March's Letter
"So much beauty that we forget to be reminded, that you can be anywhere and find it." -Yasiin Bey
Please consider reading this letter on Substack’s site by clicking the banner or the title of the letter as sometimes it will arrive truncated, as is the case with this one. Also, clicking the banner is the only way to view the most up-to-date version, as I fix all of the many, many grammatical errors that seem to magically appear after I send the letter to your inbox.
3.29.24
Hello there,
I hope that this letter comes to you gently and finds you with a clear mind and an open heart. I’m writing to you from Yuma, Arizona after a gorgeous drive in from Phoenix. It’s Spring, I can barely believe it. All week, the orange and red hues of the light pouring into my studio, has lingered well past 6pm. It feels so much like a rebirth. This winter was more grueling than I can remember one being. Emotionally grueling and physically grueling, like an endurance test. I’m so happy to be on the other side of it. I’ve recently completed my residency at Yaddo and I’ll be sitting with that experience for some time, processing it, holding space for the truths that it revealed about me. Residencies can be so much fun, like an artist’s summer camp, but they can also be difficult, deeply lonely and isolating.
When I first arrived, a writer, who was sharing stories about her many trips to Yaddo, said, “People forget that contemplation is an integral part of creation.” It struck me as quite profound as I was already gearing up to do what I normally do at residencies, focus far too much on production. I’m so happy that she offered me that gem at the start of my time there, as it encouraged me to move glacially. I wrote things, read, finished books, researched projects, made photographs, connected to new, exciting artists in genuine ways, and spent time with friends. Beyond unclogging my years long writer’s block, my time there gave me permission to think deeply.
Shadow work is not shiny, there are no immediate rewards, and it can feel like pointless, invisible labor. I have not worked much this year and, depending on which minute you ask me, I’m either depressed by that or understanding of it. Whenever work dries up it feels like a character assessment, or, even more apt, a character assassination. If people don’t want to hire me it means that my work is ugly or the kind of photographs that I’m making are boring, or, my genuine go to, that people don’t like working with me because I’m a bitch. My brain goes there because this industry is entirely punitive, preferring to black-list people instead of furnishing them with critique. You so rarely get any kind of feedback to know what’s true and what narratives you’ve conjured based on your own insecurities. And at the same time, the things that I’m interested in are changing.
Arguably, I’m making some of the best work of my life. I’m working on a very intense photo series, a collaborative body of work that’s taking me around the country. This project is asking things of me that I’ve never truly been forced to interrogate. It’s pushing me to sturdy my language and reify my morals and ethics. I’ve been writing poetry again, for the first time in five or so years, I’ve been writing essays and thinking through future writing. I have 100 rolls of unprocessed film on my desk and I’m about add what feels like 100 more in April. My personal work is flourishing and finding its language in new places, structures, and forms. This is the work of the shadows, yes, but it doesn’t have to feel that way. I’m realizing that it may not be shiny work or work that I’m ready to share publicly but sitting and talking to friends about the questions I’m asking and being asked, the space and conversations I’m trying to create, is a little shine, it is a little light. Overall, I feel a sense of burgeoning where it counts, in the personal archive, in my writing, in my voice, and in my ability to articulate and defend my work. It feels like I’m blooming into the artist that I truly want to be, one whose mission is to tell stories and shine a light where there is so little. Whose work defies the limitations of any one medium, who instead utilizes all of their skills, as Zac Manuel would say, all of their strengths and weaknesses, to tell stories with nuance, integrity, intentionality, craft, and respect. This feeling of unfolding is really perfect for the Spring. So, all in all, I’m feeling pretty good actually.
I haven’t shared any “new” work in these letters for some time, so here goes. One of the highlights from last year was photographing Ava Duvernay and Aunjanue Ellis for The New York Times. I’ll speak more on my feelings about Origin the film a little later, but I have a lot to say about Ava Duvernay. I have always adored Ava. I have the deepest respect for her commitment to craft and to telling our stories, spotlighting our people, with such care. These representations of real people and real stories are not always perfect representations, but the fact that she has dedicated her life to telling these stories and platforming other Black artists, with specific focus on Black women and femmes, is necessary and empowering work. I was so moved by her episode of Talk Easy and her episode of The New Yorker Radio Hour. I cried from both. It hurt me to hear the struggles she faced in getting her film made, and made in the way that she wanted, and released in time for the upcoming election. Hearing her talk about giving up and stepping away from making films, in the capacity that she has been making them, broke me. So many Black people who really care about us, even if that care is imperfect, are feeling defeated and misled by the promises of this doomed industry. Every industry in fact. Issa Rae spoke about these things in her TIME magazine profile and Quinta Brunson alluded to not knowing where her next show would thrive in this New Yorker piece. But there was something truly heartbreaking about Ava’s particular sense of defeat. Her film, a truly transcendent and gut-wrenching approach to Isabella Wilkerson’s life story, didn’t even snag an Oscar nomination. Aunjanue Ellis’ performance was bar none in the film and should have been a sweep, but I guess since she wasn’t playing the help… I’ve been so disheartened by so much of what I’m hearing from my friends working in Hollywood, brilliant, gifted, and ambitious artists who are seeing fewer and fewer opportunities as the pendulum of guilt that guides white people’s desire to hire us, swings away from DEI conversations and Black issues. And don’t get me started on Ava using her platform to speak out about Palestine and how much that likely played a part in her being snubbed. Being a Black artist with any integrity at all seems to be a near universal impossibility if you want to succeed.
My first Hopkins Review cover has been released and it’s gorgeous! It made me a bit weepy the first time I held it in my hands. That image represents a very particular time in my life, one of great loss and sadness, it’s so nice that now the image gets a new context, a second life. And a preview of the second cover is up on their Instagram as well. I was commissioned to photograph Modern Republic, an amazing Philadelphia based design showroom, for Dwell at the start of the year. I also took great pleasure in photographing several of Laura Wheeler Waring’s artworks inside a conservation studio at The Met for The New York Times. Speaking of the Times, my portrait of Kelela was a part of their 2023 Year in Photos, and I was honored to photograph WSJ Journalist Evan Gershkovich's parents, on the one year anniversary of his detainment in Russia, for the Times as well.
Last week, a very important story that I had the great fortune of photographing for Scientific American came out. The story focuses on the current onslaught of legislative threats against the LGBTQ+ communities and our rights, and the effects that those threats have on families and queer children’s mental health. The story was very heavy and complex to photograph. We had to make compelling images while obscuring the identities of the families. I’m extremely proud of this story and these images and I’m so thankful to Sweet Joel, my dear friend and assistant, for driving us from Massachusetts to Georgia, Georgia to Florida, then from Florida to home, safely. A lovely bonus in the issue was this write up about me in the contributor’s section. I felt so seen and appreciated. Thank you, Monica for thinking of me for this.
Lastly, my photographs of Mother Fletcher for The Washington Post won in the 2024 Communication Arts Photography Annual. I’m overjoyed. Joel and I worked hard to make some beautiful portraits and it’s nice to be recognized. I’m told there is a trophy so prepare to see me act a goddamned fool and give a speech in my bathroom mirror when I receive it.
I also want to take a second to big up some of my friends who have made me so proud this week.
One of my best friends, Luis, submitted his first piece of fiction to Granta. This move toward becoming a serious fiction writer is such a big deal and so hard-won. No matter the outcome, it has been such a joy and a privilege to witness how much brilliance he’s been able to materialize from his beautiful heart. My dear friend Nicholas is starring in the upcoming season of White Lotus and I couldn’t be prouder if I tried. Another dear friend, my darling Sheyi, is starring in a movie that just premiered on Netflix, The Beautiful Game. The wait for this one has been insane, so I’m especially excited to watch it. My sweet friend Zac’s documentary about Lil Nas X premiered a bit ago and he’s been screening that gorgeous film all over the place. One of my favorite living artists and my brother in law, Stephen Towns, has had one of his most significant pieces, an awe inspiring, honorific portrait of Joyce J. Scott, collected by The National Portrait Gallery in DC. His IG post about this moment shows the depths of his consideration. And finally, my darling, Luis Santana, has released a book of his photographs called, Sol, made in collaboration with his partner under their LALU Studios imprint. I’m so excited for my copy to arrive! All of my babies are doing the damn thing!!
Reading, Watching, & Listening…
There’s literally no way to recap all of the articles, essays, profiles, books, poems, etc. that I’ve read since November, so I’ll just try for the highlights. I’m currently finishing God Made My Face by Hilton Als. The book, which paints a nuanced picture of Baldwin, his life, his work, and his relationships, sings across every page. The art is fantastic and Als’ writing is pristine and staggering. I was so moved by Barry Jenkin’s unexpected essay about his love of Baldwin and his experience making Beale Street. The book is a love letter the caliber and scale of Als’ previous offering, What She Means, a book that takes a similar look at Joan Didion’s work and life through art. I loved 100 Boyfriends by Brontez Purnell. Hilarious, nasty, and salacious. It was my first time really sitting with Purnell’s writing in a serious way and what a huge treat. I listened to this excellent podcast that led me to read On Grief by Jennifer Senior. The book, originally published as an Atlantic article, was small but mighty. The story of Bobby Mcilvaine, a young writer who died on 9/11, was full of shocking twists and turns and eloquently explored the complex journey of grief and memory. It was harrowing and dark but significant and unforgettable. I first fell in love with Senior’s writing in 2022 when she published this article, also with The Atlantic.
In the latest issue of Granta I fell in love with Brandon Taylor’s tender, Stalin, Lenin, and Robespierre as well Guy Gunaratne’s glistening introduction to the work one of my favorite photographers, Kalpesh Lithagra. In the latest Paris Review I became obsessed with Sean Thor Conroe and his piece, The Walk Book.
I loved this article on friendship, this piece about the ghosts (and bats) at Yaddo, which I can attest to, and this piece about the difficulty a writer faced as she approached 30, a piece that made me feel like grandma Moses. I was inspired by this shimmering series of poems by my absolute favorite, Abdul Ali, and ruined by this piece about Aunjanue Ellis. The writing in this piece was spiritual and vibrant and I loved learning about the lore surrounding the old sax. And lastly, I appreciated learning about the ways Abbott Elementary’s young babies are juggling acting and their studies.
On Substack, my Substack bestie
has been keeping me fed with their incredible words, debut novel Victim has finally entered the world and I… have yet to receive my copy (all my fault). I’m so excited to read it and so proud of Andrew! wrote this unbelievable piece about that jackass, Kanye West and it was scathing, honest, visceral, critical, and absolutely musical.Keeping Time was a visual feast and such a unique story. I’d been following Darol Olu Kae for a little while and it was exciting to dive into his oeuvre. Saltburn was a fucking freakshow and it brought the freakshow out of my weird ass as I found myself suspiciously attracted to Barry Keoghan, a white man. Very disorienting. The story and the acting were delightful. Colman Domingo, as expected, was a triumph in Rustin. This man is in a league of his own!
Bottoms was fucking hilarious and I will stan Ayo until I am blue in the face. I loved American Fiction, I thought, beyond the masterclass that was the entire cast’s acting, I really loved this as a cultural offering. I’ve read all the deep dives and the take downs about representing this kind of elitist Black life and I will shoo them away by saying, yes, I understand this, and this movie is absolutely still necessary. I want to see as many types of Blackness on screen as there are in the world. Period. Always. The story line about the older woman finding love later in life and the Sterling K. Brown’s character’s reckoning with his sexuality and traumas were my favorite slice of this masterful cake.
Origin was one of the best movies that I’ve seen in the past five years. I’ve had so many uncomfortable conversations with people offering criticism of the film. “Why did we need to see Trayvon Martin?” was among the more consistent refrains. These critiques came mostly from cis/het male film directors (so in some ways, they were easy to dismiss), but proffered many layers of discontent in the way that Ava displayed Black suffering. There is a lot of validity to this, yes, but these stories were important and you cannot please everyone. I was in the movie theater fighting for my life. I cried so much that, at one point, I thought I might actually float away. Seeing the interior life of this curious, rigorous, considerate Black woman was everything I needed and knew damn well I needed. We get SO many depictions of the intellectual lives of white people and when it’s a Black person we have to keep having discourse about the other representations of Blackness that feel at odds. I really just… please hush. The cinematography, the falling leaves, the acting, the writing, the style of film making, blending documentary sensibilities into this narrative film, an act of brazen genius. I am so proud of Ava, Aunjanue, and Niecy, they really gave us something substantial to wrestle with. I could not be more thankful.
Killers of The Flower Moon made me hate Martin Scorsese’s work even more. Unmoved. Lily Gladstone was a subdued force in her role, she moved worlds with just a glare, but focusing the film on white people was so uninteresting. Trying to make me believe that Leo Dicaprio’s character loved her was Snoozeville USA. They reduced this woman to ash with incessant, terroristic levels of suffering and we do not understand why she stayed with a man who clearly did not love her. This is so clearly a film written by a man to focus on the perspective of a man. We don’t learn anything about her interior thought processes, she’s just knocked over by loss. And at the end, a fucking play? Please, STOP funding this man’s films. I’m so tired.
I was stirred by the honesty, raw creativity, and prophetic power of the sci-fi documentary Lyd by my dear friend Sarah Ema Friedland and Rami Younis. The story, shot over a seven year period and released last August, focuses on Lyd, a city that once “connected Palestine to the World”, and it imagines alternative futures for its people. The film is haunting, given the moment of its release, but still a wonder all its own.
I loved this SZA interview. I’m not really a fan of Zane Lowe as an interviewer, he feels too familiar and a bit performative in a way that irks me, and he doesn’t always ask smart questions, but I think SZA’s candor here was generous. Vulnerability and transparency. I loved this chat between Katherine Heigl and Ellen Pompeo, very much Justice for Izzie Stevens, bitch, energy.
Seeing Regina King resurface has been such a bittersweet experience. I knew that eventually she would have to reenter the public because I’ve been following her journey to get Shirley made, which I still haven’t watched, but I hope that this part of her job didn’t upend her necessary period of mourning. Her Good Morning America interview was really hard. She is such a strong, elegant woman, and her views on her son’s passing, understanding and respecting his choice, was a thing that I’ve been waiting for a Black person with a platform to express for a long time. This emotional ass Jimmy Kimmel moment made me sob into my palm. I hate that she had to hold his grief in that moment too. It was hard to watch. Regina is such an important artist for me. When I wrote my screenplay for Miramax in 2021, she was one of two actors that I had in mind for every single second of that process. And of course, she, like Ava, had to make sure this film came out before the election. Black women using their platforms, their power, to remedy the hateful nature of this country. Whether you believe in their methods/approaches you have to commend them both.
This short film deserved the Oscar it won. A very human centered joy! I cannot believe how late I was to Happy Valley! WOW! Now that is British television at its finest! Pure genius. Addictive and riveting. And they waited like 14 years between series two and series three. Absolutely wild. Ramy Youssef, my baby’s father, gave a blistering, rousing, and just plain incredible opening monologue last night as he hosted SNL. He did play it safe with the hostages inclusion, tbh, and the trans joke felt really funny, but without acknowledging TDOV, made me, at the very least, raise an eyebrow of ire. But I’m proud of him and so inspired by his comedic prowess.
I have been ruined by the cancellation of Julia as I believe it was the best show on television. It had excellent ratings and was a glowing depiction of the ways that people and love can evolve over time, in all the best possible ways. If I had a Max subscription I would cancel it on the spot. An unforgivable choice. Same thing with Rap Shit! Disgusting. I’m not sure what’s going on with these streamers but I’m glad I don’t have an account with a single one. Thank you to all the girls who share their passwords with me lol. You’re doing God’s work.
Niecy Nash won an Emmy for her role in Dahmer, a challenging watch but one that I enjoyed. She gave the speech to end all speeches and she looked unreal. My statuesque queen.
Speaking of Niecy, I loved this episode of Death, Sex, and Money featuring her and her wife. They seem like such gracious people and I loved hearing about their love story. Friendship first! I’ve listened to this New Yorker podcast episode, of Teju Cole reading Anne Carson, about 14 times. What a perfect combination, what a voice. This Talk Easy episode with Dr. Seema Jilani, about her time working in hospitals in Gaza was overwhelming. Necessary but very much trigger warning.
I could go on and on about the things I’ve been sitting with, but this post is already too long for the email.
Sadly, I can’t finish this letter without acknowledging that my mother’s best friend, Mr. Al died a week after February’s newsletter came out. It is a devastating loss during an already difficult time. Mr. Al was a wonderful person who loved my mother so deeply, it breaks my heart to even think about it. I’m happy that his suffering is over but what void he’s left in his wake.
I’m sorry to end this letter on a somber note, but… life. I’m hoping that April will arise sans showers and that she hurries the hell up with the flowers. Until then, I’m wishing you a joyful, productive, and stimulating month! Happy Easter and Happy Trans Day of Visibility!
Talk soon.
Wouldn’t it be great going into a job knowing “if I mess this up and you hate it, you’ll work with me to help me become a better photographer for what you need from me,” rather than just thinking “if I mess this up I’ll never work for you again and lose a regular client”
Yo G! Man I hope you get to that copy, or it gets to you, soon. Either way, thank you for the shout out and for the kind words. I've always appreciated your support! Hope you enjoy the book whenever you do get to read it.