Butter: Belonging and Capability

I’m closing in on my fourth or fifth replay of The Wire and while that may seem a bit excessive, the writers and actors’ ability to convey humanity in complex character development has always been a selling point. In one of the most memorable exchanges on the show, Avon Barksdale looks Stringer Bell directly in his gelatinous marbles and says,

I look at you these days, String, you know what I see? I see a man without a country.

After watching the scene for the first time, it felt more like an ether-level jab but upon further review, it’s more of a psychological knockout punch coupled with a harsh truth. I think the phrase can be interpreted in a variety of ways, but for it all centers around two things:

Belonging and Capability.

I’ve had that thought based on this quote for several years — while not as blunt and all-encompassing. Having the ability to weave in and out of different spaces and read rooms is certainly a gift, but there are moments — fleeting moments — when “home” and a sense of belonging are foreign concepts. Friends and colleagues from varying identities have reiterated the same, trying to navigate various spaces while remaining true to themselves. Whether its national or local, there are figurative spaces I’ve been a part of that weren’t built with someone like me in mind.

I’ll give you a second to not be shocked. Historically, groups I identify with (ex. Black, Progressive, young(er) adult) have been excluded and marginalized. Acknowledgement is important but resting on unequal laurels is and will never be the move. For those from historically marginalized groups, when that sense of belonging just isn’t there — capability shows up, time and time again.

Being a lifelong resident of Indianapolis has been nothing short of interesting, as on one hand there’s a growing demographic of doers and changemakers, but I also know people who are currently — like right now — experiencing an opportunity crisis. Advocating for the rose gold version of Indy is challenging, especially when I know the kids my age from Nap who don’t see it the way (and yes, I love Indy, but Naptown will always hold a special place). On the converse — that capability paired with belonging makes that rose gold colored version a bit more attainable.

And there I sit — a man with no country; however…

This past weekend I attended “Butter,” a fine art fair showcasing the works of 30+ black visual artists from across the country. In 30+ years of attending various events across this city, I’ve never seen a group put on an event that was…

So right.

So valid.

So grassroots.

So progressive.

So much like home.

So perfectly curated.

So necessarily Black

So…us.

As a documented doer of things and planner of events, its easy to find holes or “areas of opportunity” — didn’t even have a chance to think through those, because I spent my time allowing myself to be impressed, in a time when being impressed isn’t cool or the norm.

I’ve been in artistic spaces around the world (yea, I know…but we’ve got to normalize accepting people doing dope things, specifically if it has a point), but never on this scale with people who I’ve seen on the grind like I did last weekend. I could write an entire think piece about Antonio Maxie being given his flowers, simply because he has so much left in the tank. He’s been at it for years, not only serving as a voice for a demographic of people but putting them on in the process. His capabilities trump the idea of “wait your turn.” and demonstrated to me the importance of intentionally acknowledging both the body of work and the potential to press forward.

My uncle Kenny, an Indianapolis native now turned Brooklyn transplant, enjoyed the event, but said, “the music was kind of loud.” I laughed because I’m nearing that point where I think to myself, “this music is loud,” but can’t bring myself to say it. I came of age during a time of actual trap music that was reverberated through 12’s in the trunk of hand me down cars. Keep the music loud unless it interrupts “the vibes.”

As I walked thorough on Friday night, this line from Murdock kept repeating in my head –

“The value of walking into Black spaces, and those spaces were meant for Blackness”

“Butter” was designed with people like me in mind. There was no fleeting man without a country thought. I belonged in that space of incredibly creative and capable people. I had thoughtful conversations with friends I hadn’t seen in over a year, laughed from the depths of my stomach, and hit the bop on the electric slide. While meant for the younger black demographic, it was the unspoken inclusion of varying identity groups that demonstrated this culture is truly contagious. Daily, I walk into certain spaces that weren’t built with me in mind — but thanks to great leaders and mentors I know that I’m supposed to be there. As we continue to think about culture in Indianapolis, I hope the GangGang team is not only instrumental in curating the Black experience, but also leading the way from a standpoint of belonging and capability.