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A Z Y A

@azyalashelle

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• it is written •
no homo. SIKE. 👩🏾‍❤️‍💋‍👩🏾

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Black gurls in the woods

some with locs. some with fros. some with a bright covered hair scarf. some come to talk. some come to listen. some come to feel. while some come to find permission to forgive.
themselves. and others.

some let tears fall into the river. some get their hair wet in the water. some smile at the sun. while some walk barefoot on the grass.

some wear hiking boots. some wear nike flip flops. some are together. some are alone. some sit silent. some search for answers to questions they have yet to ask out loud. while some yell into the wind and try to out roar the thunder.

some bring books. some smoke a j. some play uno, and although in the middle of the woods, some still ask if we are playing stacks.

some are afraid and still do it anyways. some are becoming. while some openly hope for earth to show them the way.

some spot deers. some hold worms, and if it has just rained some help put them back in the dirt. while some catch fish only to release them.

some search for god(s). some search for God. some search for others. while some search for the parts of themselves they had misplaced a long time ago.

here in the woods,
all are free. by @azyalashelle

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3 months ago

in process // principle of design: movement

a little over year ago when I no longer felt inspired to move paint on a canvas or move light through a photograph, I began to move my body. and it was as I moved that I realized that art was moving with me or perhaps within me.

I, someone who has a BFA in painting and a MFA in photography had not realized how much of my understanding of art was in the context of school. how much of it was through the lens of assignments, grades, and “getting that degree.” and when “my whys” embedded in the context of school left. I realized I no longer understood what being an artist was. and tbh that was maddening. that was an identity crisis. that was misery. that was bitterness. that was depressing. reaching the rock bottom of that hurt and pain I started walking. I knew I needed to move the energy. and so I started with moving my body.

it was there I noticed the elements of design: color and/or line such as the green leaves or like the way the lines of sun casted interesting shadows across the earth. I started seeing how the principles of design: repetition and/or rhythm showed up in my consistency and movements as I learned my walk and moved to my own beat.

and it was here that I understood art was my state of being. in the way that I create and design the life that I want to live. that art was in the proof that I exist. by @azyalashelle

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4 months ago

amazing grace
how sweet the taste
of freedom.

of love.
of light.
of being.
of becoming.

I once was lost
but here i’m found
in bliss
in belief
of my existence.

✨🍃 taken in Neck of the Woods by @azyalashelle

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4 months ago

📍somewhere along the lesbian to cat lovers pipeline by @azyalashelle

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3 days ago

as a recovering people pleaser…

i’m not sorry. 🦋

- - - -
selfie / self / self portrait

a deep gratitude to the many Black and Brown photographers, who are unapologetically queer, unapologetically themselves, and unapologetically making work that centers an experience I can relate to.

it is because of you that I can see my own permanence. by @azyalashelle

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a month ago

firsts

I have been thinking a lot about firsts and how precious they can be.

like the first time you try something new and ask yourself, how did you go so long without it.

or like despite having done something many times before, there is that first time you experience it in a new way and you realize that there is always more learning to do.

I wonder, when was the first time I no longer thought to ask my dad to carry me high on his shoulders? or the first time I didn’t reach for my mothers hand just because.

i’ve had times when the imagination of firsts had been more exciting than the actual experience. like the way we imagine first kisses will be. crafting memories that carefully removes the realities of our awkwardness.

some of my favorite firsts are the ones we share like binging a show for the first time with my sisters and having an unspoken rule that we will not watch it without one another because there’s something about seeing first reactions that we don’t want to miss.

there are also the first I pray to never experience again. like the firsts that don’t come to us until they are our lasts. like the first time I saw a loved one sick and dying in the hospital. and the deep understanding that some firsts, such as death, are inevitable.

I think about the way firsts come and go. and how maybe if we just slow down enough we would remember to look out for them more often. like the first time we meet someone who don’t yet realize will change our lives.

sometimes I think it would be my last time having a first time and unexpectedly find myself in another first. but this first is defined differently. shaped by the space and knowledge that has happened in between the first and last.

so, here I am. experiencing another first day of school. this time for a doctoral program. feeling the pre-excitement for the many firsts this new beginning will brings. ✨ taken in University of Georgia by @azyalashelle

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2 months ago

the heroine journey (working thoughts)

lately the quest for purpose has been addicting. or more so a gateway to versions of Love and Living that i had long forgotten. or more so my body, blood, and bones had long forgotten or were deeply disconnected from.

i wonder if it was ignorant to believe that purpose, or the searching for life’s meaning, could be avoided. i also wonder how much choice we have in destiny. in the inevitable.

the way it was written, finding myself was happening in consciousness and unconsciousness. in the intentional decisions that source, universe, stars, ancestors, God, and the collective “we” chose. in our interconnectedness.

lately the quest for purpose feels more like a quest for love. a quest for forgiveness. a quest to suffer less. a quest to help others suffer less. a quest for freedom. have you ever tasted freedom? i have in brief moments.

here there is…
a lightness that my body carries.
a gentle touch that once felt so much pain.
a space for compassion and understanding.
a peace that is allowed to sit still.

a practice if reflection, part 1/3

recently i have been meeting old versions of myself that i had purposely forgotten. in a random photo album scroll, i came across this video of me in 2024.

I gained so much unexplained weight that confused the doctors. perhaps it was due to stress, anxiety, or the variety of mood stabilizing medications I was taking.

there are parts of this image of me that feel familiar. like my sense of humor, to this day, that Shelia quote is one of my favorite mental stems. but other parts feel deeply disconnected. like the way the light hits my eyes. i can see how deeply unhappy i was.

i have been struggling to reflect on 2024 versions of me with compassion or referencing this time with kindness. i often feel angry that she (i) didn’t do more. that she (i) did not “fight harder.” that she (i) was so “weak.” i saw this version of me as the me that needed such deep saving but didn’t know where to start. or how to even recognize the journey.

a practice if reflection, part 2/3

curiously, i scrolled left and found a slightly longer video. in this video i see myself doing affirmations. by @azyalashelle

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2 months ago

for context. Tina Campt in the book “A Black Gaze” talks about her process of sitting in front of artwork and writing to it. explaining that she has even gone as far as to sit on the floor in the middle of the gallery or studio and tune out the noise and exist in a world where it’s just her and the work. reading this, I felt inspired by such a bold and intimate way of viewing art. of sitting with an artist, a medium, a feeling, long enough to talk to it and learn it, and I mean deeply learn its essence. so, i began to incorporate this into the classroom with my students and often in my own practice.

I found this note yesterday. and searched the date in my photos and was led to this painting from a trip to the High Museum…

“The Signal” created by Toyin Ojih Odutola.

“Hey Baby, pose for the painting.”

You stare at me with such confidence. With such maturity. Such ownership of you dignity and your pride. Your hand rests on her knees and it is evident that you have nothing hide. She looks at you with such wonder. There is so much comfort in your gestures. You don’t have to say it but I know that you love her. And she loves you. Even in your shadows i see love. Painted so close to each other that it almost appears as if you are kissing.

Were you ever afraid? Nervous to appear as you are? How did you get this far in life?
To live so authentically. So beautifully.

I know it’s not easy. I have been there before myself. Wanting to be free and live my truth. There’s a lot of growing in that process that is not talked about.

Anyways thank you! I think that it’s is because of you that I as well can stand firm in my ability to be who I am. Seeing you here in this gallery. I feel like i am accepted. I feel like i am welcomed. I feel less alone. We all got secrets we hold. But who I am is not a secret and shouldn’t be. Thank you for helping me so. Through your visibility i am also visible.
- - -
I wrote this on December 8th, 2024.

and now I am reading it almost two years later, after a weekend spending Prideteenth celebrating the actualized dreams of what it means to be Black Queer and oh so BEAUTIFUL.

a sweet reminder of joust how by @azyalashelle

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4 months ago

thoughts from my pew (bathtub)

feeling or experiencing something new reminds me of getting into cold water for the first time. how when you walk in and your skin hits the cold impact, and the water slowly covers your body, and your muscles take turns tensing up. like the days when you immediately jump into the water and the chill kidnaps your breath and leaves you feeling cold and hollow. this is all new and your body recognizes so.

here the ideas and/or sentiments stating that “you’ll get used to it” often feel detached and insensitive, because in 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘸, things are uncomfortable. and it is so hard to imagine ideas of better.

like swimming, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘸 as well gives no promise of when it will get better, it just does. there is no promise that you will get used to it; somehow, you just do. the longer you stay in this discomfort and choose to work through it the more you begin to grow. splashing yourself to get all of your body wet. going further and further into the deep in. taking a big breathe and just fully submerging yourself. you barely notice the shift and start to forget about ever being uncomfortable.

and suddenly this place that once felt so unfamiliar to you now feels like a place where you can rest.

could you imagine if each time the water was cold we decided not to swim? if we never chose to sit in that discomfort and be uncomfortable for just a bit? so we know how to make our own waves.

lately 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘸 feels like permission for change to happen. for old ways of being or perhaps old discomforts to be washed away. for the desires of self, and hope, and dreams, and community, and Love to learn to float, so that like water we can be free too. 🌊 by @azyalashelle

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5 months ago

caught catching a vibe 💓 by @azyalashelle

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6 months ago

🎨✂️ Black Queer Artist Club is back this month with a Beltline Mural@Walk — a workshop that invites Black queer and trans participants to explore art on the beltline through your own & collective expression. Don’t forget to bring your imagination. 🌈

Meet us at location Breaker Breaker and get inspired by our brilliant resident instructor @azyalashelle. All vibes welcome. Let’s make art and community together. Link in bio! 💛🖍️✨

#BlackQueerArtistClub #PaperPlay #QueerArt #ATLEvents BlackCreatives FriendZonedATL CommunityArt CreativeWorkshop
Atlanta ATL LGBTQIA LGBT BlackQueer Art QueerArtists ATLQueer BlackArtMatters by @azyalashelle

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6 months ago

continued reflections on Icarus [full piece on substack, link in bio]

//excerpt//

NOVEMBER 13TH, 2025
an unhealed pisces is a threat to everyone, especially themselves.
today i am angry.
———
Icarus was warned by daedalus not to fly too close to the sun or too close to the water.

but Icarus was having so much fun soaring through the air
that he forgot or purposely ignored the advice.
and so, as he went up his wings melted from the suns heat.
and he fell down into the ocean and drowned.

too close to the sun
too close to the ocean

do Black kids fly too close to the sun?
do they dare to fly high
and let sun-rays kiss their
coco colored skin
and turn them darker?
so, that they will glow even brighter
at night.

do Black kids dare to take off running and jump?
allowing their wings to catch them, blissfully
trusting that things will be alright.

do they flap their wings as hard as they can?
and watch how high each other can go?
with the younger kids always aiming to fly
a little higher than the older ones.

do Black kids learn to fly south for the winter
and if so do they wear sunscreen?

//excerpt//

APRIL 7TH, 2026

i feel as if i’m lifting off the ground, i am terrified i am going to fall. however, whenever i imagine myself in the air, i also imagine a me on the ground. standing directly above me. hands stretched, ready to catch whatever of more so whomever falls. i am smiling. when i see this imagine the me on ground is not technically standing on ground. instead she stands on perhaps light? it’s white? but not because it’s actually white, it’s white because the light she is standing on is so bright!

i do not see myself falling. however, i also do not see me flying. perhaps this is too much of a cliff hanger, but i do not believe this part of the story has been told before. because i do not know what happens next. taken in The Present by @azyalashelle

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6 months ago