Review: Black Imagination curated by Natasha Marin

reviewed by Rochelle Spencer

Black Imagination: Black Voices on Black Future
curated by Natasha Marin
McSweeney’s, February 2020.
$14.00; 216pp.
ISBN: 978-1-94421-184-4

At around 3:15pm on a Saturday, two families are barbecuing on the building’s dark green lawn. The door of my too-warm apartment is open, to let in the sounds of summer: the splashing from the pool, the beer-giddy voices, the music from the radio.

After about thirty minutes of the world’s quickest BBQ, the Black family leaves. This summer, you’re either outside protesting and fighting for life and freedom, or inside trying to protect what little you have. The spaces where you can relax and be yourself are few. You can’t go bird-watching, for example. And we know George Floyd wasn’t safe on a public street, but we also realize Breonna Taylor wasn’t safe in her own apartment.

Natasha Marin’s Black Imagination is intriguing because it asks the writers to imagine, among other things, such a space. According to Reagan Jackson writing for the Seattle Globalist, Marin, Imani Sims, Rachael Ferguson, and Amber Flame curated the first iteration of the exhibition “Black Imagination: The States of Matter” in 2018, which “feature[d] the work of dozens of black-identified creative people working across disciplines.” Published in 2020, Black Imagination: Black Voices on Black Futures, features a divine foreword by Steven Dunn and a soul-opening introduction by Marin. Marin explains that “craving nuance over stereotype,” the curators “sought out black children, black youth, LGBTQ+ black folks, unsheltered black folks, incarcerated black folks, neurodivergent black folks, as well as differently-abled black folks.” They recorded responses to three prompts: “What is your origin story? How do you heal yourself? Describe/Imagine a world where you are loved, safe, and valued.” It’s that last idea–describing a world where Black people feel “loved, safe, and valued”–and how much that challenges us that sits heavy.

Marin’s publisher, McSweeney’s, produces popular humor magazines. But it’s wild how imagining places where Black people can relax and is science fiction. (Can we live?)  I wonder about these heavenly, dreamlike environments where, as Laura Lucas imagines, “You don’t try to touch my hair, without asking,” or those beautiful, magical places Tricia Diamond fantasizes about “where the air is clean.”

 ……….Do such places actually exist?
 ……….Too surreal.

The contributors remind us that a “world where you are loved, safe, and valued,” is also a place where people can create without hyper-surveillance. Ebo Barton wants Black artists to be recognized as artists; Tyler Kahlil Maxie wants to celebrate little boys in glitter dresses slaying every day (we should); and Maisha Manson wants to smash open the panopticon and free voices. Sharan Strange, a brilliant poet who loves nature, meadows, bright open fields, and tea, simply envisions a place to be “creative and unafraid and joyous.”

The Black Imagination writers value community. In Reagan Jackson’s world, neighbors “drop by with soup when I am sick and small gifts during holidays”; in Erwin Thomas’s community:

 ……….We work and play together. We share wealth and resources. My grandmother doesn’t
 ……….worry when I leave her home after sundown. . . . Conversations are had under
 ……….moonlight.”

Jen Moore calls for a return to sensitivity. Nachelle Ashton asks for “A world built on the concept of ‘us’ and not of ‘me,’” and pleas for a “worldwide community.” It’s fascinating how Marin has located contributors from Germany, New Zealand, Chicago, Michigan, California, Kansas City, and Seattle, home of the exhibition’s launch. Community, for many of the contributors, extends beyond the borders of state, region, or country. The contributors want safety in these communities, although they may disagree on how to define safety. William Wallace describes a safe world as “one where other humans are not an existential threat” while Aricka Foreman describes safety as intimacy and gentle sleep. Again, Ebo Barton’s safe world includes gardens, greenhouses, and comfortable chairs. Dr. Raina J. León argues for a world of blankets and laughter, free from the “upside-down” and the “sunken” place.

Black Imagination includes a series of rituals, which helps as we try to build what we dream. Marin advises sunlight, gin, naps, listening to one’s mother describe her dreams, writing letters, saying no, and coping, however awkwardly.

Rochelle Spencer is author of AfroSurrealism (Routledge, 2019) and co-editor of All About Skin: Short Fiction by Women of Color (Univ. of Wisconsin Press, 2014). She is a visiting assistant professor at Fisk University and Sarah Lawrence College, where she occasionally teaches third wave AfroSurrealist components of Afrofuturism 2.0.