the blueshift journal
blueshift / ˈblo͞oˌSHift / noun
the displacement of the spectrum to shorter wavelengths in the light coming from distant celestial objects moving toward the observer.
~ C H I C A G O ~
Derrick Woods-Morrow
artist
Installation View 1
The photograph (right) is of the room in which the sexual encounter from "On Tuesday, October 12th, the room was Red" took place. When installed, a small image from my childhood sits in the right corner of the frame. The detail shows the found photograph from my childhood in which I remember being present, but was omitted by the photographer in favor of these other children / in order to construct a better photograph.
"Red Room" consists of two pieces of glass. The small image sits between both of them floating slightly above the large photograph.
In 2016, I began to write about my sexual encounters and letterpress them into dense paper. Each letterpress is encased in glass and mounted in frames, consisting of bark indigenous to North Carolina and my childhood playgrounds.
Flashlight (2016) - A message for my Grandmother
Dear Branni,
By myself in the darkness with the flashlight you once gave me I've been searching out a path where i could be both happy, and carefree and attempt to smile amidst everything that is happening in the world today. A Shelter behind closed doors. A home like you once provided.
Sometimes i expect you to walk back in the door, carrying gifts for everyone. Not just me, but for everyone sad today, everyone tired, everyone who missed your morning sausage biscuits at 7am before the school bus arrived, who missed the warm embrace of a hug from you and only you, who missed how to make the best Grilled cheese for lunch, who missed the clean underwear and socks for Christmas and the extra gifts mom and dad had told you not to get me, but we stayed up for hours as I explained I only wanted this one thing, this one thing, this one thing for Christmas - so you wrapped it special just for me and gave it to me later and a kiss on the forehead.
For those who missed the chance to sit down and learn everything you were willing to teach me in the short time we were together. For those who missed $13 dollars when i turned thirteen, $14 dollars when i was fourteen and the great hope that you'd still be here when I turned 100 years old.
I'm 26. I taught a class today. I taught a college class today. It was a class at a college. They call me Professor. I tell them to just call me Derrick. Did you see it?
Did you see it?
Did you see it? Maybe you already knew. Maybe i never need to tell you anything because you'll always already know. And maybe thats my hope with this - That you already know how much you are missed or should be missed or that if no one else misses you, I know I do and that would be enough for you and if thats only with me, then thats all the better. Because I care.
Because you too remember the little black boy from Greensboro, who ran around the woods. Who ran around your house naked. Who wore buckets for hats. Who was naive and had never been reminded of who he was or what he was. But thats not entirely true.You reminded me all the time that I could be anything I wanted, that I should always smile, that I'd always be your hero, although long past your death you have always been mine.
Because in today's world...
I don't know what words I have left to offer anyone or what else I can say that matters.
Because.
Because.
When you left I wrote something for you. A letter then and a letter now. You'd taught me it was ok to show emotion, and so I struggled to say anything coherent. The small piece of paper became heavy, my vision blurry and my words tripped over themselves and drained out of me. I hurt so much and I thought that in some way you'd taken all of my tears. And when i thought i had recovered, i remember thinking I could never be that sad again. It would be unfathomable. but every year for the past five years I still struggle to keep it together when this day comes around. Because I still miss you and I allow myself to cry occassionally and well, I think its healthy...
But maybe you already know this.
I wanted to thank you. A few months ago I was scared and couldn't process something that happened...
I got pulled over by the cops in a dark alley. No one was there but us. I thought about how I didn't know what would come next but maybe you, my superhero, could stop what might transpire.
... I keep thinking about the the black speedlight that usually sits a top my camera but was resting in the glove box. The one that could have been mistaken for something else as the three cops approached my car... and I was scared...but couldn't process until a few days later... and here I am now.
...
So often these days I feel the darkness creep in. When I walk the streets, when I pace through the halls, when I cry in the studio... I'll always have the flashlight you gave me...
It has always gotten me home.
Thank You. The place you fill in my heart, the corner of my soul you inhabit and the love i still feel - have never felt more like home.
RIP Branni
Love <3 Dee
Derrick Woods-Morrow (b.1990. Greensboro, NC) is a conceptual artist working in photography, sculpture, installation, and performance. He is the recipient of the 2015 Professional-Development Fellowship in the Visual Arts by the College Association of Art, the Carol Becker Merit Scholarship (SAIC), the Graduate Dean Professional Development Award (SAIC), and is a Terry Plumming Scholar. He has attended the ACRE residency, the Fire Island Artist Residency, Latitude Residency Program (March 2017), and was accepted into Ox-bow residency. He has shown work at Xpace Cultural Centre in Toronto, The Sullivan Galleries, The Kinsey Institute, The Maier Museum of Art, the Center on Halsted in Chicago, the Student Union Galleries, Hyde Park Arts Center, ACRE and The Bureau of General Services – Queer Division: BGSQD (Feb 2017). He recently completed his MFA at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago and currently is an Adjunct Professor of Photography at the University of Illinois-Chicago.