Kennedy

Last weekend, I had the pleasure of being invited to attend What Will We Do NEXT? by NEXT Atlanta. “An Evening of Art, Film & Conversation Under the Stars,” this outdoor salon brought a sizable crowd of Black art lovers together at WhiteSpace Gallery in Inman Park. It was a night of poetry, discussion, film and music. And I can’t forget the yummy vegan and non-vegan Caribbean food. Events like these remind me that there is always a community out there, if you can find it. 

This event came to my attention because my friend was volunteering that night and reached out to me. She knew I used to intern at WhiteSpace eight long years ago, the summer I turned 20. Coming in the gallery every Saturday for a summer was the perfect reprieve for me after interning 9-5 Monday-Friday at a fast-paced art institution. Every week was exhausting, but I was so happy to be busy and helpful. I’ve only been back to WhiteSpace a handful of times since then. It was amazing seeing the lush property filled with so many people that knew each other and laughed and reminisced. None of them I had seen before as my sister’s plus one to art events. Naturally, I was too nervous to walk up to anyone, so I found myself sitting in the midst of buzzing groups of conversation. 

After I ate and quietly eavesdropped, we all made our way to the main area for the event. Poet Jon Goode offered the crowd a warm and comedic introduction filled with old times and quitting a job without much forethought and finding inspiration by chance. From there, we jumped into a conversation with Goode as the moderator and visual artists Charly Palmer and Tracy Murrell as the special guests. Palmer, as some may know, is the cover artist behind the book All Boys Aren’t Blue by George M. Johnson, a book that has been banned in dozens of school libraries because of its Black and queer themes. This was my first time seeing Murrell’s work, who intentionally paints most of her silhouettes an azure blue as a symbol of, and hope for, peace and relaxation for people of color.

Up next was the showing of NEXT Atlanta’s 2022 short film. Their Instagram post describes the film, “NEXT and MARTA Artbound commissioned five Atlanta artists to create works that speak directly to the global pandemic and racial reckoning of the last two years. These works took place in and around MARTA stations across the city”. 

During the thirty-minute film, I needed fresh air among the fresh air. I stepped out to breathe away from the crowd and took a lap around the solo exhibition, This Fragile Thing by Amy Pleasant. Every letter of the exhibition title is the silhouette of a body part– the lowercase “h” is a reclined torso, the lowercase “r” is a wrist with a flopping hand, the uppercase “F” is the profile of a thigh and butt, perhaps? 

The modernized brick and wooden form of the gallery just after sunset was the perfect setting for these solemn pieces. Black silhouettes of naked bodies that bend and twist and lean were mostly created on gouache on paper… some in more natural poses, like the 62×108 inch diptych titled DoubleProp, where a single figure is seated in each panel facing one another. Their knees are to their bare chest with their arms folded on top of the knees and torso beginning to drape over the legs. I know this pose very well, and so does my shower floor after tiring days that leave me reeling. Other works have figures in less natural positions. The first piece on the left when one enters the gallery is titled Collapse XIII, a figure that is seemingly falling in mid-air towards an unknown destination. I also have known this pose well, being known by several friends in college as someone who can literally fall anywhere. Fallen could be the answer to Collapse XIII‘s question, where eight silhouettes have already hit the ground at different angles. 

WhiteSpace’s exhibition statement highlighted a few works including Neck, a series of six works on paper placed in a pyramid shape. The curving black silhouettes represent the space between the neck and the chest, “one of the most vulnerable parts of the body”. Upon the first walkthrough, I interpreted these works as a calming celebration of the form, how this fragile thing of a body can fold and fall. After reading the statement, where the gallery explains that the works “speak to the instability and weight of this moment in time and its effects on our physical and mental well-being,” I see it differently now and in context to What Will We Do NEXT? How do we respond to the attempts of stomping peace and basic human rights into oblivion? Today, three years ago, 15 years ago? How to reckon with a precious body that can also be resilient. How can we try not to get permanently weighed down? I have noticed more and more how important it is for me to think about how to get back up as the stress of the world mounts. I want progress to continue to move and flow throughout the instability, taking time to rest and getting back into the madness. Never letting collapsing be the final step. After all, we are vulnerable, fragile things on a random floating orb in the middle of nowhere. I would prefer if we were not overcome with misinformation and mistreatment, at least not chronically, and remembered that a community for a better world can always be found or created.

Thanks for reading,

Kennedy

This Fragile Thing is on view from September 6, 2025 – October 18, 2025.