice tray without water spilling on the floor.
My journey as a creative is only four years old, and within those four years, I’ve gone from pop art to resin molds and anything in-between. As long as people were buying, that’s what I was creating.
Until now.
By nature, I’m a person who passionately seeks out opportunities to learn something new, knowing that failure is imminent. I mean, I was the kid dumb enough to play a sport that considered you elite for only getting a hit in 30% of your chances. I’m also the same person who decided to host an art exhibit five months after picking up a paintbrush. I genuinely seek failure because, for me, it’s the only way I learn. What I have learned from years of suffocating anxiety over what to create is that my subject matter has been right in front of me the whole time.
I’m an African-American athlete who is always told of how well-spoken I am. Constantly reminded of how much “raw” talent I have. I’m the one parents cheered for until I wanted to date their white daughters. I’ve been called an array of names by opposing fans. I’ve seen black athletes given life-changing money only to go broke trying to take care of those stuck back home not blessed with the ability to run a 4.4 40. I’ve seen black athletes denied entry to the club for “dress code” only to be let in once his friends told them the team he played for. I’ve seen a cop call for backup once he knocked on the window and saw a young black face behind the wheel of a new Mercedes.
These are my truths because they are what I’ve seen.
They are what I must create.
And since my accolades never erased my raw label, raw is how I’ll paint.