Growing Up Black | Brick, Glass, Ink, Steel | 2016

Growing up black, my condition was a spotlight. As the child of a two professionals (well-off-enough), I often found myself wedged into social groups where my skin color made me unique. My actions always seemed noticed, my accomplishments measured. I was taught to fear the way people might see me: “No matter how much you do they will never see you as an equal”; “Stop sagging your pants, they'll think you’re just another nigger”. Even in middle school I was called “slave boy”, and the first girl I spent my own money to buy a valentine for told me her father would never let her date "the black boy".

My presence felt messy, my being a burden. A steely shadow trying its best to balance a glass cup spilling ink on everything.