With roots in the Caribbean and training from the Kansas City Arts Institute and the School of the Arts Institute of Chicago, as well as intensive mentorship with a master weaver in Ghana, Shenequa Brooks has brought her whole self to “WOVE,” on view through May 22 at 108 Contemporary. From listening to Calypso music as a child, to memories of sisterhood in a Black hair salon, to her experience in West Africa, Shenequa’s life becomes her art; in her words, “I’m just throwing all this into a pot and cooking it and letting it simmer.” Root spoke with Shenequa—who spent time with the Tulsa Artist Fellowship during her days in Tulsa, and whose exceptional artist talk you can watch here—about the show and her deep and dynamic ways of working.
How did this exhibit come about?
SB: This is my first time in Tulsa. When 108 Contemporary reached out to me, I felt it was an opportune time for me to share my complete trajectory. This is sort of like my mini-retrospective. I've never had any of these works all in one space before. For me to bring out the first piece that really started my journey, it's just so dear to my heart. I literally go through a process of letting go when my works are away from me. I call them my children, because they're literally a piece of me. But I am now at a point where it's important for me to share my story with others. It does not stop with me. My work is bigger than me. It's a bigger purpose. It's a bigger reason. And it's not just meant for me. So me letting it go—that's what's meant to happen. That's why I felt, you know what, let's start that journey now.
Shenequa Brooks at work. Photo courtesy of 108 Contemporary.
Which of these pieces is most meaningful to you personally, to your journey as an artist?
SB: Hmm. Cocoon. This was my first weaving project ever. I did this in the summer of 2012, while pursuing my bachelor's degree at the Kansas City Arts Institute. When I was being taught how to weave by Erika Hanson she was like, “You can weave with anything!” and I'm like, “Really?” You know, let's put that to the test. So I decided to try with hair as a material at first. But then it became this meditative way of communicating with my sister and just women in general, black women specifically, a way of communion and gathering. It brought me closer to my family, because at the time I had no one to turn to in Kansas City. I didn't know anyone. I moved from Miami, Florida, straight out of high school. So it was this way of expressing myself at that moment in time. It brought me back to when my younger sister braided my hair and what that looked like, what that felt like, moments in the hair salon where my aunt had her space and I would go visit every so often and get my hair done or help out around the salon. And then from there came everything else. This is my very first time actually having this piece on view publicly.
How does it feel to stand in front of this piece and then turn and see what you've done subsequently?
SB: It makes sense. Yeah, it makes sense. Usually when I finish a piece, I kind of just tuck it away. I go through various stages of actually finishing it. This was hidden for a very long while. In fact, I didn't know where it was. That's how long it's been tucked away in my home. I recently discovered it and it was this moment of like, “Whoa, this is where it all began for me.” I can see where this piece has opened up and has inspired each and every one of these pieces.
Photo courtesy of 108 Contemporary.
And in your more recent work, you've started to be interested in taking the form off the wall.
SB: Yeah, definitely. That's where I'm currently at: being more intentional about that and a bit more confrontational, where the viewer has no choice but to deal with it, right? It started out as a formality thing. And then it organically evolved to express what was happening in my personal life, as well as my interest in growing in my practice with the craft of weaving, being the vehicle to drive the work. Each body of work really tells a story of that moment in time where I was in my life, what I was going through, what I wanted to express, what story I specifically wanted to share. I wanted to embed in these cloths, these fabrics, these sculptural pieces, whatever you can channel and dive into. But then it grows from there because of the conversations I have with others within the work that continue the work.
I'm in conversation first and foremost with the loom. Me and the loom have our good days, our bad days. The loom and I are figuring out how to make the pattern come to life, make it make sense. I start off with probably an inch or two of actually following the pattern. From there, it's just improv. And then what happens? I take the cloth off the loom. I just put it away, outta sight outta mind. Then I come back and start up that conversation again: “What do you need? What do I want? What do you want?” And really listening to the piece, too. A lot of the work comes with sitting with it. I literally will lay the piece down, not necessarily right in front of me, but in my space. So when I'm walking, eating, doing projects, it's still there in my sight. But not directly in my face. In those moments of just looking at it or working on something else that may benefit that piece, it just happens. I continue working on it in different ways, whether that's styling it, adorning, it, embellishing it, taking away from it, whatever is necessary.
And then I put it in a completely different space where people come to see the work—and that's when the magic happens. It's activated. And people come in, people share random intimate stories, whether it's about a color, a specific shape, a specific styling, literally all of those three or something completely different and I'm just like, “What were you thinking?”—and that starts another conversation, which informs the next body of work for me. Because sometimes I take a word that really resonates with my spirit. I write it down on my phone and I'm just like, “Mm. Where am I going with this?”
Can you tell me a little bit about how your work changed or grew as a result of working with Nick Cave at SAIC?
SB: He really challenged me not to be pigeonholed as a weaver, but to tap into what else I can bring to the table, which he knew I had the potential to do. So for my first year I couldn't weave at all. That was my challenge. I had to work with other materials and immediately I gravitated to sculpture. I was working with found material, building each and every way and researching random things and literally playing around with them. I was also doing some garment work, learning the very basics of construction. I decided to purchase something that's woven and take it apart to play around with what that can look like. I studied in the fiber department. When I went back to weaving, I went about it a very different way. I learned to use Photoshop and InDesign to create designs and my patterns completely shifted. I was able to use photos from the memories that I derived from directly and create an overlay pattern on them. So it's already literally embedded, but nobody knows what they're looking at. Then I collaborated with Stevie Stevens, an incredible performer. I let her take my work to perform in it. When she was performing, the sound that she performed to was me actually weaving the fabric. I did my very first performance, too—I choreographed the final piece and I was just in a completely different space. All these different things led to me bringing those skill sets into these works.
Photo courtesy of 108 Contemporary.
How did you get connected to weaving as something that turned something on in you as a young person?
SB: It's in me. I can recall, as a pre-teen, looking at magazines that had these bold and colorful patterns from Africa. As I would do my research, it would always be Ghana specifically that always just popped up. It was always speaking to me throughout my childhood in that way. And I've always been a tactile person. I love to feel things and make things with my hands. So I was like, “Oh, I love how they printed these fabrics.” And then it was like, “No, they wove that.” It just opened up a world of craft that I am continuously digging through. And I'm just like, “Okay, I need to learn this.” So I went and did just that in Kansas City.
Does it ever blow your mind that throughout centuries and millennia people have been weaving?
SB: It is insane to me. That was their way of communicating with each other. It's bananas. It's like music. It's like dancing. But yeah, it was really important to me to go to Ghana. When I went, it made sense: I was home. I'm so grateful for the Center for Craft for blessing me with the Windgate Fellowship award. I was one of 10. It changed my life forever. I'm working on getting back there.
Can talk about your entrepreneurship program, in the context of how you engage community with this work?
SB: My business is called Weaving Dreams Into Reality Studios. I've always been a dreamer. I've always wanted bigger than life, bigger than what I was given. I think my creative outlet naturally just came out for me to make sure that can come into fruition. I just felt that the opportunities that have blessed me along this way were literally made into reality through me weaving. Like, I literally made it. I'm also a teaching artist with nonprofits, in Chicago Arts Partnership in Education as well as Changing Worlds. What I love about those programs is they really see the purpose and the necessity for arts in the public school system there, because it's not a thing. I always wanted to teach youth, but I never really wanted to be an art teacher and deal with the politics of the school system. I still want my freedom to do my practice. Where I'm at now is a happy medium of being fulfilled and teaching young kids creative ways to express themselves and know that their voices matter and what I'm doing right now. If you do want to be an artist, you can. This does not stop as a hobby. Not saying anything is wrong with that, but I want to get paid to do what I love. And I'm really just doing that.
If you go
“Shenequa: WOVE”
108 Contemporary
through May 22