In West Africa, specifically within the Yorùbá society, the constructs of gender and sexuality as understood in the West did not exist there before European encounters.
Dune tells the story of two competing colonial powers warring over a resource-rich planet, one with clear parallels to Soviet Russia, and the other with clear influences of 1950s and ’60s America.
I’ll begin with the tale of a great downfall, a tale that begins with the main character born as a symbol of all that is beautiful in the world who dies a spiritless victim of the world’s greatest faults.
I had never thought of a slave witnessing a volcano before; that specific scenario was not conceivable in my reality. As someone who had always longed to connect with the ghosts of my shared diasporic past, I had to know: How did slaves react to a volcano? My project was an attempt to communicate with history and, hopefully, sew together any holes left by neglect.
A fictional museum exhibit spins a narrative from documents related to a money transfer end of the Fatimid caliphate. The interpretation casts history as an institution that permanently exists in the present.
When I began my time at an early twentieth-century historic house museum, I was expecting to find a lot of things—furniture, yellowing diaries, shelves and shelves of vintage clothes—but I never imagined I would find my grandmother.