Rise.

My experience being diagnosed with Lupus Nephritis at the top of 2024, along with the meaning and questions behind my newest painting "Rise."

It took three visits to my doctor and two visits to the ER for me to be diagnosed with Class 4 Lupus Nephritis. This diagnosis means that my immune system is attacking my vital organs and tissues, but chose to really attack my kidney. That more than 50% of my important blood vessels were damaged before I received proper treatment, and eventually, I may need dialysis or even a kidney transplant.

"Rise." Sketch. Procreate. I made this during my time in the hospital.

During this time, I was hospitalized twice, both times for 5 days. Both times, time stood still as I gazed outside my window wondering when this would start making sense. Sitting and wondering, why I became sick.

Wrestling with my maybes, I wondered if God stopped loving me. Or maybe he gave up on me. Or maybe I was born to suffer.

Maybe I deserved this.

Maybe I needed to revert back to my intense solitude.

Or maybe I was someone who would always be almost there, just for something to pull me back into that abyss…

When family visited I would feel so good again, all sentimental and warm-like because I felt their love. Especially when they’d make me laugh, hug me tight, or make me watch Tubi movies. 

But when the clock struck 9, and the nurse made them leave, the loneliness would return, and I’d be back to staring out my window as tears would fall down my cheek.

I’d wonder if I was weak because I wasn’t a lupus warrior, and I had no desire to be one. I read other Black women’s stories and most would say things like they worked from their hospital beds. That their pace didn’t change. That they were mostly silent about the emotional toll lupus had on them.

I wondered if I was weak because I did none of those things. I let those who asked know that my life had changed, that I was different, that I was sick and I would always be that way. That I was in pain, that emotionally and physically I was not the same. I took a break from school, I said no to opportunities, and I decided to be still for a while as I got used to my new body.

I wondered why I was supposed to be strong at a time when I barely had the strength to stand on my feet. 

Why is it that my non-Black doctors could so easily tell me that they were sorry for my condition, while so many relatives and friends just decided I would be fine?

Why did my not being okay feel like it threatened their comfort?

Sometimes I'd catch myself pretending, holding in my tears and telling the tale that I was fine because I didn't want to be a burden looking for sympathy.

Looking outside my window my grandmother and the people I read about would cross my mind, and I’d wonder if they downplayed their illnesses because they knew people just wouldn’t understand. Or maybe they didn’t want them to worry. Or maybe they were tethered to the idea of being "strong," of not being a "burden."

And then I’d wonder why we were silently taught to bear the entire weight of being ill so that the healthy people around us would feel okay.

So, in that bed, looking out my window, I decided there was nothing strong about suffering in silence and I’d weep for them. 

I prayed that those people would know that vulnerability was strength enough so they wouldn’t live a life of carrying around all they had to go through as it made them sicker.

Looking outside my window I thought about why Blackness was so limited that we are rarely allowed to explore our humanity and all that it is. For the good, bad, and the ugly. We only ever wanted to talk about our perseverance and excellence.

Why did my being sensitive always feel like a rebellion against my skin? I thought about my art. I asked why we were so bound to the idea that strength had everything to do with suffering in solitude. Why did we not realize that being a golden trophy was still a shell? Was still an assumption that we lacked depth and complexity? Why did we keep ourselves bound just because we were shiny?

Why did I, a Black woman, have such a hard time allowing someone to hold me when I needed to be held? Why was I so ashamed of crying when they diagnosed me? Why did I let the world take away my delicate nature so that I could just harbor everyone else's pain while mine lay doormat and fester into what is now a lifelong disease? Why was I willing to continue doing this to myself? Attempting to carry everyone else's stuff along with mine.

So I asked myself, why couldn't I be a sensitive Black woman? Why couldn't I be a sensitive, sick Black woman? Why, even now, was I confined to confidence and strength when I had neither?

And after a while, I let myself cry to God, to my parents, to my brother, to my boyfriend, to my aunts. I’d let my tears flow into their shoulders, and they’d let me crumble.

And it felt so, so good to have the freedom to be weak.

And in my tears, my cries out to God, in my days where I’d just lay down, I began to wonder why I became sick again as I wrestled with my maybes.

Maybe it was so I could lay down, and look outside my window. Maybe it was for me to realize that I was gifted with feeling deeply. Maybe it was to remind me I was not in control. Maybe it was so I could take walks, and appreciate the blue sky. Maybe it was to give me time to imagine. To feel God. To appreciate the simple things around me. To allow myself to be held. To wake up and cry. To be a soft woman. To stop feeling so embarrassed about these things.

"Rise." 40x60 in. Oil Painting on Stretched Canvas. May, 2024.

Maybe… it was just so I could let myself be.

Artist Diaries: Who Am I?

There are so many things that go into becoming an artist. Although, the main thing that's been plaguing my mind lately is "Who am I?"

Me photographed at Black in Mayberry's "Art Against Racism" Exhibition, next to my painting "Sisterly Love"

I thought I had that all figured out. I thought that my creating vulnerable artwork, exploring the depths of my emotions and the way I was seeing the world was enough because I was "Opening the conversation." But over time, as I have met seasoned artists, faced so much trial and error, and spoken with my professors I have learned that I have to guide that conversation that I am opening.

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Why Did I Even Start Painting?

The "Why's" and the "How's" are so blurry to me these days. I just know that when I was younger I struggled with seeing my features as beautiful, and my peers didn't help.

I was never regarded as someone beautiful or even pretty. I was just Nia with the big butt. That was the only thing that seemed to be desirable of me. Even seeing television, paintings, and media. The Black women who received praise for their faces had slim noses medium-sized lips and perfect skin. I didn't have any of that. All of my features are strong.

So when I began to paint myself I was trying to make a statement of my own features being regarded as the standard of beauty. I had a certain understanding that these paintings of White women were statements of beauty, so why not paint myself in that same way?

And even beyond that, I have always been painfully sensitive and painfully bold. I have always felt deeply and there was also a point in my life where I was so bold and loud, but deep inside I was hurting. So I made my work bright and vibrant while exploring my depression through the use of symbolism.

It had got to a point where people were telling me that they saw themselves in my own self-portraits so I figured that was it. That was my mission and that was where the journey of what I represent stops. I thought that my painting to make people feel, to make them see themselves in me, and to create a space for empathy was enough.

But for where I wanted to go, as time went on, I realized that it wasn't enough.

And realizing that turned into a snowball that ended with me wondering who I am. As a woman, as a 20-something-year-old, and as an artist. Who am I? And what do I want to represent? What do I want to say?

And I'm stuck between not knowing and having so many messages to share.

Pieces of Me

I am a Black woman who was made fun of for being weird and "not that cute." I grew up in Compton up until I was seven, and the rest of my teenage life was spent in Columbus Ohio (with the exception of my year in New Jersey). I was in love with some boy every year since I was five. I'm always asking "why." I grew up not poor, but far from rich, more so like lower middle class. I have family members who spent time in prison. I was sexualized for having curves since I was young. I have seen police brutality. And even with all of these experiences, I don't shy away from it. I'd like to think that these things, shaped my artistic practice and why I see so many issues I want to confront through my work.

And even when analyzing my interests... I like anime. I like Reality Television. I like raunchy female rap, just like I like pop girlie songs. I can be just as corny as I am sarcastic. I like history. I like pop culture. I like psychology... the list goes on and on when it comes to my likes, experiences, and my past. Some things make sense, some things surprise people. It's just so much to me.

Still, I lied about those things depending on who I was around. I was always different for different people. Only giving people pieces of me because I thought they wouldn't accept all of me. All of my stories, all of my differences. But the truth was, I just didn't accept me. So I hid pieces based on what I thought they'd like.

And I feel like this bled into my artistic practice. My work isn't very cohesive because I have all these parts of me I have yet to blend. It is just pieces compiled into a story that is mine, but nothing is holding them together...

I just need to find that string.

So now I am at this point where I am trying my best to take those pieces apart and be whole again. To be all of me at all times.

So I Ask Again, Who Am I?

I can truthfully say I don't know who I am. I just know who I want to be. And in ways, I feel me being okay with not knowing, and knowing I am in such a transitional space is enough.

I want to learn how to truly love, and give and take in a healthy way. I want to know what a true community is. I want to learn more and know more about the topics that resonate with me.

I often catch myself not knowing what else to say once I make a powerful statement. It's like I have a thesis with no essay a lot of the time.

So although I still have no idea of who I am. I know who I want to be. And I want to be someone who reads and knows what she stands for and stands for all of it. I want to make statements that go beyond a surface-level conversation. I want to be able to fully articulate what I think and feel. I want to be whole. I want to be all of myself and represent all of myself.

And most of all, I want my artwork to mirror that, and guide the many conversations I intend to be the pillar of.

I just have to find the string to connect everything.

Artist Diaries: Maneuvering Through Doubt

As an artist, doubt is almost inevitable

So I hope in this personal anecdote,

you can find a way to continue your pursuit of the impossible.

A Quick Outline

In this blog I am going to touch on how this line of work is almost an invitation for doubt, so I kind of have to admit that people will doubt me no matter what I do. The first and best step for maneuvering is to admit that I feel doubt in the first place, how do I process something if I tell myself I don't feel it? I also had to take a look at the people I surround myself with, do they feed this feeling of doubt or do they soothe it? And last but not least, I reflect on the life I envision myself living and I reflect on my own values. What do I want out of life? What am I living for? What is the life I prayed for? Does being an artist align with these things?

Being an Artist Almost Welcomes Doubt

I Had to Admit to Myself That I Feel Doubt

A Good Support System

What is the Life I Envision For Myself?

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Being an Artist Almost Welcomes Doubt

When I say I am pursuing a degree with a 10% success rate, the doubt is written in between the lines of what people tell me. They say," What are you going to do with that? Don't get too caught up in your passion, get a job and do your hobby afterward," Or just plainly say, "You aren't going to make any money." Or if they know a little something about art then it's, "Nobody wants to buy pictures of you," or, "Nobody wants realistic pictures, more people want abstractions," or my favorite, "Nobody wants this heavy topic on their walls." The unsolicited commentary is inevitable, and to me, it just sounds like a medley of, "Who do you think you are? You aren't special. You are not going to beat those odds!"

People will always doubt before they believe, it's a constant throughout history and even religious texts. It's just easier for people to doubt. Because I would love to tell myself that people shouldn't say things like that to me, because they shouldn't. But they do. There's no way to really control what people feel and how they see what I pursue. All I can control is me. And for me, it helps when I realize that their doubt isn't personal toward me. That in most cases people are just projecting their own view of life onto me. And really, that's none of my business.

There will always be people who shudder at the idea of someone living a life that they want to live and not a life they're supposed to live. Artists and creatives in general are the perfect people to project that idea on because we don't necessarily care about the limits put upon us. We see them and we say "So what?" we don't fold or assimilate. We make a way.

I Had to Admit to Myself That I Feel Doubt

It's natural to feel things like sadness, jealousy, or even doubt. Covering those things up with false confidence or projections doesn't do anything for us in the long run.

Self-help culture has pushed us away from being honest with ourselves. We tend to demonize our feelings when they aren't positive and push them away, only making them come up in ways we don't even recognize. Further causing us to not be self-aware and to project.

See, I don't see my doubt as a weakness or something I need to distance myself from. I've always found strength in the things I go through. I tend to flip them and process them through my writing or my paintings.

I am nowhere near a therapist, so take what I am about to say very lightly.

I have learned to process how I feel, and in order to process a feeling I have to admit to myself that I feel it and explore. That means writing it down explicitly and reflecting on it. I ask myself "why" five times, to truly understand the root of it all. Then I let myself sit in how I'm feeling for a maximum of two days, being completely honest about it. Then I figure out ways to pick myself up and to be more aware of my triggers going forward.

My triggers for doubt are easy to recognize now, Social media being the biggest culprit. I compare my journey, and then I doubt it. To combat that I remind myself that God didn't put billions of people on this earth to be the same, therefore my journey is not gonna be like the next person's. Other times I let myself feel a little "hater-ish," let it out for a limited time, and move on.

The point is, that I don't lie to myself about what I feel. Nor do I punish myself for feeling it.

A Good Support System

In the past, I was always friends with people who put me down. I didn't value myself, so I only surrounded myself with people who affirmed that belief. This led to me being embarrassed about the path I was called to follow. I was always made to feel foolish, to even believe that I could do something great, or anything at all with my art.

(And best believe they always had the nerve to want a free/discounted picture).

And sometimes, the lack of support isn't always obvious. It can be dressed up in backhanded compliments or shade. It can hide behind fake positivity and slick remarks. Or even the off-putting gut feeling. Always trust that. Of course, talk with people first, but if all that persists, let them go.

Being an artist is a journey with so many ups, downs, stagnant, and high points; it's tumultuous. It's hard enough pursuing something different on your own, there's no reason to make it worse by keeping people around who don't support or believe in you. (No that doesn't mean surrounding yourself with "yes-men")

I've learned that having people around who let me be excited about the opportunities I got, and who saw value in the new content I was posting (even if it got 2 likes) were the people I needed to be around. The people who keep me accountable, and truly have my best interest at heart. For me, my support system consists of my family, my partner, and the friends I've made along the way.

I feel safe when talking about my journey with them. I feel good enough to discuss the high and low points, and to be there for their journey as well.

Remember to always focus on the ones who do support you instead of the ones who don't. That's a mistake I used to make, and sometimes I still do. It's easier to focus on the hurt than the peace, but that's another conversation.

The point is, sometimes it's best to distance yourself from the people who push you down and to treasure the ones who lift you up.

What is the Life I Envision For Myself?

The lyrics to Hollywood by Victoria Monet & Earth Wind and Fire ring in my mind:

What do you live for

what are you here for

what do you breathe for

what do you stand for

What would you die for

What will you leave when you're gone

I ask myself these questions often in regard to my life.

I wanna speak to the Black and Brown girls who struggle to see their beauty.

To the Black and Brown boys who struggle to find strength in their vulnerabilities.

I wanna speak to the kids in the ghetto.

To those who struggle with depression and suicidal thoughts.

To those who feel alone.

To those who want to find peace of mind

I wanna show the value of creatively expressing yourself

I wanna use portions of what I make for those who live on the street

I want to help and heal through my artwork.

I want to truly make a difference.

I want to make a statement, I want my artwork to make people think, to open their minds, to help them love and understand each other.

Community, humanity, and togetherness are what I want to contribute to this world through my hands.

I just feel like God gave me this gift, and set out a path for me that is clear to see.

I have prayed for a long time and I am always led back to my artwork.

I hope this entry helped you in some way.

I know all of our journeys are different, and I hope one day we all find true peace in that.

That our lives aren't going to be the same.

That we all have our own purpose on this earth.

We have to learn to live for ourselves and do that unapologetically.

And remember, that it's a process.