I thought I could do the exhibition in a day and found myself gobsmacked by more than 50 years of radical art. I was struck anew by Cassie’s power while visiting “ Faith Ringgold: American People,” a groundbreaking retrospective at the New Museum in New York City. Her story was proof you didn’t have to be extraordinary to be free.
But Cassie was different she was ordinary. My mother, a truly insatiable reader, surrounded me with stories about magnificent women who ran for president, invented revolutionary products, defied the odds, and freed themselves and others from slavery. It’s one of the earliest stories that I remember loving. “Tar Beach” was published two years before I was born. Kelley suggests her imagination turns an ordinary rooftop into a launch pad to a new world, one unburdened by the rules and exclusions that define her own. Elleza Kelley argues in her forthcoming book, “Flight Lines: Making & Marking Black Space,” Cassie’s flight serves a collective purpose: She wants dignity for her father, rest and relaxation for her mother, economic security for her family. Then you use your freedom to free others. “Daddy is going to own that building,” she says, floating above union headquarters, “’cause I’m gonna fly over it and give it to him.”įreedom is a straightforward proposition in “Tar Beach.” You ask for it and the universe delivers. Resources long denied to her family, like membership in the local union, become hers for the taking. She flies over the George Washington Bridge, built by construction workers like her father, and declares it to be hers. Flying doesn’t just give her freedom it also gives her power. It tells the story of Cassie Louise Lightfoot, an 8-year-old girl who dreams of freedom and finds it one night when she discovers she can fly. This is the world of “Tar Beach,” Faith Ringgold’s masterful and, arguably, most enduring children’s book, released in 1991.
The roof is a hub of activity: a picnic table with watermelon and drinks dominates the right side, four adults sit playing cards in the middle, a clothesline stretches along the left side of the roof, and two children lie nearby on a quilt, staring up at the stars.
There is one image that defines my childhood like no other: a young Black girl, her hair braided in pigtails, flying above the George Washington Bridge while her family enjoys a summer night on their Harlem rooftop.
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