Paris Residency: Remembering Who We Are

Journal Entry – July 20, 2025

Crossing Over

Today began before the sun, with Windy and I catching a 5:50 AM flight from Atlanta to Newark. The early morning was quiet, full of movement and meaning—just the two of us on a journey that felt bigger than a plane ride. My parents picked us up at the airport, and I spent the day tying up the final loose ends for Heritage Werks, determined to leave my laptop behind and truly step away. Six hours of creating reports, sending emails, transferring all the knowledge to necessary parties, and setting up my email's away message I was done. I want to be present for what’s ahead.

At 12:15 AM, I boarded my flight to Paris from JFK. Windy stayed behind, beaming with excitement to spend time with her grandparents. She hugged me with a kind of knowing—like she understood this trip was important, that I needed it. That made the goodbye easier, softer.

Now, I’m in Paris, beginning a writing residency supported by Gwylene and Jean-Marie, who have generously opened their flat to me. Their gift of space and solitude feels sacred. I keep thinking about all the Black American creatives who came here before me, fleeing the weight of racism, censorship, and erasure back home. James Baldwin arrived in 1948 at just 24, and it was here that he completed Go Tell It On the Mountain. Richard Wright made his move in 1947. Chester Himes wrote vivid portraits of Black life and resistance from his apartment here. Josephine Baker dazzled French stages while escaping the confines of American racism. Nina Simone sought peace and artistic refuge. Miles Davis found inspiration. Langston Hughes walked these same streets, writing poems that continue to echo.

I feel them here.

Their courage, their brilliance, their decision to cross over—to claim space for their minds, their art, their dignity—gives me strength. I don’t take this lightly. I’ve come to Paris not to escape, but to listen, to write, to take myself seriously. To add my voice to a chorus that’s been singing for generations.

This city has long been a sanctuary for those of us who needed to remember who we are.

I’m here to do just that.