March 1, 2017

A Note from Executive Director Eyenga Bokamba

I've taught myself how to lean into the sun in winter. I've taught myself how to believe in summer in the coldest moments, in the most frigid of days, when the wind and the chill cause me to think twice about leaving the house. Ever.  
In the best of those sunshine-filled moments, I stand in a south-facing window and bask in the rays of light on my closed eyelids. Neurons snap to as I peel an orange and trick myself into being in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, my paternal ancestral home. Waking along the Congo River, sand underfoot, black-blue schoolboys like by brother fishing in the river.  
I haven't seen Moonlight yet, but the images from the trailer strike me as some of the most stunningcinematographic moments I've ever encountered. Black boys captured in the blue-hued light of their own knowing; the purple rage of a parents' anger, the meditation on the healing power of water and time.  
Fast forward to real time, and I'm witnessing another cinematic history unfold in the confusing moments of wrongful awarding made right as the cast and crew of LaLa Land embrace the news: rightful ownership goes to another story, another crew, another set of creatives making the invisible visible, mirroringcomplex identities and emotions with equally complex stories. 
The light in these stories matters: how we feel in the light, where we go in the light, what we learn through light. As an artist, this is one of my primary preoccupations: how will light transform this experience of time and space?  What matters to me is that the light unifies, lifts us up, and allows us to imagine other possibilities. 


Movement(s), small and large, matter. Participate in a printmaking or dance workshop, bask in the light of a master class, let your voice be amplified, share your work with the world. Find that south-facing window, and bask in the light of the wintertime sun: still strong, still working.
Wishing you peace and strength,
Eyenga Bokamba
Executive Director