When a museum strips itself bare, it’s usually a sign of crisis or renovation. But when Vashti DuBois, the founder of the Colored Girls Museum (TCGM), cleared out the first floor of her beloved institution, it wasn’t about decay—it was about rebirth. Personally, I think this act of radical transformation speaks volumes about the relationship between art, space, and identity. What makes this particularly fascinating is how DuBois handed the reins to artist vanessa german, whose new exhibit, The House, The Oracle and The Table, feels less like an installation and more like a spiritual intervention.
From my perspective, german’s work has always been about reclaiming space—physical, emotional, and cultural. Her ‘power figures,’ those glittering, larger-than-life sculptures of Black women, aren’t just art; they’re declarations of existence. So when DuBois decided to let german overhaul TCGM, it wasn’t just a curatorial choice; it was a statement of trust and kinship. One thing that immediately stands out is how german’s pieces aren’t just in the museum—they are the museum. The black walls, the black carpet, the absence of familiar furniture—it’s as if the space itself has been reimagined as a sacred vessel.
What many people don’t realize is how rare it is for an artist of german’s caliber to create site-specific work for a small community museum. This isn’t a loan or a temporary display; it’s a gift, a collaboration, a merging of two visionary women’s energies. The exhibit’s three central pieces—The House, The Oracle, and The Table—aren’t just objects; they’re monuments to resilience, healing, and the unspoken stories of Black women.
Take The House, for example. This seven-foot talisman, with its three heads representing past, present, and future, is a masterpiece of symbolism. Each face resembles DuBois, a detail that I find especially interesting because it blurs the line between artist and subject, between art and life. The dress, made from found objects like bottles and baby shoes, is stitched with hundreds of prayer pouches—a practice german uses to channel her own struggles into healing. If you take a step back and think about it, this piece isn’t just about DuBois; it’s about every woman who’s had to piece herself back together.
Then there’s The Oracle, a bust with a face made entirely of crystals. Its ear, a teapot pouring liquid gold, is a metaphor for abundance that feels both whimsical and profound. What this really suggests is that even in spaces stripped bare, there’s always room for transformation and overflow. And The Table, with its carved handprints filled with lapis lazuli and rose quartz, represents the women of the TCGM community—a reminder that art isn’t just about the artist; it’s about the collective.
What’s striking to me is how german’s work doesn’t just occupy space; it creates it. Her pieces aren’t passive; they demand engagement, reflection, and even vulnerability. This raises a deeper question: What does it mean for a museum to be ‘holy,’ as DuBois describes TCGM? In my opinion, it’s about more than the art on the walls. It’s about the intention behind it, the stories it carries, and the people it serves.
This exhibit also highlights a broader trend in contemporary art: the rise of ‘citizen artists’ like german, who see their work as inseparable from their communities. Her ArtHouse in Pittsburgh, where she built structures from found objects and prayer bags, wasn’t just a studio—it was a sanctuary. That same spirit lives in TCGM, where german’s pieces feel like kinfolk, not artifacts.
If you’re wondering why this matters, consider this: In a world where Black women’s stories are often marginalized or erased, spaces like TCGM and artists like german are acts of resistance. They’re saying, ‘We’re here, we’re magnificent, and we’re not going anywhere.’ What this really suggests is that art isn’t just about beauty; it’s about survival, about reclaiming narratives, about imagining futures where Black women aren’t just seen but celebrated.
As I reflect on The House, The Oracle and The Table, I’m struck by how it’s not just an exhibit—it’s a conversation, a healing ritual, a love letter. It’s a reminder that sometimes, to move forward, you have to strip everything away and start again. Personally, I think that’s a lesson we could all take to heart.
So, if you find yourself in Germantown, don’t just visit TCGM—experience it. Let the black walls envelop you, let the prayer pouches whisper their stories, and let the crystal-faced Oracle remind you of your own abundance. Because what german and DuBois have created isn’t just art; it’s a testament to the power of transformation, both personal and collective. And in a world that often feels fractured, that’s nothing short of miraculous.
