‘We are in a cycle of violence against Black bodies by the police,” says Deborah Roberts, a Texan born and bred. “As an artist, I have to speak up about it – and create images that speak to this violence.” Roberts is talking to me in the aftermath of the death of Tyre Nichols, the 29-year-old father who died three days after being beaten by police officers in Memphis. Last week he was buried, surrounded by family, friends and cultural leaders.
Based in Austin, Roberts creates powerful collages of mostly Black adolescents. Splicing elements from varying sources – Michelle Obama’s hands, the eyes of James Baldwin – she uses heavily textured collages to explore “the multiplicity” of Blackness. “Do not think of people of colour as this monolithic idea,” she says, “but as individuals.”
By focusing on young people, Roberts is able to portray her figures as strong, robust, leader-like characters full of innocence and playfulness as they seek out their identities. But, as much as her work is about hope, joy and prosperity, it also deals with the serious problem of young Black children being seen as adults. To this end, she consciously gives her figures a particular stance – with their legs “planted” – as if preparing them for what might come. “We have to place our feet down in order not to be run over,” she says. “You have to be ready for whatever train comes your way. Anything can happen. With Black children, it’s unfortunate that many of us have to live that way.”
Roberts highlights her 2022 collage When pigs fly. It shows two young boys, their faces made up of multiple features, their feet firmly rooted on the ground. They are both wearing T-shirts emblazoned with an image of a pig. In one, the animal is blind; in the other, it’s leaping across the shirt – a reference to the timeworn adage that things will change “when pigs fly”.
This sentiment feels all too relevant after the horrific footage, released by the Memphis police department, showing Nichols being attacked by officers. At one point during the recording we hear Nichols, heartbreakingly, call out for his mother. “She can’t hear you,” one officer replies.
When pigs fly gives a voice to the devastation we feel in such cases: moments when progress seems impossible in the face of such deep-rooted systemic injustice and racism. Because, despite the defiant stances of the boys, who exude fun and possibility, Roberts shows something else. “They are aware of their station,” she says. “We can say that we’re citizens of the world, but if people treat us as less than, then we’re not. My whole stance is that, if you see yourself in this person, if you see your brother, your son, your cousin, your nephew, then you can’t put [up with] this type of violence.”
Roberts has a simple analogy to bring home this terrifying reality: “It’s like going to get water out of the faucet. We know what’s going to happen. It’s not ‘if’ another incident is going to happen, it’s ‘when’.”
Roberts has often used her work to draw attention to innocent Black figures who she believes have been fatally wronged by the US criminal justice system. She has paid homage to George Stinney Jr, the 14-year-old from South Carolina who was electrocuted in 1944 for two murders he did not commit; Tamir Rice, the 12-year-old who was playing with a toy gun when he was shot by a Cleveland police officer in 2014; and 17-year-old Florida boy Trayvon Martin, who in 2012 was shot by George Zimmerman, a community watch member. Zimmerman was eventually charged and tried, but in 2013 a jury acquitted him of second-degree murder and manslaughter.
There’s also something unnerving about these images of young boys. Roberts puts her finger on it: “There’s a quote going around saying, ‘Black men deserve to grow old.’ And it’s idiotic that you have to say that, that we don’t expect that. One thing I find heartbreaking is that we have to teach our children how to survive a police encounter.”
While it is essential to keep talking about these events, and calling them out so justice can be done, in a moment of brutal honesty, Roberts, who is now 61, tells me: “I’m tired. I’m tired of doing work like this. I would rather move on. But that’s one of the jobs I accepted as an artist – to continue to talk about this. And just keep going to work. It hasn’t gone away and I don’t know when it will.”
