Artist Conversations: finding your place in artistic spaces as a person of color

With Elanna Haywood

My earliest identity was as an artist. I’ve known since I was a child that I feel most at home in my creativity. It wasn’t until later that I became cognizant of my other identities; the labels that distinguished me as other even in the creative spaces I felt most comfortable. 

My conversation with Elanna Haywood was originally supposed to be a continuation of defining your identity as an artist in the working world, as she could offer a unique perspective of an artist who also works in the art field. I asked her a few questions about her balance between the two, and she frankly admitted there really is none. She said she wakes up early or finds time where she can, but finding balance is much easier said than done. As we talked some more she started to delve into some of her  encounters being a woman of color in an art space, and things took a slightly different route.

Elenna is one of two black artists in her painting program, and talked about the dissonance she felt between herself and some of her colleagues and her frustration with the fact that the conversation about black art history always seemed to be separate from the conversation about art history. I asked if that frustration affected her relationship with art at all, and she said she had to learn for herself the fallacies of art history she’d been taught. “I had in my mind that special people, the most gifted people, people who can do art with their eyes closed; those are the famous people. Those people are just few and far between. And who's to say that [I’m] one of those people? Because that's how they treat you.” She learned about the amount of tracing, imitation, and collaborations that went into elevating white artists and perpetuating an idea that their art was superior. However harsh, she says the revelation actually benefited her artistically.  “It really put some things into perspective for me. It made me feel less incompetent. And now I'm much more interested in developing my own style rather than some kind of perfected idea”

We talked a bit about how that shows up in her art. Earlier in our conversation, while discussing the loneliness that can come with being the only person of color in a creative space, she said something that really stuck with me; “They don't see us.” That statement echoed as she talked about revealing her masks through her art.  “I am heavily into representing the masks that I wear every day, regardless of whether I want to wear them or not, and that is what my thesis is going to be about. It's about these many phases of what happens when you go outside. When I do self examination, it's about how I believe that I present myself to other people, and whether or not I'm catering to what they want to see. So that's what I always am thinking about. Who are you today? What don't they know? What don't they see?”

Her response was reminiscent of something her colleague Zeinat Gelli had shared in my conversation with her the day before. When I asked what showed up in their art the most, Zeinat talked candidly about having to overcome her own apprehension to making people uncomfortable by talking about race in art spaces and celebrate her African culture through her paintings. “I've always sort of tried to fit in,” she said.  “I've always been very flexible to my environment and not made too much noise. So I think when I first started doing art  I wasn't revealing much of myself in the art.” It was interesting to me that they both touched on this idea of hiding behind masks, and I wondered how other minority artists use art as a vehicle for authentic expression they aren’t afforded in their real lives. Elanna talked about the choreographer Bob Fosse, and how he created a whole dance school dancing around his limp. She said that all artists are like that. You have to figure out how to make your weaknesses into your strengths, and that’s just what she does. My impression of her was that she chooses not to let her identity be diminished by the limitations others place on her, most of which are made up. “I don't really need for somebody to tell me that it's okay to express myself within my limitations. I'm trying to raise my limitations.” 

Elanna works in the media and journalism department of an arts high school, a department run by a black woman. I had asked her the same question I’d asked her colleagues: When did you start to feel like an artist? She said that reaching that conviction is an ongoing process, but in that space where there are differing levels of skill and education, she is always introduced as an artist, and there’s intention behind a black woman saying that. It’s more than a label. It means, I see you. 

“I'm always introduced as an artist.. A black woman runs the department, and it's her intention to say we are all professional storytellers. We are all artists. and that support is a hundred percent appreciated. Because people see you and you don't know that they do.”

After our conversation I got to thinking about solidarity in creative spaces. I’ve taken choir and dance since I was very young, but it wasn’t until high school that I had black teachers for both. It was also the first time I had teachers who always referred to me as a singer or dancer, and the first time I really felt like either. I think that having that kind of mentorship at some point in your artistic journey is undervalued. I didn’t realize then how formative of an experience that was for me artistically, but after growing up in spaces where I often felt like an other, having a black teacher identify me by my art before anything else erased that other and simply made me an artist. 

Elanna’s word of wisdom to young creators is to curb constant criticism of yourself and others. Many people of color critique their work with a different mentality than others might, so also acknowledging your victories is crucial. “The critiques will come,” she says. “But everything you complete is a triumph.”