These experiences fed into the topic of my work when I saw a big ad for Better Health with a fat, Black woman doing the splits and then started to see other ads for it around London. Or it’s the shared experiences of fat people going to the doctor and the response to any ailment being to lose weight. For instance, I remember being weighed at the end of year six and a letter being sent home that I was obese which quickly changed how my parents treated me. “When has the right been given to people to talk about my body as is if it a physical object solely occupying space, and not actually a representation of me, in their lives?” – Destiny AdeyemiĬan you tell us about the experiences that led to the formation of this poem and short film?ĭestiny Adeyemi: I was connecting my personal everyday experiences of fatphobia – things like people grabbing my belly using fat as an insult pretending to care about my health giving me unsolicited weight-loss tips being made fun of for being around food, exercise, and clothes – with the public image of fatness and what reinforces this. With their short film now streaming online (and in this article), we speak with Adeyemi about what conversations they hope the poem will open up, the creative direction of the short film, and how, as a society, we can shift the language and perceptions around fatness, Blackness, and mental health. “My fat gets up for tea and doughnuts in the morning / It clouds eyes with pity,” they continue, traversing experiences of bullying, unsolicited advice – such as receiving an obesity certificate in year six – unnecessary comments, and the sexualisation of their body. “I am fat,” begins Adeyemi’s poem, “Fat, Black, & Sad”, unveiled in a new short film exploring fatphobia, healthism, and the artist’s own experiences as a fat, Black person, commissioned by the Barbican Guildhall Creative Learning’s Subject to Change: New Horizons programme. Even as the image of Adeyemi cuts to black, there is the sense that they will stay there for much longer than we did. There are small movements – a stretch of a leg, a hand pulling tighter around the plush material, the blinking of eyes – but Adeyemi remains like this for the film’s two-minute duration. Gazing towards the viewer, their face is relaxed, subdued. Destiny Adeyemi is lying on their side, sandwiched between the kitchen work top and the cabinets installed above, their body draped in a heavy red velvet curtain.
0 kommentar(er)
