Talking Wall

?Slowly but surely the house is being decorated. A chair here, a comforter there, new pillows, paint for this room, that one, and the next, desk, vase, books– yes, things are really beginning to come together. Even those areas that still remain empty have already been filled in my mind. Yes, from the time I walked in this house I knew exactly what I wanted to do with every space – with the exception of that great big wall in the entry.

The wall is huge and over these last few months, no matter what I’ve placed there, nothing could stand up to it. From chairs to tables to ottomans and lamps … they were no match for it. They were no match, but the wall deserved attention. Each time I passed it, I heard it saying in an almost audible voice, “honor me”. “I’m doing my best”, was my reply, but to be perfectly honest I was at a loss.

A few months back, Dallas hosted a Black Arts Festival. The festival was a travelling group of artists with some of the most amazing art I’d ever seen. From booth to booth I wandered as artist after artist showcased their wares. Out of nowhere there was a slight tap on my knee, emanating from a walking cane. As I looked down, an older gentleman peered over a set of glasses, smiled gently and said, “young man … I hope you did something special with those pieces I blessed you with”. He motioned for me to come closer. I bent down upon which time he whispered, “you know they’re valued at over $10,000 now”.

***

Nearly two decades earlier I had visited his home here in Dallas with a mutual friend. Anyone who knows me knows how captivated I am with the black experience in America. From slavery and beyond, nothing holds my attention like that topic. It just so happened that his house was filled with interesting artifacts paying homage to the black struggle. Chains, whips, quilts, posters announcing slave auctions, and so many other incredible items.

While the friend and the artist talked, I drifted from wall to wall, room to room, captivated by what I saw. I picked up this one picture set entitled, “Goree Island: The Middle Passage and asked if I could open it. “By all means” he said. Goree Island, just off the coast of Senegal, is home to the House of Slaves. Some historians believe that as many as 20 million slaves passed through this hellish place before being dispersed to a lifetime of bondage.

The series consisted of 15 incredible pieces that followed the life of an African village. From the time it was raided by slavers all the way up to their being sold at auction upon arriving here in America. One by one I looked at them … and they looked back at me. What made these pieces even more unique is that he painted them using water from the Atlantic Ocean, while sitting in a slave dungeon.

When I was finished, I neatly placed them back in their folder. As the last one went in, he patted my arm and said, “you take those with you man”. I told him thank you, but I remembering thinking thank you doesn’t do justice to the amount of gratitude my heart felt at that moment.

***

A light bulb went off. I had finally found a way to honor that wall. I immediately left the art festival, went home and grabbed those pictures. I opened the folder and there they were … just as powerful as they were the first time I saw them. Later that week, I met with a framer to discuss just how I wanted them to be framed. Upon opening the folder, I began telling her what they were. A white woman, she stopped me mid-sentence and said she knew exactly what she was looking at … she’d just never seen it like this. I left them in her care, and she promised she would do them justice.

Around midweek she called. “Done already” I asked. “Not quite” she said. “I just wanted to call and thank you for allowing me to be a part of this incredible experience. In all my years, I have never seen anything like this”. I was floored.

A few weeks later she called, this time they were ready, and I eagerly went to retrieve them. True to her word, she did an amazing job. As I said before there were 15 pieces in this set and as a guy who has never been considered handy, I knew I needed a professional to hang them. I called around and found just the guy. We set a date and time. Before he arrived, I positioned the pictures on the floor in the same order I wanted them hung on the wall. He came in and immediately went to work. Banging, screwing, moving his ladder across the floor … and then silence … the kind of silence that told me he was done.

I went in and saw him, standing there looking up in awe. He turned to me, shook my hand and thanked me. He gathered his tools, cleaned his work area and turned one last time before leaving and said, “this was the most amazing job I’ve ever done … thank you again”.

That night I sat there for what seemed like forever looking up at those pictures. I had them for years and lived in a house with walls prior to this one, but never got them framed or hung. Then that wall spoke to me yet again. It said, “You never got them framed and hung, because you weren’t in a space where you could fully appreciate the blessing”.

***

Some of us have been asking for a blessing. The truth to the matter friend is that every blessing you’ve ever prayed for is sitting right there in the palm of your hands …

You’ve just got to get to a space where you can fully appreciate it.