A gallery full of monochrome pictures— it's not because my mother died
reflective essay by Chidinma Iwu
Chidinma Iwu is a Black woman writer studying the intersections between right, wrong, and the appearance of rightness. Her work covers a range of topics — womanhood, health, and the environment.
Her piece, “A gallery full of monochrome pictures— it's not because my mother died,” is a first person narrative essay that expands on a young woman's obsession with single-color photos— mostly black and white—and how she pushes to live beyond it.
During the period that I mourned the death of my mother, everybody including me, tried to pin the inflow of my colorless photo posts on my grief. There were not a lot of questions about why for six months, I never put out a single colorful picture. I liked to think it was my mourning, it was not. I was infatuated with Snapseed's B&W filter and how it made me look better. It was a full bloom season for my monochromatic picture posts.
Two years ago, convincing my 18-year old self to emulate the big guns of the literary community was not a delectable undertaking especially when their internet profiles strayed far from glamorous—photos portrayed in dark themes, posts written with a diction the Queen would have preferred—you would think they were monks. Nevertheless, after a couple of weeks spent earnestly seeking the approval of these giants by persuading my teenage self to accept that writers and poets are extraordinary beings, I gave in to the unwritten requirements of the literary community.
Developing an affinity (which felt unnatural) for monochrome pictures and the unnecessary weirdness in conversations, it was a journey of initiation and I could only think that planting my feet rightly in the footprints of literary predecessors would score me points for my progressive records. My pictures took to a path of enigma, often black & white, in my room, around flowers, or by the dead tree that grew in our backyard. My journey was being mapped out by these drifts and I was careful not to miss any of them as I realized I was gaining cognizance.
I remember that the first time I used my phone's monochrome filters to decolourize a photo I had taken in my room, I stared at it long and hard, it could gain back color. I couldn't comprehend the myriad of feelings that coursed through me, whether they were of excitement or of disbelief. There were no flaws in my facial features as I stared at the photo, all details were finely blended into B&W. Although I had no acne or pimples, the dark circles beneath my eyes were enough to gauge my insecurities and I wondered if Facebook writers were just insecure folks looking for an escape. I tried not to think of it too hard, the filter already gave me what I longed for. How my eyes were emphasized and more aesthetically pleasing, how my cheekbones were sharper, and how my facial skin looked so smooth.
Whilst the B&W photos dominated my phone gallery, I tried not to project this so much into my social media as I still liked the occasional color. But there were lots of adjustments—my pictures were more selfies and less full-length as selfies gave enough room for reaching in my element and depicting my inner spirituality, or whatever my poetry mentor said. My mother noticed the change, she absolutely disliked the monochrome filters and would say they made me look not me. I was 18 and becoming a better version of me, I'd tell her.
When my Mum's illness deteriorated, my phone's camera was wearing out pretty quickly and the B&W filter couldn't do much. I was ardently searching for a good alternative. And then some time on a post, someone, a monk, recommended Snapseed's editing features. The minute I downloaded and used it the first time, I felt little bouts of adrenaline surge through me and this is when I knew there would be no going back.
Now I am 20 and have grown into a better version of myself. Heck, I still use snapseed and particularly because I love the tinge it gives, but I am not anymore insecure about my looks. I express myself in coloured and monochrome themes as I feel wholeness with both. I have realized that the people I wanted to be like set a precedent for themselves—now I set mine.