Tag: writing

The Earth Never Forgets

Late last year I had the honor of attending an Equal Justice Initiative and Community Remembrance Project posthumous memorial service and marker dedication for one Robert Mosley. In 1890 Robert Mosley was dragged away from life in Meridianville, Alabama, hung by an enraged mob of over 450 men. This southern son’s light was snuffed out in broad daylight. This act of homegrown terrorism was carried out not by the courts, but by self-appointed executioners, fueled by fear-based hatred and the presumption of guilt. Robert Mosley’s age was somewhere between 16 and 19. Basically a child.

I had the challenge and honor of doing a portrait of Mr Mosley in red clay which I gathered from the area of his murder. Working with red clay gives me the feeling of working with a living substance. It is, as a professor once told me, “rich with the blood of y(our) ancestors.” The red clay that forms this image is not merely pigment. It is a reminder of the blood shed on this southern landscape for what we now call home. This painting calls us to bear witness—not just to the life of Robert Moseley, but to the countless others whose names have been forgotten in the ashes of social violence.

During the ceremony, the photographer approached me about the portrait and his camera’s interaction with the eyes. He explained to me the sensitivity of his AI powered camera – how it could detect human eyes. He went on to say that it was reading the eyes of the portrait as human. I heard him but didn’t think anything of it. Several times more in passing he would comment on it, in obvious awe. Finally at the end of the ceremony when he was taking a photo of another gentleman and myself next to the piece, he came over shaking his head and said, “You’ve got to see this!” he proceeded to tell us that the camera had actually recognized the portrait’s eyes before it had ours. In the camera, I saw the green dots focused in on the eyes of the portrait of Robert Mosley. If I’d had another mindset, it could have come across as eerie. Obviously, to him it was rather fantastical and somewhat unbelievable.

At home that evening, I found myself looking through the photos of the program online. The words on the posterior of the marker read.

With his last words, Robert reportedly objected to the mob’s covering his face with a handkerchief, pleaded, “Let me see one more time in this world.”

As I read those words, a chill ran through me. Let me see one more time in this world. And here was this portrait—his likeness, his spirit—being recognized by an artificial eye meant only for the living. The thought settled deep in my chest. Had I, in some way, created a portal for his sight? Had the clay, the very earth itself, become a vessel for something beyond my understanding?

Sitting in the dim glow of my screen, I stared at the image—still seeing in my mind’s eye the green dots locked onto his eyes. It’s as if the camera, too, was acknowledging his presence. Maybe it was just technology behaving strangely. Or maybe, just maybe, Robert Mosley finally got the chance to see in this world one more time. After all, it is A.R.T. …A Resurrecting Truth.

Alien Nation: Existing Among Them or Living As One

There is an ongoing debate regarding the presence of life on Mars and/or other planets. 1996, scientists announced that they found evidence of ancient life on Mars in the meteorite ALH 84001, which was collected in Antarctica. We hear of these findings and relegate them as background noise to the sound track of our lives. We simple don’t believe or won’t because of how we have been instructed to believe. What if there are “99 other unfallen worlds”? What if we are not really living our own lives? What if we are living this life on someone else’s terms? What if we are just falling into line based on patterns set by algorithms and social conditioning? The aptly crowned father of Afrofuturism, musician and philosopher Sun Ra, also from Alabama, spoke of being from another planet, of visiting other worlds. Many if not most of us would dismiss this idea or ideal as ridiculous or delusional at best. Take note that Sun Ra’s drummer, Marshall Allen is still touring…at 100 years old as of May 25, 2024.

In one of the X-Men movies, Aurora and Jean are having a hard time accepting what Kurt is telling them about himself. He responds with these paradigm shifting words, “Most people will only believe what they see with their own two eyes.” How limiting that is. This leaves no room for faith or knowing outside of the box. Often when people dare to veer outside the box, they are alienated. Few things are taken into mainstream belief until accepted and coopted by the status quo. So most people shuffle through life in quiet desperation sipping on the tea of forgetfulness sweetened with a heaping spoonful of groupthink.

The other day I wrestled with this subject and the alien nature of it all. I know where my feet have trod and my mind has traveled. It’s been a journey I tell you. How many others must also experience the same revelations only to shut them down by the voices of reason encroaching from the outside. All the way home, the ideas of martians, aliens or whatever else might be out there, here with us or be us, orbited my mind. A short while after arriving home, I received a call from my first born daughter asking me to go outside and look to the sky (she lives around the corner). I did, and there loomed a luminescent starry light. First, I went through every logical explanation on what it could be. It sat beneath the heavy cloud bank and never moved. It was not a plane or satellite. I finally came inside, knowing what the title of this blog would be. The idea of alienation is inseparable from the idea of living life on our own terms.

What if being alien wasn’t about being apart, but being apart from fear? What if we chose courage over comfort, purpose over approval? What if we chose to live on our own terms breaking free from the quiet desperation of fitting into lives designed by others. Instead of surviving on what’s “dished out,” we take the raw ingredients of our existence—flawed, messy, miraculous—and create something true and relevant.

The bottom line is that we are all aliens here—strangers to each other, to ourselves, and to the dreams we’ve been handed like unwanted but accepted old hand-me-downs . Personal alienation feels as vast and cold as outer space, where the rules of survival aren’t written for us or by us but imposed by someone else’s limited idea of life space. Are we willing to go where no man has gone before?

Imagine no longer waiting for permission to dream your dream, to love, to thrive in your own rhythm. Imagine a life where alienation isn’t exile but liberation, where we reclaim our space and write our narrative among the stars, rather than shrinking into the dark corners of someone else’s dream…or nightmare.

To live fully, boldly, is to embrace the alien within—odd, radiant, and untethered. Life isn’t meant to be spent in the shadow of someone else’s vision. It’s meant to be lived, fully and unapologetically, in the brilliance of our own light. On this planet, where the dishes are often unpalatable and shaped by others, let us become the master chef of our own feasts, the architects of our own worlds. I’ve caught long glimpses and I know they exist…

Would you dare to be alien enough to live your dream?

Standing In The Night

The other night as I made my sojourn home after what seemed like hours in traffic, I saw this lone oak tree out in the field. I’ve seen this tree standing there at that turn through every season year after year. It’s been the focus many photos . This particular night, however, it seemed to possess a different power. I felt like it was speaking directly to me about the Power of standing. Not just standing when you have all your ducks in a row or you think you’re at your best but standing just as tall under the cloak of darkness. Life often brings moments that feel like long nights—when the darkness seems overwhelming, and the weight of our struggles eclipses the light of our creative spirit. For those of us with unconventional careers—artists, writers, innovators—these nights can feel particularly heavy. Especially since we’re already navigating uncharted waters, relying on our passion, plans, and fortitude to stay afloat.

Recently, I was reminded of this when a dear friend, someone I consider a sister, faced the unimaginable loss of both her parents within a short time. These were people who not only shaped her life but also touched mine. They were pillars, guiding lights whose love and wisdom made the world feel more steady. In their absence, she could have crumbled under the weight of grief. But instead, I saw her stand—tall, unwavering, and deeply rooted in her truth. Her smile became the sunshine, the glow in dark times.

Watching her navigate this profound loss, I was struck by her resilience. She reminded me that standing in the night is not about denying the darkness. It’s about acknowledging it while refusing to let it extinguish your light. As creatives, we often find ourselves in similar moments. The rejection, the self-doubt, the financial uncertainty—they can all conspire to pull us into the shadows and choke out the power of our craft.

But here’s the lesson: the night is not the end. It’s a canvas. In those moments of darkness, you have a choice. You can retreat, or you can create. You can let the night silence you, or you can let it inspire you to speak louder. My friend chose to stand in her power, honoring her parents’ legacy by continuing to live fully, to love deeply, and to create meaning from her pain. For those of us pursuing paths that require risk, courage and creativity, we must do the same. We have to stand in the night. We have to create in spite of it—or perhaps because of it. Our art, our work, our very lives are testimonies to the fact that the night cannot last forever. Moreover, You’re never really alone, no matter how solitary you feel. You are rooted in the dreams and hopes of the ancestors, planted in this earth.

Remember that stars shine brightest in the darkest skies. So, when life feels heavy, remember this: your power and connection doesn’t vanish with the setting sun. It becomes a beacon, guiding you and others through the night. Stand tall. Stand firm. Stand in the night. And know that your light, no matter how dim it may feel, has the power to guide you home while illuminating the path for someone else. Keep creating. Keep believing. Keep standing.