Shortlist, The Blind Who See by OKOBÉ

One of my earliest memories is of sitting on my great-grandmother’s lap. She was blind, and we talked about imaginary worlds. Over time, I realised that for her, my skin colour did not exist. However, the society into which I was born was very different; racism – both subtle and overt – has been part of my life since I was little. There were no black references around me: not in my art or history books, and not on television. Over time, I started to connect my art with my ancestors. My muses’ blindness means not only can they not see me but also they can embrace their blackness in a powerful way. Because being black is beautiful.