People react to visual images in ways as unique as their DNA or fingerprints. But if you view the work of Black artist Dr. Imo NseImeh at Greenfield Community College’s South Gallery (through April 7), or his website (imoimeh.com/), I can guarantee that you will react.

In January 2022, I wrote enthusiastically about one of his powerful exhibits, and I am just as enthusiastic today. He continues using visual art to illustrate timeless social justice issues, hoping it will be a catalyst for further discussions and personal and societal growth. In my interpretation of his paintings, and written and spoken words, he sees his work as a beginning rather than a static accomplishment.

In ten 4’ x 5’ panels (charcoal and India ink on white canvas), he touches on social issues that most of us would like to avoid or minimize in pursuit of a life of blissful ignorance, or in search of a delicate balance for a fragile mind. But where to start in addressing his commentary on such a broad range of issues?

On his website, and a talk at GCC, he begins with a provocative title using the N-word, now “eradicated” from acceptable discourse, but crossed out to spark thought about whether the stereotypes and behaviors associated with it have been eradicated as well.

He details his inspiration (outrage?) at the backstory, beginning with the title of a popular, illustrated 1907 children’s book and counting poem of the same name. It presents grotesque caricatures of 10 little Black girls, 9 of whom disappear, often from horrific events (burned up, eaten by a bear, kidnapped by a large bird) until “there is one” who manages to return home.

That book (and others) presented a narrative for white children (and adults) about the ugliness, stupidity, and worthlessness of Blacks. The gruesome photo postcards of Blacks lynched and burned during the early 1900s are a natural extension of that view, something Imeh calls “purchasable trauma.” His series turns the images from grotesque to realistic and beautiful, but updates the dangers for our modern world.

Instead of a bear, cooking fire, or bird killing or capturing them, the girls are threatened by today’s influences and events, symbolized by dark, abstract splotches of India ink. The imagery and notes involve (among other issues) suicide, drug use and addiction, sexual abuse, child abuse and neglect, and the seductive and voracious power of internet images that can destroy a reputation and a sense of self-worth.

It is a dark and dangerous world for many girls (and boys), especially Black ones, because they are the most vulnerable among us. Compounding this problem is their “invisibility,” “terrifying” for Imeh because when you’re invisible, “anything can happen to you.” This is highlighted by the “Forgotten Girl” and “Gone Girl” panels and can be backed up by statistics: Blacks make up 12% of the American population, but 36% of all people who are missing, and 33% of missing children. 

In this bleak, violent landscape, Imeh’s work reminds me of a phrase used by author Jeff Sharlet about a different, dark subject: our country’s deep political divisions. In interviewing and writing about extremists willing to destroy our democracy to advance their beliefs, he defines it as a problem you “can’t go over or under ... You have to go through it,” facing it with engagement and investigation.

In the 1907 book and Imeh’s series, one girl survives and escapes. Imeh’s “Dream Girl” “persists in spite of the darkness” and he suggests that a future series may “challenge the idea of imminent death and despair for our Black youth, and instead celebrates their lives.”

He notes that, overall, his work in acknowledging and confronting social injustices is “exhausting.” But in person, he exudes a deep passion and appreciation for life in all its complexities and heartbreaks. This attitude illuminated a gallery at Westfield State University where he is a professor. Imeh helped select eight artists of color to exhibit work, and the silent, stationary walls are so colorful and vibrant that they seem, to me, to be almost in motion, like an exotic bird preparing for flight, or pulsing like a heartbeat. This is the flip side, the world that can be and should be. Dr. Imeh’s work as an artist and teacher forces us to face issues we’d like to ignore and helps us begin to “go through” them so we can celebrate the precious young lives that persist.

Allen Woods is a freelance writer, author of the Revolutionary-era historical fiction novel “The Sword and Scabbard,” and Greenfield resident. His column appears regularly on a Saturday. Comments are welcome here or at awoods2846@gmail.com. 

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