The Commission
This piece began simply: my niece asked for help creating something for Black History Month.
A sketch she could paint.
That kind of request sounds small on the surface—but it rarely is. These moments tend to carry more weight than they announce at first.
So I said yes, and started thinking in images instead of answers.
The Idea Inside the Bathroom Mirror
The scene became a school bathroom.
Four young girls stand at a sink, facing away from the viewer. They are washing their hands. Ordinary moment. Familiar setting.
But the mirror changes everything.
When they look up, they don’t just see their present reflection.
They see their future selves.
Not imagined vaguely—but clearly formed:
- a judge
- a surgeon
- a superhero figure
- a chef
Each one representing something foundational: justice, healing, protection, and nourishment.
Four Futures, One Reflection
The interesting part is what I chose to remove.
The future selves have no faces.
That absence is intentional.
It creates space for the viewer to step inside the image. To complete the identity with their own imagination. To ask:
What kind of version of me am I becoming?
Not just what job, but who am I inside that role?
What kind of judge brings justice?
What kind of surgeon brings care?
What kind of hero protects?
What kind of chef nourishes life?
The superhero figure ties them together—because in a way, all of these roles are forms of heroism.
The Making of the Piece
The final work became a shared creation.
I developed the sketch and constructed the environment—the structure, the walls, the floor, the space that holds the story.
My nieces brought it to life through painting.
They filled in the characters, the color, the emotion, and the energy that turns a sketch into something alive.
The process became less about instruction and more about participation—like building a world together rather than simply producing an image.
And somewhere inside that process, the piece stopped feeling like “an assignment for Black History Month” and became something more enduring.
A space children could enter.
Why This Matters for Black History
Black history is often taught as memory.
But it is also prediction.
It is the study of what survives, what transforms, and what continues through generations of children who grow into the world they inherit—and reshape it.
This piece sits in that space between memory and becoming.
It reminds us that children don’t only learn history.
They step into it.
And imagery matters—because what they see helps shape what they believe is possible for themselves.
Not just what they will become, but what kind of presence they will bring into what they become.
What I Learned Creating It
I was in the middle of preparing my own work when this came in. Time felt tight. Attention was split. Pressure was real.
But I made a decision to prioritize it anyway.
And looking back, I understand why.
Some works are not about output—they are about alignment. About responding when something carries more meaning than urgency.
This piece became one of the most meaningful things I created this year.
Not because it was complex.
But because it asked a simple question and refused to let it stay simple:
Who do you see when you look at your future self?
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