Our Story
Family Ideals
- After my cousin Jerry passed away last year, I had an epiphany. I saw myself without ever accomplishing what I really wanted to do, my dream, to be considered an artist. It got me reminiscing about the past and all the talented people in my family who showed great potential yet never used it. I remember sitting for hours at a time with my uncle, Arthur Bryant Jr, my mom’s little brother, who was a fantastic artist. He would draw with my cousin and I at the kitchen table in my mom's house bringing life to the empty universe of a blank piece of paper. Uncle Jr could draw anything, trees, animals, flowers and realistic people that gazed emotionally back at you. He’d often challenge himself by letting us choose his next creation.
- My cousin on my mother’s side we called “Urp”, never knew why, Jerome Aaron Bryant, was an excellent artist himself. (pictured on the right with my uncle. Also see a “Posthumous Tribute” to my talented family.). He would draw NBA players, and other sports figures, that looked as if they would jump off the page of the spiral notebook in which he drew. I watched and learned from them, amazed by the art of creating something from a blank page. They were born with this gift, this raw talent. Finished paper sized masterpieces worthy of display were then tossed aside. thrown away or left abandoned on the coffee table, as though they didn't matter anymore. I never understood that and would pick them up and stare at them for a long time hoping some of that talent would rub off on me. And although I didn’t inherit the raw talent they did, I started filling up blank pages anyway. When I asked them, in the years following, why they didn’t share their artwork with others, with the world. Why just throw them away, assuring them of their fame and fortune if they did all the while, they both replied with similar answers. That it was just something they did for themselves, a relaxing time killer, something to keep their hands busy. That it was personal and they didn’t need anyone’s opinion or approval to validate what they’d created. Besides, they added, they weren’t as good as I thought, even if they were that good, show it to someone and they might copy it and steal your work. Yea, that sounds crazy now. I took their words to heart, after all, I looked up to them, they knew best. Over time what I took from their words, their emotions and ideals, deformed into an irrational fear. I had turned not showing your art into a fear of showing my art. Paranoia of having my artwork copied and stolen, exacerbated by the fear of criticism from others, created a barrier I couldn’t break. I believe now that it was always about criticism. What they say, or don’t say about your work. How you're viewed after they’ve seen your work, for them that might have meant a lot, as it does for me now.
- My mom, Edith, God rest her soul, was a cook like no other, she prepared soul food meals that’d make you slap yourself. Holidays at my house were like festivals for the soul, the palate, and it all started with the nose. The aromas coming from our kitchen made you believe there really was a god of food and she was its emissary. For years everyone in the family pleaded with my mom to open a restaurant, like Ms. Young, a neighbor down the street, had done. And her cooking was nowhere near as good. Or like the Nun sisters who opened a soul food restaurant just down the street. We could have gotten into the same street-side shops as they did, probably right next to them, she would have blown them away. I knew my mom liked the idea, it was kinda her dream, I could see it in her face. But my father wasn’t having it, he was only interested, he didn’t take risks outside the lottery. Though her dream might not have seen light, her cooking lit up a lot of faces, her talents weren’t wasted. She wasn’t a master cook that never cooked for anybody, she made miracles out of meatloaf. My Aunt Becky, my favorite aunt, Rebecca Jean Barnett, an avid writer, wrote many short stories that read like a professional had written them. When I was a teenager she wrote an entire novel of fiction about a young woman and her trials and tribulations. I read it, though I don’t remember much about now, it seemed more like a loose autobiography of her own life. I do remember that much. I remember telling that it was a good book and that she should publish it. My aunt passed away, God rest her soul, her novel lost, she never realized her dream of being an author. I picked up the writing bug from her and like her my stories have yet gone unread except by me.
- I have another cousin, Dave, God rest his soul, who was murdered in 2005. David Fredrick Hall was an upcoming hungry Rap artist, talented and ambitious. He started in my makeshift home office and then took his career to the next level. stage shows at popular venues around the Detroit area, where he was growing quite a following. I’m not mentioning him here because he didn’t try and fulfill his dream, to the contrary. He’s here as an example of someone in my family not afraid to reach for their dream. He’s also here because he passed away before his dreams could be fully realized. See his start, an early video of his freestyle on my "Posthumous Tribute" page. He left behind two daughters and a wife.
- I had a ride or die cousin named Shurla, or Miss Ann, or squeaky, I know, where were they getting these nicknames. She was Shurla Thomasina Barnett, my Aunt Becky’s daughter, a dog lover who dreamt of breeding dogs. And she was well on her way to getting her own kennel. She was breeding and selling puppies all over the country from as far away as Georgia. Puppies that were selling at upwards of $1,500.00 and adults as much as $7,000.00. Miss Ann and I would talk often, encouraging each other in our dreams, but I couldn’t tell her her encouragement wasn’t enough. I think she knew though. She, like my cousin Dave, isn’t here because she didn’t go for her dream. She’s here, also like Cuz, because she passed away before her dream was fully realized as well. And because I loved Miss Ann and it felt good to reminisce about her and the rest of the family.
- I’ve got other talented relatives, two cousins, even friends, who by the grace of God are still with us. I won’t mention any names, but they know who they are, all with talents they don’t seem to want to share. I’ll respect their choice, but I believe, “With great Talent comes great Responsibility”, to paraphrase Ben Parker. (for those of you who don’t know who Ben Parker is, shame on you) so we gotta put it out there for the world to have. At least that’s the way I feel now.
- So on my 55th birthday I started posting my artwork on deviantArt.com and I’m not gonna stop till I’ve posted it all. I’ll beat this self-imposed phobia I created. I guess the bottom line is, I want to do that. I want to beat the fear of criticism for the sake of myself, my family and for the possible rebirth of my t-shirt company, Void Entertainment, LLC. Also, please visit Posthumous TributeMy cousin on my mother’s side we called “Urp”, never knew why, Jerome Aaron Bryant was his name, was an excellent artist himself. (pictured on the right with my uncle. Also see a “Posthumous Tribute” to my talented family.). He would draw NBA players, and other sports figures, that looked as if they would jump off the page of the spiral notebook in which he drew. I watched and learned from them, amazed by the art of creating something from a blank page. They were born with this gift, this raw talent. Finished paper sized masterpieces worthy of display were then tossed aside, thrown away or left abandoned on the coffee table, as though they didn't matter anymore. I never understood that and would pick them up and stare at them for a long time, hoping some of that talent would rub off on me. And although I didn’t inherit the raw talent they did, I started filling up blank pages anyway. When I asked them, in the years following, why they didn’t share their artwork with others, with the world, why just throw them away, assuring them of their fame and fortune if they did all the while, they both replied with similar answers. That it was just something they did for themselves, a relaxing time killer, something to keep their hands busy. That it was personal and they didn’t need anyone’s opinion or approval to validate what they’d created. Besides, they added, they weren’t as good as I thought, even if they were that good, show it to someone and they might copy it and steal your work. Yea, that sounds crazy now. I took their words to heart, after all, I looked up to them, they knew best. Over time what I took from their words, their emotions and ideals, deformed into an irrational fear. I had turned not showing your art into a fear of showing my art. Paranoia of having my artwork copied and stolen, exacerbated by the fear of criticism from others, created a barrier I couldn’t break. I believe now that it was always about criticism, what they say, or don’t say about your work, how you're viewed after they’ve seen your work, for them that might have meant a lot, as it does for me now.
- My mom, Edith, God rest her soul, was a cook like no other, she prepared soul food meals that’d make you slap yourself. Holidays at my house were like festivals for the soul, the palate, and it all started with the nose. The aromas coming from our kitchen made you believe there really was a god of food and she was its emissary. For years everyone in the family pleaded with my mom to open a restaurant, like Ms. Young, a neighbor down the street, had done and her cooking was nowhere near as good. Or like the Nun sisters who opened a soul food restaurant just down the street. We could have gotten into the same street-side shops as they did, probably right next to them, she would have blown them away. I knew my mom liked the idea, it was kinda her dream, I could see it in her face. But my father wasn’t having it, he was only interested, he didn’t take risks outside the lottery. Though her dream might not have seen light, her cooking lit up a lot of faces, her talents weren’t wasted. She wasn’t a master cook that never cooked for anybody, she made miracles out of meatloaf. My Aunt Becky, my favorite aunt, Rebecca Jean Barnett, an avid writer, wrote many short stories that read like a professional had written them. When I was a teenager she wrote an entire novel of fiction about a young woman and her trials and tribulations. I read it, though I don’t remember much about now, it seemed more like a loose autobiography of her own life. I do remember that much. I remember telling that it was a good book and that she should publish it. My aunt passed away, God rest her soul, her novel lost, she never realized her dream of being an author. I picked up the writing bug from her and like her my stories have yet gone unread except by me.
- I have another cousin, Dave, God rest his soul, who was murdered in 2005. David Fredrick Hall was an upcoming hungry Rap artist, talented and ambitious. He started in my makeshift home office and then took his career to the next level, stage shows at popular venues around the Detroit area, where he was growing quite a following. I’m not mentioning him here because he didn’t try and fulfill his dream, on the contrary, he’s here as an example of someone in my family not afraid to reach for their dream. He’s also here because he passed away before his dreams could be fully realized. See his start, an early video of his freestyle on my "Posthumous Tribute" page. He left behind two daughters and a wife.
- I had a ride or die cousin named Shurla, or Miss Ann, or squeaky, I know, where were they getting these nicknames. She was Shurla Thomasina Barnett, my Aunt Becky’s daughter, a dog lover who dreamt of breeding dogs. And she was well on her way to getting her own kennel. She was breeding and selling puppies all over the country from as far away as Georgia. Puppies that were selling at upwards of $1,500.00 and adults as much as $7,000.00. Miss Ann and I would talk often, encouraging each other in our dreams, but I couldn’t tell her her encouragement wasn’t enough. I think she knew though. She, like my cousin Dave, isn’t here because she didn’t go for her dream. She’s here, also like Cuz, because she passed away before her dream was fully realized as well. And because I loved Miss Ann and it felt good to reminisce about her and the rest of the family.
- I’ve got other talented relatives, two cousins, even friends, who by the grace of God are still with us, I won’t mention any names, but they know who they are, all with talents they don’t seem to want to share. I’ll respect their choice, but I believe “With great Talent comes great Responsibility”, to paraphrase Ben Parker, (for those of you who don’t know who Ben Parker is, shame on you) so we gotta put it out there for the world to have. At least that’s the way I feel now. So on my 55th birthday I started posting my artwork on deviantArt.com, and I’m not going to stop till I’ve posted it all. I’ll beat this self-imposed phobia I created. I guess the bottom line is, I want to do that, I want to beat the fear of criticism for the sake of myself, my family and for the possible rebirth of my t-shirt company, Void Entertainment, LLC. Also, please visit Posthumous Tribute and I’m not going to stop till I’ve posted it all.
Uncle Jr & Jerry See My Artwork
The best time to plant a tree was 20 years ago. The second best time is now.
Chinese Proverb