The Art Corner: On being Black, weird, and thriving.
with Alisa Nicole Howard
Erykah Badu, rapper poet artist and genius, says that the thing that keeps us going is vitality. She adds that she subscribes to five doctors: Dr Sun, Dr Nutrition, Dr Excercise, Dr Spirit and Dr You, making sure that you take time to take care of yourself. Badu is an incredible example of how you can be an artist with political views, embrace your weirdness, and at the same time understand that there are boundaries and that your well-being is always a priority. I believe thriving is revolutionary, and Badu’s words resonated deeply in the conversation that I had with today’s art corner guest, Alisa Nicole Howard, whose artist name is The Void.
The first time I saw Alisa was at an Afro-Latinx poetry and art night in Barcelona, Spain. When she got on stage, she brought her heart with her. There was a sense of gratitude and unique quirkiness. Then, she began performing, and the room was transported into an alien world where theatre, poetry, and rap merged.
When we sat down together Alisa told me that as a child she used to be very shy in class, and that is something that her teachers were worried about. Alisa is a great student, they’d tell her mum, but she doesn’t talk. “I was in my shell. But then I’d go home and be a totally different person. Performing, singing” she says as she smiles at her memory. Alisa grew up in Philadelphia but is originally from Maryland, and now has been living the last ten years in Spain. She has a background in theatre and infuses this with rap, ambience sounds, and theatricals in her art.
“We’re just these little specks. We should think bigger, and be bigger: emotionally, and spiritually.”
She is inspired by different black artists from Erykah Badu to Andre 3000. “I always like black artists that are considered weird.” She tells me that she feels that for a person of colour, or black person, it is not so common to express quirkiness, “Being weird is considered more of a white thing. And to be able to venture into that and be strange, be free, is so inspiring. I really enjoy it, in my music as well,” to add elements that might be surprising to see in a performance, she tells me. Alisa truly embraces her weirdness, “so many aspects of our life need us to be a bit serious about things, because of discrimination and racism. I feel that sometimes we can neglect to express this kind of quirky, weird side. And perhaps it could be a feeling of letting our guard down and having people see this side,” she says. No one expects this of us, she tells me, because of how society is built. “I’ll just say I’m one of those, a Black Weirdo,” she says proudly.
Alisa’s energy is extremely contagious, she is unafraid to take up space and her laugh is gently addictive.
We begin exploring the topic of aliens and space and the unknown, themes that are very present in her performances, and how these relate to our current affairs and life on Earth.
“It’s not that Earth is boring. But it is a bit boring. I always think about all that’s out there that we don’t know. And then see how we’re focused on things like the colour of our skin, on working all day. Wake up! It doesn’t matter! We’re just these little specks. We should think bigger, and be bigger: emotionally, and spiritually.”
“This is what I’m venturing into, time travel through my art.”
“I’m interested to experiment with that in my music and performance.” The unknown is definitely scary, I tell her, but it can also make you deeply curious. Curiosity is something that is driven by imagination, and when society is oppressive and restless, it is difficult to feed this part of ourselves. “People are exploring new venues and ways to be able to make money but not have it drain your soul,” and arrive at the end of the day with more fulfilment than exhaustion. Her music is a kind of discovery, she tells me, “in it, I want to talk about being able to open up your heart and not feel like you have to keep your true self hidden. In a way, it is like space travel or time travel because you’re going into some unknown territory within yourself. This is what I’m venturing into, time travel through my art.”
She tells me that self-care has been a huge part of her existence in the last few years, especially having to face the challenges of moving across the world and trying to make art. We begin speaking about how art and politics are intertwined, but also question whether every black artist should be political. The daily bombarding of news about police violence, gun violence, and racism in her country can also be exhausting “It affects me of course, and I want to speak about it. But I refuse to let it drain me, I refuse to let it take my joy, and my peace,” she says.
When it gets too much, she says “ you have to set boundaries and say, I’m going to just stop for a moment, make sure that I have my self-care, and then I’ll check back in. I want black people to not have to deal with this and just create art, and have joy. Just live!” She tells me that looking at the artists of the Harlem Renaissance, she observed how most of their work was inspired by the racism that was going on in the country. “Not all of them, but a lot were forced into being activists,” the responsibility is a lot, “many black artists probably ask themselves ‘How can we turn a blind eye and not say anything?’ I understand and I appreciate it, but a part of me thinks that our narrative has been mainly moved based on the actions of others treating us in a negative manner. I think it’d be interesting to see what it would be like if that wasn’t the case.”
We then shift to speaking about Afro-futurism and how it is an emblem of black survival, at this moment she shows me a video by musician Lute, which is a short film in which a cyborg black man is found in an apocalyptic future by a little girl who takes care of it. The short film infuses elements of rap and Afrofuturism all encompassed by an incredible tenderness of this child. Apocalyptic futures are more and more represented in art, as we continue to witness nature’s wrath. “I’m not really scared of the apocalypse, I don’t know if I’ll even be alive when it happens,” she tells me, “but I do think there needs to be maybe an internal apocalypse” an apocalypse of our consciousness, I add “ Yes! Something needs to be a breaking point. And even within myself, the only way I’ve been able to become a better person was by breaking down the older version of myself in order to build back up.
And what if aliens came, we ask each other, what would it look like? “I hope aliens don’t come here because people don’t know how to act. I can already imagine people worried that aliens will take their jobs and their wives!” we laugh.
“A part of me thinks that our narrative has been mainly moved based on the actions of others treating us in a negative manner. It’d be interesting to see what it would be like if that wasn’t the case.”
As our conversation comes to an end, we circle back to the self, and what it means to be humans in a vast universe. Alisa tell me about something she once heard: that the universe created humans so that it could better understand itself emotionally. We look at the sky, imagine the millions of things happening in other galaxies, and wonder if this is true.
