Lore: The Origin of Shame
My new work, Lore, reimagines the story of Adam and Eve through a personal lens. Centered on the Tree of Life, oranges, and a waiting serpent, this piece explores the origin of shame, vulnerability, and how art transforms fear into healing.
This month, my work Lore is on view at Norwest Gallery of Art in Detroit as part of the Bare My Soul exhibition. The show itself is about vulnerability, truth, and stripping away the layers we hide behind. For me, that meant returning to one of the earliest stories I was taught as a child growing up in a Christian household: the story of Adam and Eve.
In Lore, I reimagine that ancient narrative through my own lens as a Black woman and an artist exploring vulnerability. At the center of the piece is a great tree, standing tall and radiant, the Tree of Life. Its branches hold bright oranges, ripe with possibility, temptation, and consequence. Eve cradles Adam while a serpent lingers in the scene, waiting for its moment to disrupt everything.
I chose this story because it’s one of the earliest origin points for shame, the moment humanity became “aware” of their nakedness. Nudity became linked with guilt, modesty, and silence. Growing up in the church, I internalized these stories in ways that shaped how I experienced my own body and vulnerability.
By revisiting this narrative through collage, I wanted to strip it down to its core and confront the shame that has trickled through generations. In making Lore, I asked myself: What happens when we bare ourselves fully, without fear? What if vulnerability is not sin, but power?
Lore is both a return and a reimagining. It’s a way of reclaiming a story I was taught to fear, and instead using it as a mirror for my own growth, vulnerability, and healing.
Alchemy of the Artist: When Struggle Sparks Creation
Some of the most luminous art has been born in shadows. In struggle, artists discover an alchemy, transforming grief, heartbreak, and uncertainty into gold. This is where creativity thrives, not despite hardship, but because of it.
Some of the most luminous works of art have been born in shadows. History shows us that when the world feels heavy, artists turn that weight into wings. Out of grief, beauty emerges. Out of heartbreak, transformation is possible. Could this be… a kind of alchemy?
For me, I’ve found that in the moments when life feels the most uncertain, inspiration has a way of slipping in. When you’re stripped down to the core, the excess peeled away, what’s left is raw truth. And raw truth is where art thrives.
Think about it: the Renaissance rose after plague and darkness. The Harlem Renaissance blossomed from oppression and migration. Even on a personal level, some of my strongest pieces came from sitting with pain, questions, and change. In those moments, art wasn’t just expression, it was survival, a way to transmute struggle into beauty.
Alchemy, in the ancient sense, was about turning lead into gold. For the artist, maybe it’s about turning grief into color, heartbreak into texture, struggle into story. It’s not easy, and it’s not always pretty, but it’s powerful.
So the next time life cracks you open, maybe that’s not the end of the story. Maybe it’s the beginning of your masterpiece.
If this resonated with you, share this post with a friend who needs a reminder that even in struggle, transformation blooms.
