Buffalo and Billboards
I was supposed to start the sits today but I decided to take a mental health day. This kind of thinking is new for me, but now it’s crucial for my well being. Buffalo knocked me out. I was already wracked and then I saw the images and bios of the victims and went into a spiral. I was on the train from NYC to Hudson and started thinking “ Is someone going to shoot me while I’m sitting out there? Is that a possibility? I was also aware that now TGBP will probably have more attention when it’s up - that’s how these things work. Post outrage on social media. Show up for a rally. Post on social media again. Go back to living the same life. I sat on the train feeling shame for making an art project and having the luxury/ability to do that when Black people died while going out to get some bread and black eyes peas for dinner. Somebody sent me a a video on Instagram and I didn’t know what it was at first then realized it was a segment of the Buffalo gunman’s video. In the clip he pointed the gun at what appears to be a white person, says sorry then keeps on going. What did 89 he see when he looked into the eyes of the 89 year old Black woman. What he saw was what this society taught him to see. I can’t stop thinking about what she thought when she looked in his eyes. What did she see?
So I took a break today and realized that for the last few months I’ve considered the intellectual and analytical around this project, but didn’t really think about the emotional toll. Or maybe I imagined I was over it. But I’m not. Maybe I never will be.
I picked up the sign holder and the printed poster today. My first thought was “ Oh this is bigger than I imagined. It’s like a billboard.” And I knew within that thought was the idea “ I want to be public, but this is PUBLIC. There is no hiding. “And I fully understood how this is about me sitting with my own discomfort also. What will it be like when people walk past me and ignore me. Or laugh at me. Or yells something at me. My intention has been to not react to anything - the response of people is part of the project. But the other thought is “ is that passive?" Is it like when I was walking late at night is Santa Fe and those teenagers yelled nigger at me and threw a fountain soda at me. I silently walked home. Took a shower and pretended everything was okay. But nothing was every okay.
When I took the photo on the railroad tracks, there were some workers nearby. I found myself carrying the sign in a way so that they couldn’t see the words on the front. I didn’t want to see the look on their face. Or words out of their mouth. I felt shame that here I am doing the work I do and I still cared what a white stranger thought of me. And I’m going to be doing this for five hours a day for five days. twenty five hours.
But I’m going to do it. I’ve been thinking a lot about ancestors lately, and I’m going to call on all of them to sit with me. Even writing that just now caused a wave of relaxation in my body. I’m not sitting alone. I’m sitting with my widowed grandmother who raised 7 kids in segregated Alabama working two jobs as a maid so that they could have an education and opportunities she never could. I’m sitting with the ones who never knew what freedom might look like. I’m sitting with ancestors who were freed then found out they’d entered a new name for enslavement. I will be sitting with all of them.
Tomorrow I will be sitting right next to the GB sign on the park in the middle of town - one of the most prominent places in town. There is no hiding. No turning the side around. I will be seen. I have no idea how it will feel but I will write about it,