By Phyllis Everette, Contributing Writer

One Tuesday evening, I was invited to a small dialogue, Big Impact: An Evening with the UT African and African Diaspora Studies Department. It was there I met Dr. Philip Townsend, a phenomenal Austin curator who invited me to visit the exhibit of Carrie Mae Weems. I had not heard of Carrie Mae Weems, but the rich conversation taking place about her work set me in motion to know who she was. Well, a bit of fast research and I was blown away by her work—learning she was a MacArthur “Genius” and a multidisciplinary powerhouse whose photography and text-based works explore the very core of Black representation. By Sunday, May 3rd, I was at the exhibit.

Walking into the gallery with my daughter and Dr. Ariel Evans, a historian who has dedicated years to Carrie’s legacy and the curator of Carrie Mae Weems: Something Grander Still at the Art Galleries at Black Studies, I felt the weight of history before I even saw the first frame. As the CEO of Saffron Trust Women’s Foundation, I see the strength of women every day, but this was deeply personal. This was my own blood.

I learned that Carrie’s journey began not with a lens, but with movement; she was a modern dancer who didn’t receive her first camera until her 21st birthday. Like me, she was a mother young, giving birth to her daughter, Faith, at sixteen. She went on to study at CalArts and the University of California, San Diego, eventually immersing herself in folklore at Berkeley. It was this background in folklore and social documentary that allowed her to “talk that talk”—to weave the personal into the universal.

Standing before her seminal series, Family Pictures and Stories (1983), the room seemed to shrink. This work was designed to model the themes of the Great Migration, but for me, it was a mirror. Two decades before I was born, a headline on the front page of The Voice of the Disinherited announced a truth that would echo through my family for generations: “FRANK WEEMS ALIVE!”

Frank Weems, my ancestor, was a courageous organizer with the Southern Tenant Farmers’ Union (STFU). In 1936, during a strike, he was beaten and left for dead by vigilantes. To save his life, he had to flee to Chicago in the “twinkle of an eye,” leaving behind a wife, eight children, and a community of friends. The magnitude of that fear is something I can hardly put into words—knowing he was in hiding while the Ku Klux Klan searched for him relentlessly, torturing family members and hanging friends in their wake. He escaped certain death, but the cost was a lifetime of displacement. He left behind children who would never see their father again, and a multi-generational family that grew “under his bosom” without ever having the chance to meet the man who sacrificed everything.

As we moved through the gallery, my heart felt heavy listening to Carrie’s automated audio. Her voice, sharing the meaning behind each photograph, took me on a journey into an “unknown” that I realized I had known in my bones all along—the weight of intergenerational trauma that has shaped our very existence. Whiteness operates as a structure of power and privilege that often thrives on cultural denial and the erasure of Black history to maintain a “post-racial” narrative. This power is deeply embedded in U.S. institutions, where white privilege continues even when society acknowledges that racism is wrong. Standing there, I saw how this system normalized the marginalization of men like Frank Weems, using Jim Crow-era violence and terror to maintain a hierarchy of white supremacy.

Through her lens, I was able to reimagine Frank’s Weems legacy. He was no longer just a man fleeing for his life in the dark; he was the root of a thriving, complex tree. Carrie was showing him that the terror meant to erase him had failed. She was telling her grandpa, Frank Weems, the story of the vibrant, real lives of his descendants—their interiority, their dignity, and the Weems family’s unbreakable connection to the world. I felt his spirit in that room, witnessing how his sacrifice paved the way for all of us to reflect our own experiences with such power. It was profoundly encouraging to realize that while the structure of racism tried to silence Frank Weems, Carrie’s artistry and activism have ensured that her grandpa’s and daddy’s story—and ours—is shouted from the rooftops. I felt like his spirit knew we had made it; I certainly did.

I say Bravo to Carrie Mae Weems!! Bravo for loving your granddaddy so fiercely! Bravo to your courage. Bravo, bravo. You touched my soul. Through this art, Frank Weems is no longer just a name in a headline; his sacrifice is honored, and the void of what y’all lost is finally being filled with the power of his story. Carrie Mae, you are “talking that talk.” And given us permission to do the same!

Thank you, Dr. Ariel Evans, for spending the time with my daughter and me. Truly a day to savor!