​Introduction
 
The images I bring to you were inspired by John Lewis’ graphic novel series “March” (the third installment of which was just released recently accompanying its national book award), I wanted to send out some images from my new series “Over/come(ing).”  This series of paintings was initially conceived in reflection about current marches and their connection to marches in the past – mostly the famous march, the march in 1965 the walk from Selma to Montgomery, Alabama.  Within this work, I seek to explore the power/complexity/hopefulness of social movement (s), the most powerful of human creations, for improving the world, appropriately, I will post a part of a painting from the series each day for the month of March, which we should now think of not just as a month or as a way to mark time but also as a call to action and freedom.
 
Over/Come(ing) 4
 
When we arrived in Charleston, my Aunt Anna and myself had to take a bus to my Grandma Laura’s house on Norman Street. I sat in the front of the bus and my Aunt went to the back as “negroes” were supposed to do. Alarmed at my behavior and location, she gestured for me to come to the back, but I rebuffed her pleadings, and sat stubbornly in the front. No one told me to move, but all eyes were on me. When we reached my grandmother Laura’s house, the first thing out of my Aunt’s mouth was that I sat in the front of the bus. My grandmother spoke to me in Gullah, while smoking her pipe, and giggled. Her words I could not understand, but she seemed amused by the story. I asked my Aunt what grandma had said and she translated for me: “that one got spirit.”
 
I wasn’t done.  On this trip, I broke many rules.  I drank at “white fountains”, I sat where I wasn’t supposed too, and as a consequence I caused my Aunt a great deal of stress. The trip was quite an awakening to my young mind and a distressful one as well. I didn’t like what I saw and I didn’t like what colored people had to do.  My Aunt was unsettled as well.  She promised that she would never again bring me to Charleston, S.C., and that was fine with me.
 
 

​Introduction
 
The images I bring to you were inspired by John Lewis’ graphic novel series “March” (the third installment of which was just released recently accompanying its national book award), I wanted to send out some images from my new series “Over/come(ing).”  This series of paintings was initially conceived in reflection about current marches and their connection to marches in the past – mostly the famous march, the march in 1965 the walk from Selma to Montgomery, Alabama.  Within this work, I seek to explore the power/complexity/hopefulness of social movement (s), the most powerful of human creations, for improving the world, appropriately, I will post a part of a painting from the series each day for the month of March, which we should now think of not just as a month or as a way to mark time but also as a call to action and freedom.
 
 
Commentary for #3
 
I was 10 years old when I first visited the south to meet my grandmother (on my mother’s side), aunt and cousins.  At the time, I was unaware of the situation of terror inflicted upon black people.  Growing up in New York City, I had no encounters with the south or racism or white folks at all - actually.  That ended one summer’s day when we traveled to Charleston, South Carolina.
 
My trip was a reward from my Aunt Anna for not telling my mother that she burnt a hole in her mattress, while mom was in the hospital.  I told anyhow, but by that time the tickets were already bought.  This would be my first train ride.
 
It started out in an interesting way as we were told in New York that we had to travel in the last three cars of the train.  This didn’t sit well with me because we were initially in the first car and I was quite comfortable.  We now had to walk all the way to the back of the train. 
 
As the trip progressed and we got closer to our final destination, I didn’t understand my aunt’s nervousness.  She began to tell me that Charleston was not like New York and that I had to behave a certain way.  “Walk with your eyes down when you pass a white person,” she told me. Being a precocious kid I said, “What if I bump into one because
I can’t see them looking down at the ground?”  No answer.  “Follow what I do and don’t talk to any white people,” she continued.  “Why?” I asked. “Just don’t”, she replied.  And, this is how most of the trip went.
 
When the train reached the southern border I noticed beautiful homes with white pillars,
cows on lush pastoral fields grazing, how exciting, I thought, wondering who lives in such a beautiful setting.  As the train progressed onward it was as if the sun disappeared.   Now around me I saw dilapidated cabins leaning on a thread of wood. Pushing onward, sand was kicked up from black children running along the railroad track waving. I waved back.  I asked my aunt, “Do those children live in those beat-up houses?”  No answer. “Does grandma live in houses like that?”  “No, now sit back and enjoy the ride.”  I didn’t enjoy the ride, because I wanted to know why the kids lived in those cabins, and why they didn’t have any shoes on. To this day that image has never faded.
 
 

Introduction
 
The images I bring to you were inspired by John Lewis’ graphic novel series “March” (the third installment of which was just released recently accompanying its national book award), I wanted to send out some images from my new series “Over/come(ing).”  This series of paintings was initially conceived in reflection about current marches and their connection to marches in the past – mostly the famous march, the march in 1965 the walk from Selma to Montgomery, Alabama.  Within this work, I seek to explore the power/complexity/hopefulness of social movement (s), the most powerful of human creations, for improving the world, appropriately, I will post a part of a painting from the series each day for the month of March, which we should now think of not just as a  month or as a way to mark time but also as a call to action and freedom.
 
Commentary for #2
 
The turbulent period of the march of 1965 in the United States was in many respects a reflection of my own turbulence and thus I remember it well.  Inside, I was expecting a child and in an unhappy relationship.  As a result, my focus was fragmented and there was a uncertainty of the future, all thoughts moving through me at once.  Outside, the struggle for human and civil rights was being waged against a seemingly unbending ideology of separation, anger and hurtful language, boldly denying people the right to exist and to pursue what they wished. The right to vote was the major topic of discussion, with many sub-grievances which turned out to be even more important (e.g., economic inequality).
 
Watching television, the message I received and saw was that we were people - a beautiful people, endowed with the same ethos of that which created all things. Seeing the strength, the commitment, deeply flowing out from the people steadfast in the face of something you knew was wrong was incredibly empowering.
 
As such, the march not only challenged societal oppression and political repression as well as strengthened all of those who bore witness to it but, more personally, it challenged my own inter-personal oppression as well as strengthened me and those who bore witness.  The struggle was within; the struggle was without.  It sounds odd to say it but from the march I was inspired and uplifted.  In its wake, I knew I would be able to accomplish what I set out to do: addressing my difficult decision to put things in truth.  

Inspired by John Lewis’ graphic novel series “March” (the third installment of which was just released recently accompanying its national book award), I wanted to send out some images from 
my new series “Over/come(ing).” This series was initially conceived in reflection about current marches and their connection to marches in the past – mostly the famous march of 1965 from Selma to Montgomery, Alabama. Within this work, I seek to explore the power/complexity hopefulness of social movement(s), the most powerful of human creations, for improving the world.

Appropriately, I will post a part of a painting from the series each day for the month of March, which we should now think of not just as a month or as a way to mark time but also as a call to action and freedom.

For more of my work see: www.julietseignious.com

This Odyssey is part of a series of paintings. The series depicts the
problematic but essential aspects of remembering and
reconstructing the history of the African American experience
and dealing with the fragmentary nature of that experience – a piece
here, a piece there, a memory here, a memory there.
 
Sojourner Truth was born Isabella (Bell) Baumfree. She was born in
1797, and she died on November 26, 1883.  She was an African American
abolitionist and woman rights activist.  She was born into slavery
in Swantekill, Ulster County, N.Y.  She escaped with her infant daughter
to freedom in 1826.  After going to court to regain her son in 1828, she
was the first black woman to win her case in a white court.
 
She named herself Sojourner Truth in 1843. She is known for her
speech,“Ain’t I a Woman,” which she gave at an Ohio Woman’s
Rights convention in Akron, Oh. The speech became well known
during the Civil War. It was translated using a stereotypical
Southern dialect, although Sojourner grew up in New York and
spoke Dutch as her first language.
 
During the Civil War, she assisted in recruiting Black troops for the
Union Army. After the war, she unsuccessfully tried to secure land
grants for former slaves from the Federal Government.
 
How did I come to make this a Sojourner Truth painting?  Serendipity.  
I was surfing the net one day, looking for inspiration and for some reason
her name kept showing up. Yielding to the universe, I decide to look her
up and read her story on Wikipedia (yeah, I know – not the best place but it
comes up first). I was so impressed, I felt a calling that the painting had to be
in memory of Sojourner. As I mentioned earlier in this blog, I was not looking
for her. It turns out she was looking for me like much of history.
 
As the painting evolved, the woman in the painting had to have a
light around her head representing courage, enlightenment, and
strength. I wanted the feeling of looking to the future, dismissing
fear and obtaining justice whatever the results. Although the woman
in the painting is of African American descent, it could still be any woman.
It is amazing how some want to de-universalize black images.  I see the energy
in the piece and think that it could apply to the broadest of audiences. 
 
I thank Sojourner for her courage and inspiration.  I thank her for finding me
​and reminding me of that.

It has been awhile since I have posted any paintings or blogged specific to the innocent men who were slayed by insecure and fearful Police Officers, of the Law. Who believed that death of another, was the only Option. Seems it isn’t good for our Country or its Citizens. Any injustice opens the door to give power to that which should not have power. I am recognizing the injustice in the only way I can through painting and blogging.

In my mind the thought of hatred towards these officers, is conflicting with the thought that I have to let them go, until I am capable to love them, in spite of their act of treason against their citizens.  That, they will have to live with. To lie to oneself is to be lost. We are all made up of the same thing, which is a “Variation On A Theme,” mankind.

Peace to You

Juliet

Every now and then, I like to revisit from where I have come.  In doing this I came to realize that I have actually been painting for longer than I thought.  For example, the painting above (my first painting) is 44 years old. It is a very personal one. At the time, I had a miscarriage and was recovering. To help to overcome the stress and sadness of the experience, I kind of looked around at the objects in my house and that of a good friend at the time. On one of these gazings, I noticed an art book of Modigliani on a table (an example of his work is shown below) and right then I decided to thumb through it. Interesting, I no longer remember if the book was theirs or mine. 
 
Loving the paintings and Modigliani's style, I felt inspired to paint how I was feeling. My painting and the figure was inspired my Modigliani - note the long neck and the innocence of the face.  This  was a memorable moment for it was actually the first time that I had picked up a paintbrush since deciding to become a professional dancer instead of a painter - choosing the High School of Performing Arts over the High School for Music and Art.  More on this choice later.  

After getting set up with paints and brushes (moving to the side the items for the baby), I began to paint the background into many colors, never really focusing on what I was painting.  After looking and reflecting, the blocks of color represented the complications life can bring, and there can be many.

At first I didn’t see much of anything and saw the letter E, which is kind of funny now.  The more I looked, however, the image of the fetus/baby appeared.  Through art, I had recreated what I had lost and in so doing healed myself.  Indeed, I was healed so much so that I left painting and did not return to it for years - 1990.