Antebellum Tribal Afrikan Wall Masks
A visual tribute to the powerful legacy of Black Afrikans born in the American South during the Maafa — the Afrikan Holocaust.
I’m a Multi-Dimensional Artist-and I’m Sensitive About My Shit. Shoutout to Badu!
I want to first thank my little-big brother and ancestor, David Berry (pictured with me), who made this entire body of work possible. Late in 2022, he visited me in a dream and showed me how to make these masks from fabric. This body of work exists because of his spiritual leadership and guidance. Ase’O!!!
We Come From Someplace
Stories in the Fabric
Countless stories are woven into the fabric of the Afrikan Diaspora — layered, hidden, waiting to be told.
Antebellum Tribal Afrikan Wall Masks (ATAWM) are one of those stories.
This body of work is part of my ongoing exploration of identity, heritage, and spirit — rooted in my own lineage and connected to the broader Afrikan experience across the globe.
This series reflects my interpretations of the deep connections between natural textile fibers used during chattel enslavement and the enduring culture of Afrikans born in the American South. These masks are my visual poems — rhythmic, metaphorical, and raw — speaking unfiltered truths through the fabric itself.
One recurring feature in this series is Mookie’s Mouth — a form I use to honor African features, especially full lips and rich, dark skin. The name comes from a nickname my mother gave one of my little brothers, who couldn’t say “milk” and would say “Mook” or “Mookie” while breastfeeding. She would smile at him and praise how beautiful his big lips were, calling him her “sweet little dark chocolate baby.”
That everyday tenderness — that celebration of Blackness in its purest form — lives in these masks. It’s stitched into the work just as deeply as the fabric itself.
You’ll also see elements of Afro-futurism, where time folds in — past, present, and future coexisting in each piece.
ATAWM is an offering of gratitude to the sheer tenacity of Black communities across the Afrikan Diaspora — from the continent to the Caribbean, the Americas, and beyond — especially those closest to my own family’s story, in the Deep South and the islands. These are the people who survived genocide, endured forced labor, and still found ways to thrive, create, and love.
In the words of Audre Lorde:
Afrikans everywhere are powerful and deliberate.
Stories in the Threads
Before you can read the cloth, you have to learn its history. I know what these masks mean to me, but what’s exciting is that you have a front-row seat to analyze and find your own meaning.
Now imagine this: having a gun trained on you from sunup to sundown, forced to wear pants made not just of burlap, but rough, raw cotton sacks—cotton that hadn’t been properly processed or softened, worn directly against your skin. The shirt was made of steel wool, scratchy and unforgiving. Even the underwear was burlap, coarse and irritating, often crawling with mealworms and fire ants. These weren’t just ragged clothes—they were cruel reminders of neglect and dehumanization, made from the very crops your enslaved hands had picked, with pests crawling freely on fabric meant to cover your body. I know, unconscionable, right? But wait… there’s more. This actually happened to enslaved human beings.
Forced Black labor and cotton industrialization are inseparable. To grow the cotton that would clothe the world and fuel the global economy, enslaved Black bodies worked the cotton fields of the Deep South — until they literally died from exhaustion or from their joints grinding down to the very bone and cartilage — or when they were shot and murdered for not moving fast enough.
Their labor not only made cotton America’s largest financial asset — a system upheld by constant threat of violence and scrupulous record keeping — it made us relevant and important to the rest of the world. America remains one of the world’s leading nations because of this stolen, free labor from my people.
Woven Wounds, Stitched in Silence
Behind every thread lies a story of pain, endurance, and survival — a silent witness to the brutal realities of chattel slavery. During my research, I uncovered the harsh truths behind terms like “Guinea cloth” and “Negro cloth.” These were not just fabrics; they were instruments of control and dehumanization, woven tightly into the fabric of systemic violence.
Guinea cloth, with its roots in West Afrika, was plain or dyed, loom-patterned cotton traded as piece goods. Negro cloth was even harsher — rough, unfinished, and unbleached cotton, often blended with coarse animal and plant fibers. These low-cost, durable materials were the only fabrics legally permitted for enslaved Afrikans in the American South and Caribbean.
But these clothes did more than cover bodies — they physically and mentally burdened those forced to wear them. Issued only five yards per year, hand-sewn between backbreaking work, these fabrics carried the weight of oppression and the silent wounds of those who endured them.
Reclaiming Our Narrative
Central to my work is the celebration and glorification of Afrocentric features—a process I call Mookie’s Mouth. Named after my brother, who endured racist jokes and comments about his features and dark complexion while in a white foster home, this approach is more than an artistic choice; it’s an act of healing and reclamation.
I refer to these as tribal masks in honor of my West Afrikan heritage, recognizing the deep cultural roots and spiritual significance that tribal masks hold across the Afrikan continent. While tribal masks have meaning in many cultures worldwide, Africa is a profound source of this artistic and cultural tradition, and my masks are a continuation of that ancestral lineage. These masks also tell the unique story of the Antebellum South—reflecting the resilience, pain, and strength of Afrikan peoples who endured centuries of forced labor and systemic oppression in America.
By centering Black features in my masks, I rewrite stories of shame and invisibility into ones of beauty, resilience, and pride. This work is part of a larger movement to reclaim our stories, affirm our identities, and uplift our spirits. Through creativity, I honor my ancestors and contribute to healing within my family and across the Afrikan Diaspora.
With the gifts of blood memory, intuition, and resilience, I let the ancestors and spirits guide the faces as they reveal themselves through the fabric, shaping each mask’s story. Each piece is an offering—an act of beautifying, educating, and empowering.
This journey is possible because of my ancestor and brother, David, whose spiritual leadership has been my foundation. Ase-O!!!
These masks carry the weight of history and the light of our future. Through them, we reclaim our narrative—one thread, one face, one story at a time. I will continue to listen, create, and share as the spirits lead me.
Enjoy the journey.
MOOKIES MOUTH, 2021. Textiles & mixed media on wood (16 X 16). $3000
AFRODALIT, 2021. Textiles & mixed media on wood (22 1/2 X 16). $3000
MR. JUTE, 2021. Textiles & mixed media on wood (22 X 13). $2800
OJISE' THE GRIOTS GRIOT, 2021. Textiles & mixed media on cork board (23 1/2 X 23 1/2). $4500
MOKO JUMBIE, 2021. Textiles & mixed media on wood (45 X 15). Not for $ale
OGUN'S SONG, 2021. Textiles & mixed media on cork board (24 X 18). $3734