The blind who see.
One of my first memories of life was sitting on the lap of my great grandmother, who was blind, talking about the muses and the worlds of the imagination. Over time, I discovered that for her my skin color did not exist but instead my essence. However, the society in which I was born was very different, racism was part of my life since I was little - either existing in its subtlety or strong in its aggression. There were no black references around me; nor in my art or history books, nor on television. Over time, I felt the need to connect my art with my African ancestors - the blindness is shown through my muses highlights that they cannot see me and they also are able to embrace their blackness in a powerful way. Because being black is beautiful. Although it is not seen.