Black Folk + Bisa = Bisu

BLACK FOLK + BISA = BISU

Yesterday, June 7, 2021, was a good day. I rode the train into town. It felt just as it sounds. Nostalgic. Pullman Porters, open track, greenery, a wonderful playlist, and just some good quality alone time. I did not realize how much I needed all of the above until tears flooded my face. A mini exodus of sorts. The part about, “movement of Jah people.” I was introduced to the song, Nowhere, Nowhere, Nowhere by Samoht the day before yesterday. The lyrics landed yesterday like a comforting hand on the back and a soft prayer. There's a recurring motif over the past few months in my life around ancestral presence in our everyday lives and how much their transits shape what we feel. 

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Lucid Lyrics

Some of the lines in the song that resonate with me:

  • My love ain't goin’ nowhere… I’ve got more love to give to you… My love is right here for you...I give all my love to you right here… Right there where you are, close your eyes and reminisce on the good past (path?) for just a little while. Think about our ancestors, everything they gave, everything they sacrificed for us to be right here. Oh, we thank you, ancestors. Oh, we thank you, God… The love ain’t goin’ nowhere… You’re not alone right here.

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Black Folks + Bisa 

I am a fangirl of the Chicago Institute of Art. Per Marlena’s recommendation a few years ago, I keep this place in mind often. So glad to have been in the number to view Bisa Butler’s: Portraits on view until September 6. I recorded audio on my phone and wanted to capture in writing the following sentiments about her show and my relationship with the works. 

Patrol, 2018 © Bisa Butler (I don’t own the rights to this image, I took a photo of the postcards :)

Patrol, 2018 © Bisa Butler (I don’t own the rights to this image, I took a photo of the postcards :)

Dear Mama — how the young girl pokes her chest out past the frame of the quilt. Two D becomes 3D with the use of color, batting, texture, etc. The girl’s pose is assured and shy as her mother stands behind her… ancestry continues to come up for me on this journey. I heard this in Samoht’s lyrics around giving thanks to the ancestors, the people who come before us. Especially the maternal line. In reference to the videos, Kwame Brown has released on mama’s cooking.

In the dear Mama, Piece Bisa sews in the lyrics to the song by Tupac. She uses thread to write it is cool because it reminds me of the threads in life, history, DNA looks much like a thread. How the words in the songs she pairs with the works are attached to what you may have worn when you heard the song or who you were with when you heard the song.

Southside Sunday Morning, 2018 — The portrait that I thought was related to the Harlem Renaissance but the photo was taken in Chicago. How much confidence the boys had and how that has always resonated with my image of what being Black and Proud looks like...Bisa’s ability to make them colorful and in metaphorical speech, “redress” them in garb reflects a different kind of energy. I thought a lot during the walk through the galleries about what Black folks would wear without external influence. Even for myself the “things” that always made me, “choose” to dress in black and white. Especially in museum spaces, the muted tones don’t compete with the work. I wore mostly denim because it was raining out but should I return to see the show before I leave, I feel it's only appropriate to reflect what Bisa has given me permission to free and wear my tye die pants to the museum. That’s a fitting fit. The exhibition changes what I feel is appropriate attire for me.

I feel better wearing color these days. I don’t feel compelled to wear things to blend in unless that is the flavor of the day but I try not to make it that way often. I want to fit in with what I feel on a given day.

My friend Pier has always encouraged me to wear color. She has seen me through a phase where I vowed to only wear Black as a uniform. Smh. Pier reminds me of the piece called, Princess. The artist uses cool tones juxtaposed with warm tones to convey some of the sadness and courage associated with immigrating based on her friend’s story. My friend was reflected back to me. Her stories of jubilee and all the many adjustments leaving home require one to make. I look forward to my opportunity to experience the same things.

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, 2019 — Something said, or I read because “ultimately the bird sings because it knows its free.” I thought a lot about Black people and how forces try and harness our energy. The piece also made me think about the messages in our posture. Four women pose in a way that is assertive enough to, “pop shit, and get shit poppin’” all in the same stance. I love us. When people lean like that they assert themselves in ways that are (confident), jovial, and an heir of playfulness. But don’t play with it because they have enough confidence to whoop off in yo’ ass too.

I Am Not Your Negro, 2019 — The gentleman with the patchwork pants. Based on the Negro in Greensville (Lang, Dorethea, 1936). The man looks so confident and yet unsure in ways I can’t translate. Mysterious, his pants are patched but he is still dressed to the best of his abilities, and had it not been pointed out in the description, I may have missed that a fourth of his pant leg is patched. Yet he carries himself with the utmost respect. Bisa gives him airplanes on his trousers and makes him into a cosmopolitan figure by rimming his hat with the names of cities like London, Paris, New York. Begging the questions, who could he be, what did he become, untethered by the socio-economic condition the photographer was likely fixated on. Who are his people, his lineage, where are they?

Samoht talks about how people are upset about the “inability to kill black folks’ spirit.” How we dress showcases our spirits. I remember telling the lady I work with dana that I am becoming the Black woman I have always wanted to be. I am doing and dawning a lot of the things that make me happy. I really like this place a lot.

Bisa’s work speaks to how much we don’t know about some of the stories of the subjects. I feel grateful to be a part of BlackFemaleProject and Teacher Truth because we have the opportunity to be blessed enough to, ‘turn the mic on.’ Allowing others to share their story.

Thank you, God, ancestors, friends, and family for the opportunity to be here.

Bisu Bisu + Returning Home 

I got on at Flossmoor station exited the train at Van Buren station and returned to the station thinking a lot about my friend Jasmine’s warning that things get weird at night time. On the way into town, I wasn’t able to purchase a round trip fare. There are signs posted everywhere about fare evasion penalties. No, thank you. I saw a few eclectic characters and tried not to appear lost. 

I found my way through a bus driver with a Caribbean accent much like my friend Pier’s. He told me I could purchase a ticket on the train. Letting me off literally across the intersection. I saw an entrance to Van Buren station much like the station I’ve seen in Paris near the Sacre Coeur. Look at Paris following me around. The station was creepy, to say the least. Hearing a cacophony of voices through the double doors, I entered wondering if the voices belonged to people that could help with much-needed orientation. The station agent was so pleasant. I purchased a ticket and boarded the train a short while later. Jazz was there at the destination to pick me up. A good day indeed. 

Photo of Van Buren Station taken the following day for context :)

Photo of Van Buren Station taken the following day for context :)

Travel + Self Care tips 

This blog is a continuation of the BlackFemaleProject 8 Weeks of Self Discovery Series.

My own little piece of Awareness week. <3 

Excuse any typos, I’ll be back to edit but I need to publish or it will never see the light of day.