I have been exhausted by being the blackest person on the scene and at shows. Or at parties. Or in cafes. Or anywhere that I go in general. I am having a lot of conversations about this with friends at the moment – they go nowhere. I used to have ideas, now what I have is largely frustration. I do not know how to be coherent and how not to be shocked into the feeling that everyone and no-one is my enemy. I am open and I am lost because I don’t trust that it is ground that I walk on. And all I see is violence.
Since I acknowledged this – and my part in it – I haven’t known how to make connections or draw any boundaries, I have felt as though my mind has been blown open, that I have gotten so close and so far away at the same time that everything looks like one thing; fractals. I am in the details and the cosmos – I don’t know how to be in the middle place, I don’t know how to understand the language.
Attempting to address racial politics in my work I feel as though I opened a Pandora’s box and all the shit has flown out and stuck to me, my skin, my hair, my nails, my smile, my outfits, my words. For this work, I use myself as the subject for looking at the impact of systematic oppression and sketchy operations of this place that I came out into. This is tiring and weirdly self-referential in a way that sometimes makes me doubt my intentions. I always knew, that I didn’t want to be someone wedded to any struggle, that I wanted to retain my humanity (as I then understood this word), that I wanted to avoid the horror of the trap of noticing. I buried myself in books, in music, in subcultures and countercultures of the recent past, like any alienated kid, forming myself as collage…
My existence has been fabricated out of my own erasure – I can no longer abide by this contradiction. My witnessing of myself is the thing that wills me into existence – being witnessed by others is so often somehow a process of erasure. I figure that in order to propel myself into the future and expand myself into the present with some kind of presence that emanates beyond the projections onto this skin, I must now somehow locate my desire. I’ll get busy with this.
Hasta la vista,
Last Yearz Interesting Negro