I have a long standing beef with the English language, despite being what many would describe as being well spoken, which in itself is a survival mechanism, often having to “code-switch” and hide my local accent and speak more “clearly”, because what does it even mean to be well spoken? Who decides who speaks well? The image in the center of this piece is of Atlanta rapper Glokk40spaz, who’s Atlanta accent is so thick that I struggle to even understand at times despite speaking the same language, but that goes to show the breadth of the African American lingual style. And as a performing artist also, that recites lyrics in my performances in different countries where English is not the first language, I think a other about how much the audience might not understand me, im fascinated with that gap, and how much is felt even when the words are not understood.
But anyway, I didn’t choose English, it chose me, wiping away whatever native African language im actually descended from. So that’s why i burned a bunch of English language dictionaries, took their ashes, mixed them up with shredded ski masks (because niggas have to shred they identity to even access success), and stuffed them into inmate property bags, because language, if leveraged the wrong way, can be an ultimate prison.
Im thinking what if my lyrics are so hot they burn the books filled with the very language that they defy.
Spit Fire, 2025
66 x 36 in
plastic inmate property bags, inkjet prints, film transparency, copy paper, acrylic medium, acrylic paint, cooking oil, shredded garments, mirror glass, ashes.