By Amanda Crouse
On Tuesday, March 26, The College of Wooster Art Museum celebrated Women’s History Month by showcasing artist Delita Martin’s “Keepsakes” collection. Pastel-colored sugar cookies (courtesy of Miss Amy’s Bakery) had been neatly arranged on a tray against the wall. Before the talk, I had some time to walk around the exhibit area and look at Martin’s collection.
It features seven portraits, each one in its own frame, and each of a different smiling Black girl. The portraits were lithographically printed onto a series of christening gowns (white dresses intended to be worn during Christian baptism ceremonies), and overlaid with hand-embroidered flower patterns that varied from canvas to canvas. The inclusion of the christening gowns served as a striking commentary on the dramatic contrast between the innocence of all of God’s children and the lack of innocence that is granted to Black girls. Even as I rejoined the slow stream of guests filing into their seats for the start of the talk, my eyes were anchored to the portraits.
A University of Cincinnati alum, Dr. Brittney S. Miles (or “B. Smiles,” as she is known on social media) received her Ph.D. in sociology and completed a graduate program in women’s, gender and sexuality Studies. She is now an assistant professor of sociology at the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign.
Miles is a self-identified Black “Girl-woman,” a title that I initially thought I was mishearing until she repeated it for the third or fourth time during her poetic reflection on girlhood — specifically Black girlhood — and the stifling of its joy and innocence. When asked about this term, Miles grinned, seemingly grateful for the question.
She started by discussing her childhood, when she was deprived of the same absolute innocence that was afforded to her white peers. Harmless displays of youthful spirit were interpreted as intentional acts of malice or trouble-making. Miles recounted a particularly crushing experience from elementary school when a teacher reprimanded her for wearing beaded braids — a hairstyle so significant within Black American culture that to reduce its rhythmic click-clacking to the disparaging label of “noise” was to completely misunderstand (or to miss altogether) the source of its beauty. This and many other soul-stifling experiences warped the image of girlhood in Miles’s adolescent mind.
Now, she is reclaiming some of her lost childhood joy through the title of “Girl-woman.” “Every woman was once a girl,” Miles said. She assured that her statement applied to all women — cisgender women, transgender women and maybe even some people who never identified as female and never would. That neighborhood boy who painted his nails and played hopscotch with you as a kid — does he understand girlhood? Who is and isn’t welcome to revel in the pride and wonder of such a label? Why have we kept adding new barriers to entry, to the inclusion and understanding and sense of sisterhood that come with the title?
This question gave me pause, because as much as that term — “girlhood” — initially sounds so sacred and unique, it also holds diversity and nuance, just as do the lives of girls themselves. To experience girlhood is to know what it is to have a planet full of sisters who, in one regard or another, have suffered some of the same scathing pains and celebrated the same long-awaited triumphs. Why shouldn’t one be happy to share those moments of tearfulness and of joy with as many sisters as possible?
Another attendee asked which of the pieces on display was Miles’s favorite. She was not as ready for this question. She turned and took a step back to take in all seven of the portraits. Finally, she pointed to one in the center of the top row: a cherubic, nearly infantile little Black girl with her hair tied up in ponytails and what looked like the first glimmers of girlhood twinkling in her eyes.
“It reminds me of me,” Miles explained. At least, it reminded her of the only photo of herself that was taken before she reached age ten. Miles teared up and began to cry as she talked about her mother, who proudly reprinted the old image onto a huge poster to magnify what had become a valuable family keepsake. It was an emotional moment, and not just because of Miles’s heavy backstory; to me, her response perfectly displayed the raw connection between our humanity and art. Delita Martin’s portraits became mirrors through which Miles might look back at her young self — an innocent, homework-loving little girl who was scolded in class for being “too loud” when all she was doing was being a kid.
At the end of the talk, sticky notes were distributed, and guests were encouraged to place their note on the wall beside the portrait that they liked the most. These votes would help with the College’s decision of which piece to purchase. It was difficult to choose, as each of the seven faces perfectly represented its own facet of childhood that would be worth adding to a permanent display. One girl was thoughtful and quiet. Another wore a playful smirk. Still another portrait smiled a toothy grin, eyebrows raised and eyes widened in that familiar expression of pure, youthful excitement. I would be happy to see any one of the pieces become a part of The College of Wooster Art Museum. Some will see the chosen print as a beautiful piece of art with stunning embroidery detail. For others it may serve as a mirror, reflecting the complex and funny and innocent memories of youth — the keepsakes of Black girlhood.