BmoreArt

The variable permutations for connection that this book creates reminded me of an article titled “And So Shaped The World” from the literary journal Obsidian, Vol. 42, No. 1/2, Speculating Futures: Black Imagination & the Arts. “Under the powerful lens of Afrofuturism, the impossible is possible,” writes Sheree Renee Thomas. “It is creative alchemy. The spirit and the rhythm of a culture are preserved and transformed; the past is not only contested but is sacred space.” These words succinctly describe the time-traveling and majestic experience of Black proximity that I explored through the vehicle of Black Futures—each word in the text is creative alchemy. And this book will exist and outlive me as an archive of what Black creative expression was at this time, for the remainder of Western notions of time. 

“What does it mean to be Black and alive right now?” This is the question that guided Drew and Wortham in assembling the book. For me, it means countless things, and despite the prevalence of white supremacy, extrajudicial murders being broadcast and permeating our psyche, the active erasure of our histories, the microaggressions and struggle, we are still here. We remain here, tethered to this battered planet, this flawed country that was built on the backs of ancestors who were literally stolen from Africa.

I am here and I recognize my right to be here, whether or not whiteness acknowledges it, and that right includes my position in this world, and my ability to make my own world and my own future. Like so many of my peers, I do this by writing, creating, and relishing the majesty of my Blackness, and my time spent with the wonders of Black Futures was in recognition of the future-world-making of the Black folks who were a part of creating the book.

[Image: Kameelah Janan Rasheed, Are We There Yet?, 2018. Image courtesy of the artist.]

Of course, Baltimore shows up in these pages too. Devin Allen’s work is one of the first three photographs in it: an iconic image from the 2015 Baltimore Uprising that would later be published on the cover of Time magazine, showing a Black man running in front of police, cloaked in grey and black.

In “Independent Subtexts,” Baltimore-born and NY-based Devin N. Morris shared some of his favorite zines from his personal collection. I have long admired Morris’ work—his 3 Dot Zine is a prolific compilation of Black art and Black stories—and I appreciated the intimate, enriching gift of reading his personal anecdotes and descriptions. One of his selections is “Learning from Lexington,” a zine about the historic Baltimore market written by UMBC students, designed by Markele Cullins and published in 2017. Morris also selected the third issue of True Laurels, Lawrence Burney’s zine that centers the work of Black creatives in Baltimore—another beautiful example of Black Futures’ magical cross-references, illustrating the labyrinth of Black creative connection.  

In later pages, Burney offers a Black Baltimore history primer titled “The Enduring Legacy of Baltimore’s Arabbers” with photos by Giancarlo Valentine. Burney writes beautifully about the Arabber tradition, which goes back for generations, and how Black people historically carry traditions with us in various ways. His essay is a call for the preservation of the Arabber tradition and the documentation of their unique culture. He describes the sound of the horses’ hooves and bells as the “music of tradition… the sound of nurture… a lullaby of nostalgia.” And when I read this, I heard those bells too. 

In “These Walls Can Talk,” New York Times critic Wesley Morris (who also co-hosts a podcast with Wortham) describes the experience of walking into the National Portrait Gallery and seeing Kehinde Wiley’s portrait of Barack Obama and Amy Sherald’s portrait of Michelle Obama. His level of detail and exquisite precision in describing the emotions one might experience while encountering the images, as well as adding historical context about the public’s reaction to them, signify one way in which Black Futures acts as an archive. 

In the “Ownership” section, graphic designer Jerome Harris remarks on Pattie LaHelle’s YouTube series, “Got 2B Real,” cleverly defining and exploring the art of shade. His words accompany a beautiful illustration in his signature style: black space and white text elegantly entwined in humorous swirls. The text, “Haters are people who read with no resume and critique with no credentials. Is that you?” swims across the page. Harris, a former professor at MICA, is one of my favorite people to follow on social media. 

The same section includes Deborah Roberts’ research for her Pluralism series, for which the artist typed the names of more than 250 African-American women into a document. As she typed, the squiggly red lines indicating misspelled text appeared under every name, showcasing the attempted digital erasure and minimization of Blackness. This piece resonated with me as a Black woman from Texas (and a fan of Roberts’ practice)—I have spent many moments correcting white people who have committed microaggressions by misspelling my name, or have assumed that Teri is short for something longer or more white like Theresa. 

Even the book’s cover design felt like everything: Black with iridescent text, each letter is a kaleidoscope of the journey that awaits the reader. Opposite Ayana Jamieson’s “Far Beyond the Stars”—which includes strategies for building a Black archive, inspired by the great writer, archivist, and Black future-world-builder Octavia E. Butler—rests a digital collage by Lauren Halsey, “Untitled (Blueprint).” Halsey’s work is the perfect partner to Jamieson’s words. Black figures anchor the bottom of the scene which is populated by Louis Vuitton-covered houses, Black women with Louis Vuitton bags, crowns, gold teeth, Egyptian sphinx, and street signs from Watts, California. In the middle, Rick James squats atop a tie-dyed planet. In the top right-hand corner, handwritten instructions invite: “Enter the Realm.”

In the “Legacy” section, I was thrilled to see Sadie Barnette’s work accompany her conversation with the scholar Simone Browne. I have thought a lot about how emerging and young collectors might not be able to afford to buy original works from their favorite artists, but they can afford prints. I have been wanting to purchase something by Barnette for probably five or six years, so when I saw her beautiful work here I legitimately wanted to cry. Her “Untitled (Baby Dress),” plugged in among her words, has been saved on my phone. It was my background for a while. Barnette’s signature pink-glitter backgrounds, collaged with images of Black people and framed by white borders, were instantly identifiable for me. Finding work by Barnette, Rahim Fortune, Kara Walker, Carrie Mae Weems, David Leggett, Cauleen Smith, and so many other Black people that I admire, and being able to hold them close to me, is a luxury. 

What does it mean to be Black and alive right now? It feels heavy—and light. Like fresh honey and cold steel. Blackness is agony and ecstasy. Black Futures defies categorization. I believe it is inherently magical. The volume closes with a singular black page, followed by an index of the contributors, a who’s-who of the Black creative ecosystem. I listened to the mix on page 38 that King Britt made; Kelela’s “Frontline” was the soundtrack to me wrapping up this journey of completing this review. Black Futures was a Goosebumps-style, thrill-inducing, choose-your-own-adventure tome that I wished would never end. It’s fitting that a volume filled to the brim with so much poetry and prose from Black voices would be this elegant and cacophonously sublime.

I faced a lot of anxiety in writing this review because I believed it impossible to do justice to the legacy and labors of the Black people who made it real. I recognize now that my assignment was simple: My duty was to tell you how this book affected me, how it made me feel, how it changed me. Black Futures allowed me to feel less alien, more whole, more centered. Less isolated, more real. More vulnerable, more joyful.

*****

Black Futures editors Kimberly Drew and Jenna Wortham are doing a virtual book tour. Tonight, December 3, their discussion with Camonghne Felix is hosted virtually by Sixth & I and Loyalty Books. For tickets and more info, click here. For other book events, click here.