The Master, Ghosts (2021) © Alanna Airitam.
Interview by Danielle Khan Da Silva & images © Alanna Airitam.
July 4 marks the formal declaration of independence from Britain that occurred in 1776, and as many Americans gather to celebrate this colonial anniversary, there are also those who reject its celebration.
One of those people is celebrated fine artist Alanna Airitam whom I had the pleasure of speaking with. Alanna questions generalized stereotypes and the lack of fair representation of Black people in art spaces. Her work “corrects” historical omissions and asks the audience to question everything they think they know.
We found ourselves in conversation at a precarious moment in history with the overturning of Roe v. Wade, following Juneteenth, a slew of brutal, racialized murders, school shootings, leading up to this–July 4, an event that in many ways represents the forceful seizure of lands and bloodshed of communities who stood in the way of the “American Dream,” which was built by the hands of slaves.
Danielle Khan Da Silva (D.K.D):
So…how are you feeling first of all?
Alana Aitiram (A.A):
It’s been feeling really hard. There's a part of me that wants to fight this, there's this other part of me that's just exhausted from fighting fights where I’m like–what am I fighting for? My people were brought here. Why am I fighting for a country that I don't belong to? But where do I belong? I don't, I don't even know anymore.
It just feels like we're sliding back so quickly. And it's something that, you know Black people have been screaming about forever. Indigenous people have been screaming about this forever. And no one takes us seriously, nobody hears us, nobody wants to hear us until it comes to their doorstep. It is our birthright as human beings to have autonomy and control over our own bodies. And it is our birthright as human beings to be able to live our life in a way that is moving towards our own individual potentials without the interference of others.
D.K.D.:
Do you ever think of leaving the U.S.?
A.A.:
How to Make a Country (2019) © Alanna Airitam.
Our ancestors fought, and so it almost feels like, there is an obligation to carry on all that hard work that they did to allow us to have the freedoms that we have now. And then I also think about the larger picture outside of that of–Indigenous people, Black people, or Latino people–we are more than our identity–we are human beings. And if we don't allow ourselves to be able to live in a way where we can at least get a peek at what it would be like to be truly a human, then what's the point? I don't feel like we were born to be put on this earth to fight all the time.
I want to make photos of beautiful things. You know what I mean? I don't want to make photos of, you know, the revolution all the time; I don't want to have to talk about the fact that this world is shit. I do not want to have to do that all the time. I want to be just like any ol’ white dude taking pictures of flowers simply because they're beautiful and not being questioned. I would like to know what that's like, I would love to know what it's like to just live from that place very simply.
D.K.D.:
What you were just saying just like brought me back to your Florals on Black.
Florals 3 Roses, Florals on Black (2017) © Alanna Airitam.
A.A.:
I made those photos, the photos, the flowers. I did it because after I did The Golden Age, I just wanted to take a pause and I just thought–you know what? I want to just focus on something that's beautiful. The flowers for me were just a way to just explore beauty. And of course, the first thing that was asked about it was, “well, what does it mean?” And I'm like “they’re flowers.” I means no one asks “Bob with the flowers” what his photographs mean…They just allow him to take the photos of the flowers. They just say “it's beautiful,” they admire the softness of the petals, and the way the light falls on the leaves. They don't question it. But, you know, the minute that a Black woman does the same it automatically comes with this loaded assumption that there must have some political meaning somewhere in there. That's just the way that it is because waking up in the morning in my skin is inherently political. So I realized there's nothing that I will ever be able to make that isn't political.
D.K.D.:
What fuels your creativity?
A.A.:
This shit fuels my creativity. I wish that anger wasn't the thing that drives me the most..I really, I really wish it wasn't. It honestly concerns me sometimes when I feel like in order to make good work I have to be really pissed off. But also, realistically, I live in a time and place where I'm gonna be pissed off a lot. And so I am really moved to create work right now. I’m moved to explore different mediums and different ways to say what it is I need to say. I'm actually just about to go out into the desert, into this little tiny home in the middle of nowhere, where it's quiet, and there's no one around and I don't have any distractions. And I'm going to give myself the gift of a two-week self imposed residency, where I just get it out. So that's coming up. And I'm really looking forward to that. It's just going to be coming back to basics–waking up in the morning, meditating, journaling, working, eating, maybe some exercise. Do it again, you know? Because I'm feeling a lot.
D.K.D.:
I am in love with your metalwork and finishing for the Crossroads pieces.
A.A.:
Moment of Truth 1, Crossroads (2019) by Alanna Airitam.
Thanks. Yeah, there's something really cathartic about melting metal together. Watching the sparks fly and just working with these hard surfaces and you know, bending and twisting and creating and, yeah, there's something real cathartic about working with that, that material that I love. I think it's weird. It's almost like when I'm working with the metal, it feels so masculine. The materials are hard and cold and rigid. It's like all of these things that to me, sort of, and it's strong, right? So it's like all of these things that remind me of masculinity, and then I get to manipulate it and make it into something useful and beautiful.
With all of my work, I really do try to carry the story all the way through to the end of the presentation. I ask, how is this presented? Who is looking at this? And how, when they're holding this piece in their hand, or they're looking at it on a wall–how is it speaking to them? And so the metal encases the portrait, which is then submerged in resin; it's weighty and it's heavy.
And the drowning effect the sort of underwater quality, this depth that the resin gives it, you know, really, to me is about all of this sort of, like being on top of us this thing that we have to navigate through all the time and how heavy it is and how weighty it is and how it's on us. And we're trying to work our way through it. But like, I'm really asking the ones in the images to turn away from the systems that have never supported us. At what point do we stop saying yes to that and turn away and ask ourselves to find new solutions? Because if we keep going back to our oppressor–begging them to treat us like humans–we're never going to get anywhere. So I really feel like it is up to us collectively, to unify together and create the world that we want to live in because they're never going to give it to us.
D.K.D.:
What are you trying to create in terms of impact with your work overall?
A.A.:
I would like to think that maybe the work that I do, if anything, is empowering to somebody, or maybe they can see themselves in a way that is counter to what we've been told about who we are, or how we belong, or don't belong, you know. It's almost like I'm speaking to myself and trying to remind myself that I am more powerful than what I am told that I am. I want people to understand that we have more power, and we have more power, when we can unify and when we're together, we have more power than them.
D.K.D.:
And so, like, how do you feel when you're creating work like White Privilege, and you're given opportunities to then speak about it?
A.A.:
I really feel like I'm straddling some really interesting or walking a very thin line, because I tell it like it is. I am not here to continue the status quo. And the status quo has been, “let's just make sure that the people who hold the power are comfortable.” No more. I am so tired of having to make everybody around me comfortable while no one cares to make me comfortable. No one. Am I an angry Black woman? Yes, And I have a right to be angry. And so I'm going to tell you the truth. I'm not going to sit here and sugarcoat this stuff anymore. There's no time for it. People are dying. People's lives are being completely ruined. There are children who have been ripped away from their families. There is no time anymore for this pussyfooting around, you know, comfortability and, you know, respectability politics. I'm just not playing those games anymore. And so I'm kind of just in this place where I'm like, look, take it or leave it, you know who I am. So if you don't want me to talk about these things, don't ask me to do your artist talk. Don't interview me, don't talk to me, because I'm gonna keep saying what I'm saying. I spent 20 something years working in a corporate environment where I had to shut up and “just take it.” And when I got out of that, I promised myself that I was never going to be silenced again. So I'll make work like White Privilege. It's amazing. People don't often ask to show that work.
White Privilege Panel 1, White Privilege Triptych (2020) by Alanna Airitam.
D.K.D.:
I’m curious about all the meaning, hidden or non, in your White Privilege piece?
A.A.:
I think it's a very meaningful piece. It's all in there. It's sitting at the table–the table that we can't seem to be a part of, right? Like, we can't pull up our chair and be a part of that table. And it's just oozing out all over everything. All of the grossness oozing out. They get to opt into it whenever it makes them look good. And then they get to opt out whenever it gets too difficult. But the rest of us have to sit in it all of the time. All the time.
And so in that print, there's a mirror behind this pig. And, and it's behind his head so he can't see himself. And as the triptych, progresses, pig is breaking down. There's this concept of time in this work that speaks to how long this has been going on. And still there's no recognition or self awareness, over time, the rotting corpse starts to ooze out and affect, like so many of our lives. Nature, which is represented by the fruits and the flowers–our nourishment–where we get our sustenance from, it oozes out into our faith, it oozes out into the country which is represented by the flag. Our economy is represented by the cotton that is placed by pig’s mouth. I made that print right after George Floyd was murdered. We were trapped in this pandemic and all of that's going on. And I was just so angry, so angry. And I thought, I just really want people to understand what it is like to have to deal with this all the time. It's gross. It's absolutely gross. Photographing this was the hardest thing because it smelled awful and had to be done over the three weeks when things started growing and moving. I wanted to print this as big as this room. And I want people to be able to walk into it and smell it. I want them to smell it. I want them to see it. I want them to sit with it. Because this is what we have to deal with every day, every day.
Danielle Da Silva:
So about July 4…
A.A.:
This country was stolen, first of all, and then they brought people here to build up their dream, their version of what this country should be like, and it was based on free labor. The only way that we have what we have in this country today is because of free labor and the only way for us to continue to thrive as a country is if they do it on cheap to free labor, which is why they only want to bring in immigrants to do the work. But they don't want them to be citizens. They don't want to give them any rights. They want to just bus them over here, make them pick their fruit in the field, and then bus them back. And now they want to have women be these birthing machines, but they don't want to give them any rights. This country functions the way it functions, because that's how they set it up. It is fully intentional. They mean for it to work this way. It is not a mistake. It's going to take more than voting in order for us to fix this because it is designed this way. We have to start over from the beginning. And the only way we're able to do that is if we collectively unify and make a stand and say no more.
D.K.D.:
What are some last messages you would like to share with our audience?
A.A.:
The Golden Age is currently in exhibition at the Centre for Creative Photography in Tucson, Arizona until October 29. You can also catch Past Made Perfect: Dutch Shadows in the Black Atlantic at the Rhode Island School of Design (RISD) Museum from September 3, 2022 – August 6, 2023.
I ask that we take take care of ourselves and replenish and self care so that we can get out there and fight the good fight. And continue to remind ourselves that we hold the power and we deserve to live according to the Declaration of Independence with life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. We do. That is our birthright. And there's more of us than them so let’s do everything we can to reclaim these ideals for ourselves.
