Chantel Gillus (’24), Staff Writer

Art

noun

Definition: The Black woman

She is the painting on the wall. The painting that drips of melanin colors that blend together to create a portrait of beauty. The same melanin colors that illuminate a glow so bright that passersby stop to admire the masterpiece before them.

She is a template. A template that is crafted by the ones before her that exemplified how to be a Black woman and what it means to be one. Yet, this template is continuously being modified as new eras present itself. This template is not permanent nor is it one-dimensional, but more of a blueprint to follow or be inspired to draw one of your own.

She is a sculpture. Her clay is made of cocoa butter, so smooth that you desire to reach out and touch it, but you cannot. Her mold is too sweet, too refined, and too rare for it to be tainted by ones who do not know how to handle with care. Her clay dries into a sturdy statue that represents power. A powerful sight like the one of a mother-to-be. The shape of a pregnant Black woman is like a Renaissance painting; a promotion of rebirth and the advancement of new life.

She is a dance. A contemporary dance that is forever changing physically, spiritually, intellectually, and culturally. Her curls bounce to the beat of an African drum. The everyday steps of her feet provide a beat to the fierce song only she hears. Her body sways in a liberal
manner that emits golden energy. She is all dance genres: the classiness of ballet, the sassiness of jazz, the improvisation of tap, and the freeness of hip-hop.

She is music. Her distinct language are lyrics to a song. Her accent is the ad libs that add flavor to the melody. Her laughter is the tune to the track that keeps you smiling. She is alternative due to her atypical nature, and her heart is the inspiration to an R&B song that has you feeling-feels that elevate your healing. She is both the sleekness of jazz and the intensity of rock music. She is the force of the bass.

She is a movie. Her birth is the opening credits to a lengthy coming-of-age tale. She is always coming-of-age as she grows and peels new layers of herself with time. She is the director, producer, screenwriter, costume designer, set designer, hair stylist, and makeup artist. She is the editor as she is constantly remaking her story through unique reboots. She cuts out people and things that do not add to her story. Her experiences in life make an intricate and intense plot that keeps you on the edge of your seat and wanting more. Her life is a movie set that is adjusted at the hands of her acrylic nails.

She is fashion. The fabric, seams, and buttons of her personality are what clothe her mannequin. Her clothing is loud no matter the style because her presence demands rave reviews. She is as flashy and/or sophisticated as the jewelry clasped around her body. She is retro as she holds onto styles of the past, but remains refreshed. She is the trend that others follow, but she cannot be copied. She is custom-fitted.

She is poetry. A free verse that follows no rules, patterns, or rhyme. She is the complex words that run through the stanzas. Her form is of her choosing and her message is deep; you either understand her or you don’t.

She is a picture. Her existence is permanent like a picture that’s frozen in time, consisting of memories with moments and individuals that helped craft the woman that graces us today. The picture that is presented before us is evidence of her composition. The eyes and eyelids of others are cameras that snap timeless portraits, and the memory of her will be propped and framed. She is the vision of their vision.

She is the Black woman.
She is I. She is you. She is us.
We are art.

To my Black mother, my Black grandmothers, my Black sisters, my Black aunties, my Black nieces, my Black girl cousins, and my Black girl-friends.

Thank you for being unconventional art forms. I enjoy being an aesthete of the art work that you present to me through your vivid and heartfelt narratives. I view another side of life through your God-sculptured eyes. You are galleries that I browse for inspiration and newfound intellect. You are like Realism paintings being your honest selves and being a personification of candidness. Your walks and your talks inspire me to paint my own story and grow as an artist overtime.

Through you, I have the privilege of hearing stories that awaken my senses in the face of life.

Through you, I appreciate the colorfulness of being a Black woman. Through you, I learn to be a creator.

You are my favorite artists. I love you.