09. Labor of Love

Before I could begin writing this 2019 re-cap, I needed to take a trip down memory lane. On this long and arduous drive, I realized that this was a year I didn’t think I’d make it through. Recalling these many missteps helped me document some of the hardest work I’ve ever done — working on my relationship with myself. Though, I think this work was necessary. I stepped into a new decade of my life this year. Simultaneously, I’m stepping into a new decade in time. The end of one thing must always come before the beginning of another. So, before I take these next few steps of faith, I want to revisit my journey, unpack some of my baggage, and choose the things that will move forward with me.

Shortly after last year’s round-up post, I found myself battling anxiety about the almighty social media algorithm. To manage my wellness, I decided to do monthly round-ups instead of full-fledged campaigns. Not only was this more manageable, but it allowed me to live and share more of my life beyond work. Much of what’s written in this post can be viewed on my Instagram page. I was also invited by my wonderful friend, Thony Aiuppy, to write poetry in response to his exhibition Piercing the Veil. Through this, I was gifted with an amazing and specially-selected book called The Word Collector from my lovely friend, Hope McMath. To wrap up January, I participated in NEFAEA’s Adjudication Day, which was dedicated to reviewing the work of some of Northeast Florida’s brightest artistic talent in K-12 schools.

February is always a blast! I finally attended World of Nations, a local celebration of the many different cultures that thrive in Jacksonville. The new directions I’ve taken with my work are centered on both learning Jacksonville’s history in connection with the Harlem Renaissance and the history of Haiti. This newfound purpose emerged in late January and was swiftly answered when the illustrious Dr. Johnnetta Betsch-Cole gave an amazing lecture about her vast experiences throughout her career. (Fun Fact: She’s also a Jacksonville native!) Finally, I was invited back to River City Science Academy Innovation to host a play day for Black History Month. The kids were phenomenal! Only pictures can describe the fun we had, so check them out here!

March was full of reading, crying, and learning. I cranked out three books this month — Hoodoo, written by Ronald L. Smith, The Terrible, written by Yrsa Daley-Ward (Fun Fact: this book influenced the title of Episode 6), and The Poet X, written by Elizabeth Acevedo. I was truly running on E from the semester and a lot of self-doubt (check out Episode 7 for more details on that), but I managed to attend Roots Weekend, hosted by the wonderful Alternate Roots organization. That weekend amplified the emotional release and refilling that was desperately needed.

It’s often said that April showers bring May flowers. In this case, when it rained, it poured. Many wonderful things happened in April. I really pushed myself with my dry erase art and started to combat my fear of using color in my work. I also met the phenomenal Wil Haygood, author of the book-turned-film The Butler (Fun Fact: He spoke about curatorial experience, I, Too, Sing America: The Harlem Renaissance at 100, and his book of the same name) and the stellar Vashti Harrison, author and illustrator of Little Leaders (among a host of other books). My dear friend Yvette Angelique Hyater-Adams and her poetry students shared soul-stirring work on the final day of the Augusta Savage: Renaissance Womanexhibition at the Cummer Museum. (Fun Fact: Augusta Savage not only contributed heavily to the growth of Black artists during the Harlem Renaissance, but she’s also a Green Cove Springs native). But along with the sunshine comes the rain — many of my students who I’ve taught over the past few years graduated this month. It’s always sad to see the birds fly from the nest, but I’m so damn proud of them!

May didn’t bring as many flowers as the rain suggested. Though there were much fewer flowers, the ones that bloomed were some of the most beautiful. Not only did I see some of my students walk across the stage, but I also read a story that shattered me in ways I could have never predicted. Zora Neale Hurston’s Their Eyes Were Watching God unlocked so many tears and thoughts that were buried deep under the weight of responsibility. I’m forever grateful for that reading experience. I also kicked off my Twitch stream, which led to an unexpected spiral of self-doubt and self-depreciation.

In June, I became acquainted with and comfortable in sorrow’s bed. The love affair with distress allowed us to birth and nurture misery. To quote my Instagram round-up captions: “I lost myself as an artist, as a teacher, and as a person. So I made some things as I wandered; I let my mind and soul roam for a while, picking up gemstones and jewels along the way. So I read some things to make sense of other things; I let the voices in my head get the loudest when everything around me was silent. I wrote many of my thoughts so I could come to grips with many of my feelings.”

July forced me to sit with misery, my lovechild I previously mentioned. I drew things to appease it. I learned new things to impress it. I cried towards sunsets because I grew tired of it. This month was very hard.

For my 30th birthday this year, I decided to get my first tattoo. It’s the letter “R” in one of my favorite typefaces on my right arm. The “R” stands for so many things. My artist moniker is “Rev”, which I’ve gone by since I was 13. Not only does the “R” represent my artist name, but it also stands for many words that have given me faith throughout this journey of life: the things I needed — rest, recovery, revelations, and reconciliation; things that are important — reflection, remembrance, revolution, and revival; and the person that I am — a renaissance man. (Fun Fact: This month, this year, marked the return of our monthly fighting game series, Revival, after last year’s tragedy.)

September was the month that everything truly bubbled over. Many questions, even ones I didn’t know I held onto, were answered. Though, I was greeted with answers that I didn’t particularly want nor know how to use. In September, I hit three major milestones — I completed another album after a 4-year hiatus from music, I exhibited visual art after struggling to find my creative voice, and I ended my career as a competitive fighting game player. This was a month of emergence. Through both my visual art and my music, I came out as an openly queer man. My visual art culminated into a body of work titled REVELATION/REVOLUTION. It is a series of images that describe my experiences as Black queer man of size. The album, titled Mind Body Soul, is my personal exploration of Blackness, masculinity, and queer identity. It’s also a continuation from my 2017 exhibition of the same name. It was these experiences that revealed to me my existence is radical. As such, I decided to own it and celebrate the revolutionary act of living and loving myself. September was truly the month of many of my life’s story arcs ending — and it hurt like hell.

October gave me space and time to wander, question the irrefutable, and lose myself in the mess of it all. Many obstacles started to present themselves throughout the academic year, along with many physical ailments taking their toll on me. With those valleys came a tiny hill of acknowledgement as a distinguished Fine Arts alum from my alma mater, along with the immensely talented Dr. Jennifer Pascual. Truthfully, nothing made sense, but that’s how it was supposed to be. It’s just difficult to view things in that light when everything is in the fire and you’re in the thick it. But only in the flames can the blade be forged and only over heat can certain things be cooked. October’s motto was truly “burn, baby, burn!”

If October was the cooking, November is when things simmered so the flavors, or answers in this case, could marinate. The many pieces of so many puzzles started falling into place. It was in this month that I started to embrace the artist, educator, and person I became. I shared work from my book, One Day, I Hope That…, with my local community at the Jax by Jax Literary Arts Festival. This was another major stepping stone for me in the same vein as the REVELATION/REVOLUTION exhibition.

December — the friend who always visits, but never stays for as long as I want. As I step into both a new year and a new decade, I’m humbled to have made it this far. As much as I had hoped that this year would be rich and bountiful in work, it turns out 2018 was the year of the harvest (despite some extremely heavy losses). 2019 was getting back to tilling the soil, my willpower wavering, losing a lot of my crops (and peace of mind), and starting over until a few things began to work. I lost so much of myself in my last year of my twenties. But everything needed to be broken down, wiped clean, and a few things left behind before I could walk into the next decade of my life. Something grew in this dirt I loathed and toiled over for so long — a fruit of my labor. As both December and the decade come to a close, I’m reminded that these valuable things (shells, diamonds, stones, fruits, vegetables, etc) come with the dirt and the soil — the testaments of the journey of growth. These things are washed over with the waters of tears, love, and hope because the dirt has served its purpose and must be let go. Letting go of the familiar is difficult and frightening. But the fear of never seeing what could be is even more painful to bear. This fruit, a labor of love and pain, is one of the purposes of gardening. Through finding this fruit I was able to find my rhythm, find my patience, and, most importantly, find myself.

Welcoming the new decade with the year 2020, the Year of Clarity.

— Labor of Love