I’ve got less that 200 drawings left, and my goal is to have completed this series by the beginning of June. Every 100 drawings, I’ve tried to take stock of which kinds of Black men and Black men’s experiences I’ve depicted in my drawings and which kinds of brothas I’ve overlooked.
At this point, I know that I still have some work to do in terms of the inclusion of homeless men, gender non-forming men, and the young brothas in the baggy pants and big shirts. It has also occurred to me that one of the places I enjoy seeing Black men most is in their cars. Whether young or old, alone or with friends, in a late-model lexus or a vintage conversion van, brothas in their cars are the embodiment of independence–the fundamental refusal to be told where to go, how to be, and when to be it. To me, they look like freedom
I love how a man like the one is this drawing–an elder who doesn’t drive with as much speed and control as he used to–is nonetheless holding space, driving slower in the passing lane than is really acceptable, but either oblivious to or uninterested in other peoples’ honking, gestures, and tailgating. Even if he doesn’t own a home, and even if he’s never been anybody’s boss, his car is his domain, and he’s going to drive it however he wants.