Everywhere I Go Is Home: An Exhibition Review

All photographs credited to John Stephens and courtesy of the curator and Haugabrooks Gallery 

Did you know that your grandmother carried you too?

Do my ancestors feel the warmth of my suns?

My joys and my exaltation?

-Charise Frazier, An Offering

Sierra King, a multifaceted artist, curator, and archival specialist, delves into the Black collective memory, deeply rooted in spirit, heritage, and familial ties. Her work, Everywhere I Go Is Home, offers a unique perspective on the tether, memory, and collective unconsciousness shared within the Black experience. This installation, a product of lived experiences, vividly illustrates the intimacy of collecting practices and the cultivation of the Home within through sacred space.

The Legacy of "Sweet Auburn" and Haugabrooks

Haugabrooks, set on Auburn Avenue, reclaims an overlooked element by anchoring the work in its sense of place. Before the civil rights movement, Auburn Avenue was known as the commercial, cultural, and spiritual center of African-American life in Atlanta [1]. Black Atlantans worshiped at Auburn's many churches, including Wheat Street Baptist Church, Big Bethel African Methodist Episcopal Church, and Ebenezer Baptist Church, where three generations of the Martin Luther King Jr. family served as pastors. In 1929, the Black woman-owned and family-operated Haugabrooks Funeral Home was opened with $300 in cash by Ms. Geneva Haugabrooks. The Spelman Alumna was a philanthropist and community leader who contributed to and raised funds for civic, religious, and charitable organizations, including the Atlanta Negro Voters League, the NAACP, and her place of worship, Wheat Street Baptist Church [2,3].

Historical Site Transforms into an Expressive Medium

All photographs credited to John Stephens and courtesy of the curator and Haugabrooks Gallery 

Acquired by the Historic District Development Corporation (HDDC) in 2019, Haugabrooks has transformed into an art gallery, event space, and meeting venue, nestled in the heart of 'Sweet Auburn.' When asked about her choice of setting, King spoke about the connection between opportunity and space, and how it all came together. For 7 years, she had pondered a central piece in her family home. When the opportunity arose with the gallery, though remote, she was able to assemble the installation swiftly. This process of selecting the setting and its influence on the exhibition is a testament to King's creative process and her ability to adapt to new environments. She credits her agility and fluidity to 'knowing her archive intimately.' Her ambitious spirit mirrors 'Mama Haugabrooks.' Both women seized the opportunity to turn an idea into reality at the right time and in the right place. The repetition of similar occurrences highlights how the energy of intention and action can permeate a space over decades, underscoring the importance of preparation for divine purpose. 

Connecting the Languages: Care work Through the Lens of Death and Rebirth

Care work is foundational in this focus. King states, "Funeral services and the spiritual act of archiving come from the same language." King's statement reminded me of the energy of death and rebirth and how they exist in unison. They are not separate cycles; they happen simultaneously. When loved ones transition, their body rests, but their spirit is reborn in the ethers. Their belongings, once mementos to them, are preserved as a part of the body and given new life, like a spirit, within divine timing.

The Presentation

The installation consisted of curated works by artist friends and archival installations by King. All collaborators, together with Candace Caston, Rita Harper, Lauren Jones, Shefon Taylor, and Ariel Dannielle, were local, had a relation to Atlanta, or the South. The entry pieces, "The Pink House" (2021) and "The Road to Grandma's House" (2021) by Rita Harper, a documentary photographer and photojournalist, instantly spoke to my inner child. Harper's Logtown, Georgia, memories capture the ritualistic prominence of pink houses and dirt roads in South Georgia. It reflects the embodiment of our shared experiences as a people, stories of beginnings, transitions, and familial healing through communal spaces.

Caston's collages, Tropical Storm Warning (2025), Call You Back (2025), and Hair House (2025) capture the spirit of New Orleans from the artist's memory before the devastation of Katrina. It illustrates how intimate, individual memory can open into a collective memoryscape, inviting viewers to locate their familiar roots and sense of Home within the work.

Ariel Dannielle, a portrait artist, draws directly from her life, creating paintings that capture the daily experiences of young Black women through a personal and playful lens. She draws on the adornment practices that have long been a site of self-expression, resistance, and joy for Black women. The gold teeth seen in her work echo a lineage from mid-20th-century Southern Black femininity, evolving into gemstone-embellished grills, acrylic nails, and jewelry today —a continuation of 1950s glam elegance recast in the aesthetics of contemporary Black womanhood.

Shefon Taylor, a visual artist and writer, embodies the fragility and persistence of memory as a lived experience. Inspired by the literary works of Toni Morrison, her use of fragmentation and rememory reflects how Black collective memory often exists as a layered and spectral presence within linear narratives, echoing generational trauma, survival, and the quiet intimacies of rebuilding Home within.

All photographs credited to John Stephens and courtesy of the curator and Haugabrooks Gallery 

Lauren Jones' installation transforms a rotary phone into a sacred portal for communion, prayer, and ancestral dialogue. The act of listening and responding collapses time, connecting the living to those who came before. By inviting visitors to leave a message, Jones cultivates an intimate, collective practice where personal trials and ancestral guidance converge, affirming the Home within as both sanctuary and archive.

Experiencing the Archive

All photographs credited to John Stephens and courtesy of the curator and Haugabrooks Gallery 

The Baptism by Leo Carty (1970-1989) is an echo. When I saw it, I connected with the spiral verve of the Bantu Kongo cosmology. It suggests that Black spirituality operates in a circular pattern. The roots of our spirituality were born in Africa. It morphed as our ancestors moved across oceans, readjusted again after being uprooted by captors, and revived as it was demonized and restricted. Nevertheless, Carty depicts how the roots remained unchanged. Recalling our connection to nature, water is, as always, used as a force, a spiritual tool to cleanse, purify, and sanctify.

A few scenes from Daughters of the Dust (1991) also flashed in my memory. In the film, women wore frilly, cream-colored dresses, while men wore fitted and casual suits. The women sang hymns, played chants near bodies of water, and prepared meals in the natural surroundings. These scenes echoed the tribal moans and the sacred act of communion from the motherland, reflecting Cartry's paintings of our spiritual resistance as a people. 

Then, I noticed big seashells sitting on the wooden floor. King shared how her family collected them from the Florida coastline. It was essential to find the larger ones so that they could "listen to the ocean." Ignited by the memory of the Igbo landing, I travel back to the film where the Peazant family gathers on the beach at the site of a place where their ancestors chose death over slavery. The site, like the Home, becomes a place of spiritual rebirth, and the seashells serve as witnesses to lineage and passage, much like the onlookers at a baptism.

All photographs credited to John Stephens and courtesy of the curator and Haugabrooks Gallery 

As they lay over the Golden script bible, the red rosary beads repeat the prayers whispered over them. You can feel the power of manifestation. They hold the intention and prayer, and it sings like the family-written melody laid next to it. We trace the spiritual foundation of the Stephens family in this moment. Anchored in Scripture, worship, and prayer, this installation highlights the importance of spiritual protection over your home and family. It embodies the eternal spiral of Bantu cosmology that continues to protect and renew across generations. 

All photographs credited to John Stephens and courtesy of the curator and Haugabrooks Gallery 

The archival installation Learn You Something (2025), including Deep in Thought by LaShun Beal, is a sonic portal rich in Ookan (heart in Yoruba) frequency. The wooden bookcase, set with an early record player, was filled with tunes from artists like Herbie Hancock, clay sculptures painted by King's grandmother, and rugged books that presented evidence of knowledge learned and shared. Learn You Something (2025) holds the rhythmic beat of the Stephens family home. In my mind's eye, it's the place where the family gathered to commune in joy and love, to revisit the power of prayer, and to share stories of pain overcome with resilience. Here, ancestral memory activated through narrative becomes the basis for the intergenerational transmission of culture. This wisdom infuses a hellish fire into one's dreams and ushers in the definition of what it means to know thyself.

All photographs credited to John Stephens and courtesy of the curator and Haugabrooks Gallery 

Deep in Thought grounds the story told. It depicts a woman in a cream dress and matching hair wrap, pausing to contemplate the content of a book. The sacred pause feels like a moment of decompression paired with a sudden yet subtle perspective shift. As I sift through the pages of meaning, I reflect on the intersectional lives of Black women—the heaviness of managing multiple identities and responsibilities. In every space we grace, Black women are constantly mothering, learning, unlearning, and intentionally world-building. We set the tone within our homes, and we are multidimensional leaders in our communities. Deep in Thought mirrors Learn You Something by saying the gift of knowledge and wisdom rests in the womb of Black women, and responsibility is its byproduct. It's her self-awareness, prayer, patience, and divine partnership that allows the family to heal and grow.

All photographs credited to John Stephens and courtesy of the curator and Haugabrooks Gallery 

Closing Sentiments

Before leaving, I asked Sierra a final question. "With the advent of technology, how do you see the practice of archiving evolving across generations?" She responded with a comprehensive answer, breaking down her positionality as a creator who creates from within a split generation, thereby allowing for an appreciation of both mediums. As an archival specialist, she bears the responsibility of respecting and embracing the new while upholding tradition. Because of this, she has a 3-copy rule: three digital copies and three physical copies because "hard drives fail just as much as paper can be burned." This question led her to share the intimacy of her work. She begins by stating, "My work begins and ends at the archive." Archiving is grief work. It's about processing and holding on, keeping and letting go. It asks: Where do I see value, and what am I adding by my practice?" To Sierra, it means finding meaning until purpose arrives and preserving familial history. She speaks to the ritualistic nature of archival work and how you have to "build your flow and know your capacity." which looks like weeding out, decluttering and making the practice holistic.

This experience was rich and nourishing. It uplifted my spirit and reminded me of the power I've always had. It reminded me that it was my responsibility to honor my spirit, celebrate my roots, teach my family, and make the connections within my internal and external world that guide me towards divinity.

All photographs credited to John Stephens and courtesy of the curator and Haugabrooks Gallery 

References

1. Hatfield, E. A. (2006). Auburn Avenue. In New Georgia Encyclopedia. Retrieved Sep 24, 2020, from https://www.georgiaencyclopedia.org/articles/counties-cities-neighborhoods/auburn-avenue-sweet-auburn/

2. Haugabrooks - HDDC: Historic District Development Corporation. HDDC. (2025, June 13). https://hddc.org/haugabrooks/

3. Haugabrooks Funeral Home Historical Marker. Historical Marker. (2025, January 3). https://www.hmdb.org/m.asp?m=186438