Issuu

RIZE

FORTUNE

VOL 2. ISS 2

Contents rize staff letter from the editors fields of wealth golden ashes mr.teller inheritance black as commodity elmina state of mind playbook acknowledgements

4 6 8 14 18 24 32 34 38 40 3

not pictured Jenise Fussell Designer

Chelsea Haye Assistant Creative Director

Anthony Peterson Photographer

Ayaan Olasewere Assistant Creative Director

Azaria Sifontis Writer

Griffith Ezenwa Photographer

Sochie Odunlami Videographer

Aneesah Rivera-Nichols Makeup Artist

Erica Miller Photographer

Kennedy Brown Photographer

Exec& Staff

Temi Ijisesan

Nissi Yorke

Olivia Muse Marketing Director

Benedict Ridore Designer

AnnLauren Djoko Finance Director

Paul N. K. Scott Writer

Joshua Adeniji Photographer

Jared Chinyere Writing Director

Nia Hardaway Assistant Creative Director

Stanlay Thomas Secretary

Magdalene Aideyan Writer

Omolabake Oyebamiji Community Engagement Director

Nathanael Damte Photographer

Creative Director

a letter from the editors

Hello readers and supporters of RIZE! It is an honor to write to you again one year after our last publication. We are Temi Ijisesan and Nissi Yorke, the Editors in Chief and Creative Directors of RIZE Magazine. In this issue, we bring you Fortune, an exploration of Black wealth, prosperity, and abundance across the diaspora. We highlight photoshoots from our subthemes, Fields of Wealth, Inheritance, and Black as Commodity. In addition, we feature words from our brilliant writers, the creativity of our designers, and the meticulous care of the RIZE executive board. The Black diaspora is ripe with interconnection. In Fields of Wealth, we conceptualized our beauty and wealth across time and space. We showcased liberty through clothing, an innate thread within the Black experience that unites us, and experimented with ideas of our complex histories with wealth and land. In Inheritance, we asked the question: what are forms of wealth beyond the material, that connect and ground us? We explored the concept of heirlooms, through family treasures, stories, and memories. What does it mean for Black people to accumulate generational wealth and define their own legacies? Through Black as Commodity, we explored the ways the Black body serves as a sight of exchange, currency, and transaction. In media representations, the sports industry, and even the workplace, our personhood is exploited in service of capital and the accumulation of wealth. By interrogating this reality, we reclaim the way the Black body inhabits space, dismantling the guardrails that dictate our value. We would like to thank our wonderful Community Engagement Director, Omolabake Oyebamiji, for curating this theme and our executive board, staff, and models for bringing this issue to life. Fortune is an expression of our creative voices and the beauty in our identities. We hope that you enjoy reading this magazine issue and continue to support RIZE in our future publications and endeavors.

With love,

Nissi Yorke

Temi Ijisesan 7

in a world held apart by the depths

of land and time there’s an innate thread, a fabric fine and silky, which pulls us closer in our diaspora, in our diversity, across the globe, and across generations we are made one in these fields of wealth

fields we are made one in these fields of wealth

of wealth

GOLDEN

Omolabake Oyebamiji 14

ASHES Outstretched hands give a wounded heart permission to grieve her son’s black body, ashened by a merciless Sunday. In her mind, he sits atop a shimmering, golden throne little legs dangling over the edge giggling at the jewels jingling about his wrists, like loose coins dancing across a street. His golden throne stands daringly high, yet he remains unafraid. Her own mother worships restlessly beside him, so he cannot feel God’s gentle touch upon his bare shoulder.

Blackness wrung dry— an empty canvas pillaged by ivory. She paints his body the only shade of yellow she remembers, golden pebbles resting in his bloodied palms.

pillaged by ivory 17

Mr. Teller AZARIA SIFONTIS

The man was dressed smartly. He stopping every once in a while to dab at the woke half an hour before his alarm and leaking corners of her eyes. Today was not checked his sleep score on his smartwatch: the day for smudged makeup. Today had 87. Higher than normal. He lay staring at to be perfect. The door opened, and she the ceiling for exactly six minutes before startled. She turned to meet the gaze of her getting up. He thought to himself, Whatever husband-to-be and carefully arranged her the cost. He suddenly realized that there was face into a smile. no warm mass next to him—he was left with the indent where a body had once been. “You’re up early,” she noted. He glanced over at the crack of the closed “Big day for us.” bathroom door, where a shadow shifted in She smiled again and turned back around, the light that seeped through. He took a deep once more attending to her lashes. inhale and smelled jasmine, peonies, and The man left the bathroom to iron his castor oil. His fiancée had already started clothes. He took the already-pressed polo her day as well. that he had and ran the hot iron across its

In the bathroom, the woman stood at the

surface one last time. In his rush, he got sink, combing mascara through her lashes, some deodorant on the sleeves. Pulling on a

pair of slacks, he realized they were slightly The man nodded, “They swear by it.sIt’s too short, exposing a more-than-ideal exclusive, and once you’re in, you’re in.” amount of ankle. He adjusted the band of He kept his eyes locked ahead of her, “It’s his smartwatch again and checked the time. different from those other big banks.” With each passing minute, anticipation “That’s exactly what freaks me out.” spiked. His fiancée exited the bathroom and He placed a hand on the small of her back. sat on the bed. She was dressed in well- “Baby, we’re building something here.” He fitting Black jeans and a burgundy blouse— smiled slightly. “This is what big girls do.” truly a vision of beauty as she tucked her She scoffed, but said no more. The man shirt in, smoothing over invisible creases. noticed that she had begun playing with a To pass the time, she pulled up Pinterest to loose thread on the sleeve of her blouse. He tried to shove down doubts, but he couldn’t scroll through wedding inspiration. “I’m thinking we cut the black and gold help noticing that the bank did strike an odd centerpieces,” she started. “It’s giving… figure in an otherwise modern landscape. Inside, the welcoming corridor opened Granny’s 80th?” The man chuckled lightly in response. She into an expansive chamber with pristine, floor-to-ceiling metallic panels in place always knew how to lighten the mood. When they left the apartment, the man of windows. The geometric patterns converged to an impossibly high noted that they were five minutes ceiling. It was chilly, the way ahead of schedule. He always tried public institutions tend to be, and to leave early, and over the years of the man found himself wanting being together, the woman had come for a jacket. to get with the program, so to speak. There was no furniture, no waiting He always wanted to be prepared, and area, just a singular pulpit-like she appreciated his foresight. Outside, the city was in bloom. As they stand with a tall woman behind it. Her hair walked to their electric car, a man jogged was slicked away from her face. She wore no past them with wireless earbuds lodged jewelry, just a name tag that read The Clerk. in his ears. Two teenagers hunched over Her entire essence felt as though she had a tiny screen, laughing at a video playing been scrubbed down with antiseptic soap. at full blast. A woman in a beige pantsuit She was flawless, in the most detached sense held a leash in one hand and dictated a text of the word. She glanced up, unsurprised message into her phone with the other. As by the couple’s intrusion, and then looked the couple drove off, they passed the local down at her watch. Peering back up at the sports cafe, with TV monitors hanging from man and the woman, she pivoted on her the ceiling, projecting the highlights from heel and wordlessly walked away into a side last Sunday’s football match. The man room. “The hell was that about?” The man fought the temptation to peer in—they had shrugged dismissively at his fiancée. “Some a tight schedule to keep. As the couple parked and approached the customer service,” she muttered. bank, the woman rested her hand on the Suddenly, a chime rang out. Clear, but man’s elbow. “You sure this is the one your dissonant as it echoed off the metal walls. coworkers use? It looks so…old.”

The clerk suddenly returned carrying a well and adjusted to the world, void of pinging small tray with two visitor tags. She placed notifications and buzzing ringers. He became one on the man’s chest, yet to say a word. acutely aware of how quiet the bank was, how His fiancée took the other for herself and loud the sound of his steps echoed off the attempted to put it on. It fell through her metallic walls. He realized how dark the space trembling fingers and sent a deafening echo actually was, and he had to resist the urge to through the chamber. The man bent down flinch away from the shadows dancing in his and picked it up for her. “Need some help?” periphery as his eyes adjusted. The woman She nodded, and he pressed the tag to her cautiously placed her own phone inside the chest as well, slightly crooked. envelope as well. With that, Mr. Teller tucked Before he could fix it, a voice rang out behind the envelope back into his chest pocket. them. “Good morning.” He led the couple further down the corridor, They turned. which began to narrow and darken. “As you A short, but upright older man stood before may know, traditional institutions tend to them at a polite distance, hands clasped rely on flashy perks and rewards. We take behind his back. He wore a spotless, perfectly a slightly different approach. Our business white suit, adorned only with a name tag model hinges on commitment. Long-term, that read, Mr. Teller. “I will be overseeing generational investment. The vault seeks to your vault consultation. Follow me.” provide you with what you are owed.” The woman glanced over at her fiancé, “Owed?” The woman asked. looking for reassurance, direction, Mr. Teller did not respond. acknowledgement, something. The man They passed another doorway. Inside, a Black did not look at her. He followed Mr. Teller man stood in front of a touchpad. His wife further into the chamber, which seemed nervously peered over his shoulder, shaking to yawn endlessly before them. Along the with the strain of holding herself up on her path were doorways, with several more tiptoes. As he reached out to touch it, a chime Mr. Teller-tagged staff at each one. The rang, and the door slammed shut. woman peered behind each Mr. Teller and The fiancée tugged on the man’s sleeve. saw more clients already staring back at her “Something’s not right here,” she whispered. and the man. She saw another young couple, “Everything’s fine,” he shot back. “You absentmindedly rocking a stroller back and doing too much, just relax.” Even though he forth. She saw an older man, hunched with felt a gnawing pit of despair opening in his age. She saw a mother clutching her son’s own stomach, he walked on, away from his arm, holding him abnormally close to her slowing fiancée, trying to keep up with Mr. chest. No one said a word. No one smiled. Teller’s unyielding pace. All white. At the end of the corridor, they were met with Their own Mr. Teller produced a small a single metallic vault door. There was no Black envelope from his chest pocket. “If handle. Just a faintly glowing touchpad. It’s you could place your devices inside,” he as if this vault had been expecting them. Mr. requested. “To ensure asset confidentiality.” Teller gestured at the touchpad, “Place your The man removed his smartwatch and placed finger.” The man hesitated. Once again, not his phone in the envelope. After a second unkindly, Mr. Teller gestured towards the thought, he removed his smartglasses as pad. The woman stepped forward this time.

WHATEVER THE COST, HE WOULD PROVIDE FOR HIS FAMILY.

“How would you even have his fingerprint?” across the otherwise silent corridor. She turned to her fiancé. “Doesn’t this seem “What the hell,” his fiancée exclaimed behind just a little weird to you?” him, followed by silence. He found he could Both annoyed and placating, the man not move his body to see what was going turned to the woman. He placed a hand on. He was paralyzed, his finger stuck on on her shoulder and smiled a tight-lipped the needle. All he could move were his eyes. smile. It looked more like a grimace. “It’s Mr. Teller adjusted to fall perfectly within all going to be fine, Babe. This is standard his line of sight. procedure… Background checks, y’know.” As the chime flooded the man’s ears, he felt He turned back to the expectant touchpad as though he were being consumed. There before she could question him further, or his was nothing. Only him and Mr. Teller and own doubt came boiling up from his chest. the chime. He could see Mr. Teller’s mouth He was not afraid, he told himself. Whatever moving, but he was so overwhelmed by the the cost. He would provide for his family. For pressure throbbing inside his skull that he his wife. He had been preparing for this day could only make out the final word of the his whole life. utterance. He pressed his finger down. He was met with “Welcome.” a sudden, sharp prick. He looked down to And then it was silent. The touchpad dimmed, see the interface turn a deep crimson as his and the needle retracted unseen into the blood pooled around a small needle that had interface. The chime had gone, like it had emerged from the pad. The same eerie chime never been there at all. The man’s lungs they’d been hearing since they entered went flooded with oxygen—new life. His fiancée off again. This time, it seemed to bounce grabbed his arm. “Are you okay? What’s off the walls of the chamber and resonate going on? We need to leave right n—” endlessly, producing dissonance that rattled “Everything’s fine.” The man replied.

The words came out like second nature. The luxury. He and his family would never tremors were gone, the doubt was gone. want for anything. No more late nights of There was nothing but poise. Perfection. Oodles and Noodles for dinner, stomach still An even timbre that exuded calm. A calm gnawing at itself as he drifted off to sleep. that he had never experienced before. He No hot water running out mid-shower or swallowed and tried again. “I’m fine.” choosing between gas and groceries. He’d Mr. Teller stepped aside as the metallic door known struggle. They both had. And he slid open. There was no vault full of riches, refused to replicate that for the family he but rather a mirror. A fluorescent light cast was building. Their current apartment was a yellow glow over the mirror, and the man a step in the right direction, but he wanted couldn’t help but take himself in. That’s all more for them. He needed it. there was. Him. His shoulders were set with The man’s brow furrowed in confusion. confidence. His slacks no longer felt too “But, this is everything we wanted.” The short, but just right. The deodorant streaks man turned his back on his fiancée and, on his polo were gone. He practiced a smile. extending a hand to Mr. Teller, he repeated He did not recognize the face looking back to himself: Whatever the cost. at him. His visitor tag, he noticed, had disappeared. Behind him, his fiancée hovered near the door but did not enter. “Baby, what’s going on?” He turned to her. “What are you talking about?” She looked at him, an unreadable look in her eyes. She took a step back. Mr. Teller placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Congratulations on your approval. Your assets are now in order.” He smiled at the man. The man looked back at the mirror, at the white hand on his right shoulder, guiding him. Protecting him. Another hand appeared, this one on his left shoulder. A freshly manicured, soft, Brown hand that he had known for so long. He turned once again to his fiancée. This time, he could read the look in her eyes. It was unmistakable. Fear. “Please,” she urged. “We need to leave.” From somewhere deep in the bowels of the building, the chime rang once more. He envisioned what would come of the opportunity before him: abundance and

WHAT EVER

The cost. 23

WHAT DO

Stories

HOLD?

Inheritance

Magdalene Aideyan Expectation suffocates me It crushes my lungs My heart feels like old calluses My head burrows in shame Lead by faith and fear

My mother adorns me with praise In the wake of my success, Plastering my smile across WhatsApp group chats Becoming one poster child of many But in my failure What will I become? A relic of the promise I was meant to embody A withered imitation of the American dream 27

what do we

WHAT DO 30

Treasures WE

CARRY?

COMMODI BLACK 32

ITY

ELMINA STATE OF MIND WYNTON ALWAYS WROTE FOR THE WHITE MAN THERE’S A PLACE FOR IT, WHERE CULTURES MEET THE MOST PRETTY THINGS ARE BORN AND SOLD TO THE WORLD AS PERFECTION—THE MISTAKES MAKE THE MAN; THE PROGRESSION OF CRACK FLOWING THROUGH THE SYSTEM, THE SLEEPLESSNESS OF A LATE NIGHT SESSION CAN’T BE PUT TOGETHER IN AN ORCHESTRA PIT, IT’S DEEPER THAN THAT THERE’S A CALMNESS IN CONFORMITY, THE GRAIN LEFT UNDISTURBED AND ‘RATHER WELL ADJUSTED,’ LIKE THE BLACK HAIRS ON A SMALL BOY’S HEAD—LAID FLAT REAL ART IS MESSY, IT TWISTS AND TURNS IT CURLS AND REVERSES COURSE JUST TO HIT A LICK YOU’RE NOT QUITE SURE YOU LIKED THE RUIN STILL STANDS. THAT ALWAYS SHOOK ME. THE CASTLE’S ALIVE AND WELL ITS ROOMS DEFTLY WHISTLING THEIR SALTY TUNE. SAILS & MUSIC MOVE THE WORLD FARTHER FROM HARD TRUTHS LIKE THE BANJO IS BLACK AS DAVIS’ DARK SKIN1, BLACK AS VICENTE GUERRERO2 OR THE CLAVE’S THUMPING BE AT THINGS ARE BORN AND SOLD TO THE WORLD WHERE CULTURES MEET THERE’S A SPACE FOR IT.

1 Davis - Family surname; Miles Davis was a trumpeter, and composer noted as one of the most influential musicians of the 20th century. He was candid about his experiences with police brutality, despite fame. 2 Geurrero was of Black and Indigenous descent, serving as a key Mexican revolutionary figure and 2nd president of the republic https://muse.jhu.edu/article/7448

EL STA M

MINA TE OF IND PAUL N. K. SCOTT

BLACK WEALTH EXCHANGE BODIES

TOGETHER, WE RECLAIM AND REVALUE. WE HOLD SPACE ON OUR TERMS. 39

THE

PLAYBOOK

LACK ARTISTS, SINGERS, RAPPERS, AND PERFORMERS HAVE LONG USED MUSIC AS A VEHICLE FOR RECONCILING WITH OUR COMPLEX HISTORIES OF WEALTH AND FORTUNE. HERE ARE A COUPLE OF THE RIZE STAFF’S FAVORITES.

Blessed

TYLER

Money

Sza,

Profit

CREATOR

Kendrick

MONEY TREES

Love,

THE

Lamar MAVI

Cardi

B DOECHII

C.R.E.A.M (CASH RULES EVERYTHING AROUND ME) Wu-Tang Clan

Sad Girls Love Money AMARAAE Noname

BLAXPLOITATION

Paper LONELY

Trail$ AT

THE

JOEY TOP

BADA$$ Asake 41

MODELS Chelsea Haye Stanlay Thomas Brandon McCrow-Bennett Elise Taylor Praise Osarenren Eryonne Jefferson Saja Suliman Emerson Lilly Michael Davis Lauren Dukes Tylond Buchanan Ava Mora Jalen Dural Eryonnae Jefferson Nayzha Khalil Linda Guessanlou Amira Sinclair Grace Robvais Abako Yartel Eva Boling Titilope Omole Joshua Lorenzo Kimberly Kimani

Alana Taylor Idara Etuks Ibrahim Bah Rashaunn Bennett Hadya Djidda Ha-Ya Davis-Bennett Tata Toure Izzy Mbatai Aisha Diop

COMMUNITY PARTNERS We’d like to say a huge thank you to our community partner, The Griot Museum of Black History. We are grateful for their continued support of RIZE Magazine, and commitment to sharing and amplifying Black history and art in the St. Louis region. We’d also like to thank SLUVogue for their collaboration and support of this magazine issue.

Acknowledgements

Typeset in Bolsta, Bolsta Script, RustlerBarter, Carol Script, Barlow Condensed, and Merriweather. 43

rize

Fortune