i ain’t smiling and that makes me smile from the inside out.
there are tasks i want to {BE} and do and there are tasks i do not want to {BE} and do.
leaning into those take that bring me joy is what i {Be} and do today and the next day. and the next.
that’s all a bear can ask for. that’s all i want. and {Be} and do.
i ain’t smiling. but i’m wide arse, teeth shining, smiling for me – on the inside.
liminality
in-between spaces
lingering in the midst flight
fugitivity
nowhere at all
the potential of edges
black captives trapped at sea
zones of non-being
“Wherever blackness dwells—slave ship, spaceship, graveyard, garden, elsewhere, everywhere—those captives accessed what Spillers calls a “richness of possibility.” Hortense Spillers quoted in La Marr Jurelle Bruce, How To Go Mad Without Losing Your Mind: Madness and Black Radical Creativity.
retro disco. good tunes. way back to our youth. we’re dancing. enjoying the tuuuunnnnneeees.
i kick off my shoes. barefoot in the grass. the cold september grass.
i look around. blond woman staring. pointing at me. talking to her man. me and my bare feet. laughing. i know she’s not saying anything good about me.
i stare back. she sees i see her. she tries to cover her tracks. too late. bitch. i see you.
before. i’d smile. make it appear as all is well. while i bleed from another wound inside.
before. i’d smile. make her feel better. while i die another death inside.
tonight. i ain’t smiling. i give her cut eye. i stare her down. she looks away first.
i continue to dance barefoot. smiling inside.
i’m protecting my peace so i have the energy for me, to {BE} in service for we, the we that looks/{BE} like me
this is all becoming clearer now
i’m not expending or wasting any more time, energy, attention on those (white) people who do not see me. or when they do see me, they do not see me as human
as Akwugo Emejulu says, the black woman can never be a human being
for decades i’ve spent time, energy, attention, through my practice and day to day life, trying to convince others ( white people) of my humanity. i would bend over backwards trying to get accepted, recognised, cherished as a fellow human being
look, please, i’m human. look, please, i feel, i hurt, i bleed. i breathe
no more. i am no longer prepared to play that role. dance this stupid dance. as i will never be accepted, recognised, loved as a human being. the system won’t allow it. (white) people won’t allow it
i’m no longer wasting my energy on proving jackshit
i’m refusing what has already been refused of me ( fugitivity)
i knowing who i be. i am smart, i am kind, i am important ( The Help). and i don’t need/want/entertain any (white) person to tell/grant/recognise me as such
and i’m no longer apologising/ playing it down or safe/ tempering for how i feel/act/ {BE} about this situation
as that just expends/takes/sucks out of me a whole heap and of other energy
i ain’t smiling.
I’ve been in a battle with myself.
The lessons I try and pass on to my kids are not to allow anyone else to change you. You go about your business as yourself. Don’t change for nobody.
I’ve been in a battle with myself.
I know my nature. I smile a lot. I lean into the joy of life because I’ve always said life is too short after being touched by death so young ( I now think life is long but that’s another conversation).
I’ve been in a battle with myself.
I’ve noticed I’m walking out now and not smiling. To myself or others. My face is fixed in a neutral stare, going about my business. I don’t not need/ want to look, speak or touch anyone else.
I’ve been in a battle with myself.
Is it my nature to smile and make contact with other (white) people because that’s who I am? Or do I do it to make them feel comfortable and not to think I’m a threat to their safety? Do I smile because I’m happy? Or do I smile to keep others happy?
I’ve been in a battle with myself.
Through speaking with a ( black female) friend recently things have become clearer and more resolute.
i ain’t smiling.
Not smiling, gazing or connection with (white) people while out walking/ coffee drinking/ shopping/whatever, is me, protecting my peace.
People have said to me before – you have a beautiful smile.
Or – you’re beautiful when you smile.
Or – your smile is contagious. I see you smile and I just smile backatya.
Bullshit.
Where I live, black faces are few and far between. But I’ve lived here close to 16 years. It’s my home now. I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else because I’m close to the sea.
But still when I’m walking the streets. My streets. I’m still looked upon as a stranger. That is when they see me.
Because I’m a joyful person, I smile. I smile a lot. Especially after a dip in the sea. Then I can take on the world. I can face the world with a smile.
I have lost count of the number of times I’m walking out, look up to make eye contact with someone walking towards me. Even give a smile or a nod of recognition, a greeting. And there’s been nothing in return. No eye contact. No smile. No recognition of a fellow human being. No connection. Nothing.
And if there has been a gaze at me, it’s not welcoming or positive. It’s been hostile, or questioning or vacant.
Don’t gaslight me into thinking this isn’t the case. This is my experience. You weren’t there. And I’m sick and tired of giving the others the benefit of the doubt.
I’ve never been given the benefit of the doubt. That is never bestowed on me. I’ve accepted it. Allowed it. Made excuses and explanations for it. But no more.
i ain’t smiling.
I ain’t making eye contact. I’m not stepping off the pavement to make room for others. I’m taking up space. My space. Nobody else’s. Mine.
“The stories begin from the premise that liberation is an already existing and unfinished and unmet possibility, laced with creative labor, that emerges from the ongoing collaborative expression of black humanity and black livingness.”
Excerpt From
Dear Science and Other Stories
Katherine McKittrick
I’m not smiling. I’m not making eye contact. I’m going about my business.
I’m taking up space. My space. Nobody else’s. Mine.
There’s something that’s been happening. I’ve been noticing a shift in the way I’ve been operating.
I’d say it’s since I went on the Black Women’s Creative Retreat at the end of August. probably it’s been rumbling in the background. But this experience crystallised it for me.
It was me with 3 other black women camping in a field in Hamsterley Forest. I need to write further about this experience. But for now, I’d say that for a short time we existed in our own timespace. For a short time, we built our own world. A world in which we were centred and celebrated. Seen and heard. And loved unconditionally.
And then we had to return to ‘civilisation’. What a shock to the system! People are rude. Period.
And I’m no longer giving them the time. My time. My attention. Because they do not see me. They look right through me or they be ignorant towards me.
The image above is part of a new series I’m playing with.
i ain’t smiling.
More to follow.
“Reading across our curiosities, the story and imagination are testimonies grounded in the material expression of black life”
Excerpt From
Dear Science and Other Stories
Katherine McKittrick
I’m a multi-passionate Creatrix ( I don’t use artist because it’s a term historically linked to imperialism and colonialism and we need to unlearn that shit!).
Reading feeds these passions. I can get myself lost up in a book or trip on many different subjects/ disciplines .
Today I was reading a crime novel, then a self-help book around self-sabotage, a healing and grief article, a Substack newsletter on erotic engineering, permaculture design, a Black feminist thought anthology, and instructions on a tube of Polyfilla!
I’ve always been curious. I got beats as a child for asking questions. For asking why?
For me fugitivity flourishes in and with having the time and space to lean into my multi-passions without anybody else telling me to stop, or move along or get back to ‘work’.
During my favourite season of the year, I’m leaning into my reading. I’m devising my own reading list of self-study around getting free.
I’m reading across disciplines and I’m reading into black studies and black livingness. I realised today, while, reading Katherine McKittrick, what I’m doing and have been doing is searching for and following the breadcrumbs that are shared through the writings and practices of black scholars, creatives and beings that have at their centre/ purpose/ inspiration black freedom.
After a really successful visual journaling retreat in Sheffield, which I’ll share about soon, I was gifted this handmade journal.
Made from wallpaper, eco-dyed papers and love, Dal Kular, a wonderful friend and fellow mischief maker gifted me this journal. Off shots from a bigger, much bigger journal she created in connection with her creative in residence in Peak District National Park, Dal wanted me to have this beauty.
I know Dal was proud of it and knew that I would put it to good use. I dived into using it start away. I needed the clarity of a new journal, while on the road with Kiwi and this journal is fulfilling that need and want, remarkably well.
I’ll be back later this week to share the completed journal spreads.
Living Wild Studios 