HOPE RIVER

1. 

   LOVE III, Hope River, 2024, Pencil and acrylic on paper, 42 x 29.7cm

   

   LOVE V, Hope River, 2024, Acrylic and pencil on paper, 42 x 29.7cm

   

   LOVE IV, Hope River, 2024, Pencil and acrylic on paper, 42 x 29.7cm

   

   LOVE II, Hope River, 2024, Pencil, acrylic, ink, and pastel on paper, 42 x 29.7cm

   

   LOVE, Hope River, 2024, Pencil, acrylic, ink, and pastel on paper, 42 x 29.7cm

   

   LOVE, THE BLACK TYPE, Hope River, 2024, inkjet print, 118.9 x 84.1cm

   

   Untitled, Hope River, 2024, pencil on paper, 42 x 29.7cm

   

   Untitled, Hope River, 2024, pencil on paper, 42 x 29.7cm

   

   Untitled, Hope River, 2024, pencil on paper, 42 x 29.7cm

   

   Untitled, Hope River, 2024, pencil on paper, 42 x 29.7cm

   

   Untitled, Hope River, 2024, pencil on paper, 42 x 29.7cm

   

   Untitled, Hope River, 2024, pencil on paper, 42 x 29.7cm

   

   Untitled, Hope River, 2024, pencil on paper, 42 x 29.7cm

   

   Shadow play (detail), Hope River, 2024, tracing paper, pencil, and cling film on paper, 42 x 59.4cm

   

   Shadow play (detail), Hope River, 2024, tracing paper, pencil, and cling film on paper, 42 x 59.4cm

   

   Shadow play (detail), Hope River, 2024, tracing paper, pencil, and cling film on paper, 42 x 59.4cm

   

   Shadow play (detail), Hope River, 2024, tracing paper, pencil, and cling film on paper, 42 x 59.4cm

   

   Shadow play (detail), Hope River, 2024, tracing paper, pencil, and cling film on paper, 42 x 59.4cm

   

   Shadow play (detail), Hope River, 2024, tracing paper, pencil, and cling film on paper, 42 x 59.4cm

   • 1

     LOVE III, Hope River, 2024, Pencil and acrylic on paper, 42 x 29.7cm

   • 2

     LOVE V, Hope River, 2024, Acrylic and pencil on paper, 42 x 29.7cm

   • 3

     LOVE IV, Hope River, 2024, Pencil and acrylic on paper, 42 x 29.7cm

   • 4

     LOVE II, Hope River, 2024, Pencil, acrylic, ink, and pastel on paper, 42 x 29.7cm

   • 5

     LOVE, Hope River, 2024, Pencil, acrylic, ink, and pastel on paper, 42 x 29.7cm

   • 6

     LOVE, THE BLACK TYPE, Hope River, 2024, inkjet print, 118.9 x 84.1cm

   • 7

     Untitled, Hope River, 2024, pencil on paper, 42 x 29.7cm

   • 8

     Untitled, Hope River, 2024, pencil on paper, 42 x 29.7cm

   • 9

     Untitled, Hope River, 2024, pencil on paper, 42 x 29.7cm

   • 10

     Untitled, Hope River, 2024, pencil on paper, 42 x 29.7cm

   • 11

     Untitled, Hope River, 2024, pencil on paper, 42 x 29.7cm

   • 12

     Untitled, Hope River, 2024, pencil on paper, 42 x 29.7cm

   • 13

     Untitled, Hope River, 2024, pencil on paper, 42 x 29.7cm

   • 14

     Shadow play (detail), Hope River, 2024, tracing paper, pencil, and cling film on paper, 42 x 59.4cm

   • 15

     Shadow play (detail), Hope River, 2024, tracing paper, pencil, and cling film on paper, 42 x 59.4cm

   • 16

     Shadow play (detail), Hope River, 2024, tracing paper, pencil, and cling film on paper, 42 x 59.4cm

   • 17

     Shadow play (detail), Hope River, 2024, tracing paper, pencil, and cling film on paper, 42 x 59.4cm

   • 18

     Shadow play (detail), Hope River, 2024, tracing paper, pencil, and cling film on paper, 42 x 59.4cm

   • 19

     Shadow play (detail), Hope River, 2024, tracing paper, pencil, and cling film on paper, 42 x 59.4cm

   LOVE, THE BLACK TYPE

   It’s 4OO hours and snowing somewhere in Oklahoma.

   A petrol station is the only glow against a backdrop void of the five senses. The peace is unsettling. It feels like we’re at Legba’s crossroads, staring into the past, present, and future simultaneously. But this shrine-like petrol station, with its sickly-sweet façade, fluorescent light buzz, and air of otherworldly worship, makes the prospect of stepping into the void, ok-ish.

   Two strangers search for their seats on a Greyhound chariot parked out front, it’s passing into the void, into everywhere but nowhere. Checking seat numbers against the ones blazing on their phones every step, they slumber through the aisle. Sleepiness and vigilance, traits inherent to both. He’s in 20a, she’s 20b. Two black seats right at the back. Really, nigger, is race still a thing in the afterlife or just a home comfort during your transition? For some reason, rows 17, 18 and 19 are missing. The two share a look that says, “just keep movin’, we know this shit already, it, it don’t matter.” After a couple of rough starts - something to do with a wrong soul count - the chariot makes it tracks.

   A lot is going on. Cotton shaped weed clouds fill the air, we hope Snoop is here to lighten the mood. The driver loses his nut, screaming federal laws as if it matters where we’re going – he still thinks we’re down there, bless him. Kids cry, pissed their routines have been fucked up because of an 8-hour delay. A broken toilet door hits and whips, fanning shit directly across 20a and b.

   Who are these strangers? Well, he’s got swag, the geeky Kendrick kind. With chocolate skin, a slim build, and wired glasses, he sits at the edge of sensibility. Wearing a checked mantle, silky trackies, and a balaclava, the portal to his soul lies in his eyes and 4c Nappy crown. She’s bonnie, the Lianne kind. With honey skin, a slender Rwandan physique, and foresight, she sits in sensibility. Wearing a knitted shawl, smudged jeans, and her 3b crown in a knot, her smile is the portal to her soul.

   They share a sense of familiarity, though they’ve never crossed paths – so they think. They speak in gestures alone, use a code pre-written in their African ancestry. He passes her his Taco Bell wrapper to bin. Whilst she bins it, she passes him her half-eaten Subway. With bloodshot eyes he watches a strange ass cartoon on his phone, it makes him belly laugh. Though annoyed by the fact he isn’t wearing headphones, she’s just happy he’s found joy. He sees her trying to sleep, so he puts his phone to sleep. They share a final look that says, “sweet dreams.”

   Eventually, they surrender to a comfortable rest. Unapologetically nestled into each other. Legs entwined, jackets turned blankets shared. Two strangers, at the end of this life, anyway, entering one dream of no return.

   It’s 400 years ago and snowing everywhere, but nowhere.

   Dazed, they wake up. They consider trying to stand on their feet, but staying still seems like an omen of the lasting peace to come.

   A white candle is the only glow against a blood painted and sugar flavoured sky. Legba’s shadow enters and leaves its glow. Now, as Mr and Mrs, they still commune in gestures, this time as a strong embrace. Their time is nigh, but “it, it don’t matter.” They’re forever too starved to eat, too speechless to talk, too tired to sleep, too dead to live. When the light dies, and the white wax sets all, that is when their promise of freedom will come to be. That is when the void will envelope their being, but never destroy their love.

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