ARTS & CULTURE The Art of Being Black in White Spaces By NajLa Evans, Des Moines Art Center Curatorial Intern M y name is Najla Evans and as the Curatorial Intern here at the Des Moines Art Center I have had the amazing opportunity to explore the museum's vast collection of works by Black artists. One of my favorite artworks housed here is My Calling (Card) #1 by Adrien Piper. My introduction to Piper’s art was emancipating. As a young Black woman who has struggled with issues of race and identity, her work provided me with a language I desperately needed. From 1986 to 1990, Piper handed out “Calling Cards” at dinners and cocktail parties, in an ongoing performance designed to cleverly confront the racism of her peers. She draws on her experience as a light-skinned Black woman often mistaken for white or white-passing, highlighting the feelings of isolation, silencing, and invalidation through confrontational satire. Piper’s work explores the reality of being Black in America while asking her viewers to stop and consider their actions, words, and positionality within social dynamics. The experience of being a Black woman in a predominantly white space often comes with unwritten rules--keep a low profile, suppress your opinions, don’t be too loud, never disagree. While I don’t possess particularly light skin that might allow me to pass as white, I grew up in a small town in Iowa where many had limited exposure to Black individuals beyond media stereotypes, and my light brown complexion welcomed a plethora of ignorant comments. I frequently faced inquiries about my racial background, with follow-up questions probing my mixed heritage, as if it were crucial for others to know. “What are you?” “You don’t look Black.” Such inquiries only granted permission for further racist comments; the assertion that there were no “real” Black people present as I was “light brown” and “well-spoken.” Casually racist assumptions and comments about my life, my hips, my hair, made me acutely aware of the lack of understanding, empathy, and respect for my humanity. My attempts to assert myself against these remarks were often misconstrued as aggression, even though my voice rarely rises above a whisper. Standing up for myself was met with accusations or judgment of being too
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