The video narrates the journey of a native Detroiter artist who draws inspiration from the rich culture and heritage of Detroit. Growing up in an environment deeply rooted in the Black community, her artwork reflects the stories, experiences, and ongoing societal challenges of Black women. She speaks passionately about how the history, struggles, and resilience of her family and community influence her work, particularly through mural painting.

The artist elaborates on the importance of representation in art, particularly for Black women, as she describes her vision for creating spaces that amplify Black voices through her works and initiatives. She highlights the formation of a mural festival dedicated to Black love and creativity, underscoring the need for platforms that celebrate Black heritage and provide opportunities for emerging Black artists.

Main takeaways from the video:

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Key Vocabularies and Common Phrases:

1. foreman [ˈfɔːrmən] - (noun) - A person in charge of a group of workers, typically in construction or manufacturing. - Synonyms: (supervisor, overseer, manager)

My dad was a foreman.

2. epitome [ɪˈpɪtəmi] - (noun) - A person or thing that is a perfect example of a particular quality or type. - Synonyms: (embodiment, quintessence, personification)

Detroit is such a special place to grow up in because it's the epitome of blackness and all that it encompasses.

3. dilapidation [dɪˌlæpɪˈdeɪʃən] - (noun) - The state of disrepair or ruin as a result of age or neglect. - Synonyms: (decay, deterioration, ruin)

For many, many decades, we've seen dilapidation.

4. resides [rɪˈzaɪdz] - (verb) - To be situated or have its home in a particular place. - Synonyms: (dwells, lives, inhabits)

The inaugural blackout walls mural festival came to Detroit because we all agreed that black love resides here.

5. inaugural [ɪˈnɔːɡjərəl] - (adjective) - Marking the beginning of an institution, activity, or series. - Synonyms: (initial, first, opening)

The inaugural blackout walls mural festival came to Detroit.

6. conviction [kənˈvɪkʃən] - (noun) - A formal declaration that someone is guilty of a criminal offense. - Synonyms: (sentence, judgment, guilty verdict)

We actually got a conviction.

7. doormats [ˈdɔːrmæts] - (noun) - A mat placed in front of a doorway; figuratively, a person who is persistently ignored or mistreated by others. - Synonyms: (pushover, victim, underdog)

Black women are treated as the doormats to the doormats.

8. trajectory [trəˈdʒɛktəri] - (noun) - The path followed by a projectile flying or an object moving under the action of given forces. - Synonyms: (course, path, direction)

This video in particular is what changed the trajectory of my work.

9. aristocracy [ˌærɪˈstɑːkrəsi] - (noun) - The highest class in certain societies, typically comprising people of noble birth holding hereditary titles and offices. - Synonyms: (nobility, elite, gentry)

This is showing blackness in its elegance. In its aristocracy, right?

10. memorial [məˈmɔːriəl] - (noun / adjective) - Something, especially a structure, established to remind people of a person or event. - Synonyms: (commemoration, tribute, monument)

I also don't do memorial walls because essentially, a lot of people think that that's all the public art that black people do.

Sydney G. James - How We See Us - In the Making - American Masters - PBS

I'm inspired by Detroit first and foremost. I'm a native Detroiter. My dad was a foreman. My mom, you know, was born and raised in the jeffrey's project. We're abundantly Detroit, if you will. And that's where I draw my inspiration. I draw my inspiration from current events, the status of the black woman in society, in the world. That's really what I focus most of my work on right now. My favorite is mural painting. Because you have a bigger audience, an unintentional audience. The one that stands out the most is literally the largest. Cause it's 8000 sqft. Like, how can you miss it? It's a tribute to Detroit. It's a tribute to that area which is the north end. A Detroit, you know, dream, if you will.

Hey, Ma. Hey, K. The neighborhood I grew up in is Konig Gardens. It's the first neighborhood where black people were allowed to build and own their own homes. Pissin starter coat. Detroit is such a special place to grow up in because it's the epitome of blackness and all that it encompasses. And black love specifically. Like the painting I'm painting right now, right? It's my mom. She's one of twelve same parents from the south, from shorter, Alabama. They grew up in a two bedroom and they would house people that were coming up here for the south. That's really. I'm coming up here to make it and I'm gonna help you make it too.

Hey, Ma. Now that's my oldest sister, Thomasine, but we call her Jean. She was the one had the burden of taking care of the rest of us. So it was really a shattering moment when she passed away for all of us. And I probably think that happens in every family. When the first person that's close to you pass away, you don't know what you're supposed to do. What I see in my mom when I look at the image is happiness in a real way and a carefree. It's crazy because I don't know if I've ever experienced her this way. Cause I feel like that probably changes once you have children, then of course, once you start dealing with constant grief.

I'm about to paint a mural of a dear friend of mine, Ygde. He recently signed a record deal and part of the promotion is they want a mural painted of him. And he reached out to me and I was honored to accept. Our deadline is on the 18th. For real? It is. So what's gonna happen is like, we took pictures for Sydney to do what she does. And then we take pictures of the mural, and that'll be the album cover. No pressure. So many cameras. No pressure. You got this? Yep. We got it, brother.

She could do the high spots, I do the low spots. Put her up on the ladder. Oh, I don't work on ladders, baby. That's dangerous. You just have to know how to do it, that's all. It's all about technique. I know. I operate lifts and buckets. That's what I'm talking about. I'm not working on the ladder. What's the biggest job you've done? How high up have you had to go? 108ft. Really? Yep. Hey, sid, does that happen to you often? Like, you kind of got to be in a position where you got to provide a resume for people and I literally everything. Why do you think that is, though? I'm a woman. I'm black. I'm five'four with freckles.

You know what I'm saying? Like, you would be surprised they even asked me. Like, oh, are you just. Is this your work or you just. Are you just coloring it? Does somebody else do this, like, it's never me? Cause how could it be, right? It's ridiculous, but I can't imagine what it's like from your point of view. But I know I've seen it. But it's all good, Wajid. I can see you. It ain't all good, though. It sucks. It does suck. But this is why we create space. This is why you're making a school. This is why I co founded black. I was. I never created in a space like a mural festival. Where was another black woman creating a mural? Until I created my own mural festival, until I took on mentees and I started giving them walls.

The inaugural blackout walls mural festival came to Detroit because we all agreed that black love resides here. Black creativity resides here. It belonged here first. It was conceived by myself, Thomas Detour Evans out of Denver and Max sansing out of Chicago, basically because of our shared experience participating in mural festivals. And it was always a lack of representation. When kids come by with their parents and they see us creating, it's really inspirational to them because they can see there's a future in being a creator.

For many, many decades, we've seen dilapidation. We've seen the wear and tear of the buildings. We've seen them being unoccupied, unattended and ignored. So when the blackout mural festivals came, it was like a type of surgery, because these buildings were being mended back together. There are people here that have been here for 100 years, and we're not going anywhere. I hope that this mural and Sydney's work, you know, can bring inspiration to the space.

It's her spirit that really has put her to where she is and where she's going to land. I even noticed that spirit in her mom and in her aunt. It's an energy that coming out that just represents those who have been counted out and forgotten about. This is my Aunt Katherine. Kathy is what we call. Or Katief. She's an artist. But, yeah, this is just my go to person.

She's my aunt, but she's also my person. I'll take off my mask. So you're gonna paint me as an angry black woman? Yes. Okay. That's very good. I'm probably still an angry black woman. Are we all. How could we not be? Honestly? True, true, true, true.

What made you the angry black woman? Probably being a well educated black woman who couldn't find a job. Yeah. And advertising agencies at that point weren't surrounded. Yeah, they weren't. They weren't. You were the one, like, who made my mom and my parents period comfortable with me pursuing art. Like, think about it. You know, it. Like, even when that teacher said to my mom in kindergarten, like, you know, your daughter has abilities.

When she gets of age, you need to get her some extra. Some art class, some real art classes, she didn't know what that meant. You guided her through that process. In a lot of my most recent work, I focused on women. This video in particular is what changed the trajectory of my work. Even Malcolm X himself said that the black woman is the most oppressed person in this country.

And the last few years have proven nothing else. But black women are treated as the doormats to the doormats. Like, we are the last on the list. I painted myself as a doormat, naked on the floor, and I laid it at the gallery entrance for a couple shows, and I saw in real time how people interacted with the piece, and I didn't like it. I felt like a first responder. Like, I wanted to be, like, don't step on that. Like, I needed to.

Like, I felt like I needed to do this for the whole show. Just stand here like this. But when I saw footprints on it, I wanted to cry. It's interesting. It still doesn't feel good. All of the marks came from people's shoes. Dirt on shoes, people dancing on it, literally. Oh, it's beer stains on it.

When we talked about, like, how this was gonna go and what the concept was, I was like, whoa. Yeah, that's brilliant. We honestly carry that every day. We carry it and, like, we prepare for it. We know, as black women, we do. That's what happens. And we can talk about it in different circles about how the world steps on us or this or that, how we move out of people's way. It didn't feel good.

Cause it's my work. You're walking on my work, but you're also walking on me, literally. So I flipped it, and I made the decision that day I was going to paint nothing but black women as large and grand as I could. Being a part of this project is more than just my face on the building. You know, this is my neighborhood. My family's been here for three generations. My children are the force.

When I look at this mural, I see community. What is the disruption? Putting a black woman in those spaces where most people don't acknowledge her existence, like, our existence as black female creators is activism. And that's kind of crazy to me. After George Floyd's murder, a Facebook friend of mine posted an old article about Malice Green, who had been beaten to death by cops back in 1992. We actually got a conviction.

Detroit artist Benny White junior painted a mural of malice at the scene of the crime. The article made note that the mural had been destroyed against communities wishes. And I thought to myself, oh, I need to paint another malice green wall. But at the time, I wasn't painting men. And I also don't do memorial walls because essentially, a lot of people think that that's all the public art that black people do.

In my mind, like, I had to make it bigger. Bigger than malice, bigger than George. It had to be bigger. And my idea was for the names of the victims of police brutality from the time I was born, 1979, all the way to 2020 will go on the wall. It's impossible. It was impossible. We all fell into a puddle of tears.

Everybody said, I'm tough. I wasn't gonna let y'all see me cry. They helped you on that one? Not even helped. Like, they took the burden. Oh, really? Because there is no database. It doesn't exist. Yes. So they, along with Halima Cassell, Sabrina Nelson, they all researched and found these names of these murder victims.

Many of the victims were under age 18. They were children. If the victim was trans or part of the lgbt community, period, nobody was even looking for over a thousand names grace the wall. So, yes, I introduce men back into my work, because now I'm focusing on the bigger picture, and that's creating a safe space for us. So process is ever evolving. It's ever changing.

Today it's about family. Family is not only your relatives, but it's community. It's a feeling of safety and nurturing. What I can tell you about these eleven people. These were my first loves. These are the standard errors when I think of this family. They look like guardians, right? It is not the pose of aristocracy that we know, right? That's not what she got that one up dose one of those pants.

But for us, like, these are our postures. That is the way auntie, who is like, holding it all down. Don't try it. I like that. This is showing blackness in its elegance. In its aristocracy, right? In its fullness, but in its own voice. And that's why I paint loud and large. Even if I'm painting small. I want you to see me.

Detroit, Art, Inspiration, Technology, Innovation, Culture, Pbs