DOER OF THE MONTH
Aisha
In your own words, who is Aisha? How would you describe yourself as a storyteller, and what kind of impact do you strive to make through your documentation?
Creatively, I’m a multidisciplinary artist working across writing, filmmaking, and photography. Those three practices really come together in a documentarian way, even when the work itself isn’t strictly documentary. In writing, for example, I also work in fiction and screenwriting, but it’s always grounded in real life.
At the core of all my work is a passion for documenting the world around me
particularly the people and culture within my community. I’m interested in how culture is created and exchanged and how people offer their input to the world. My projects aren’t really about me; if anything, I see myself as a mirror reflecting the people, ideas, and environments that inspire me.
2. What message do you look to spread with your work? What experiences in life made you want to highlight this message or get started in this line of business?
In terms of message, there’s a political dimension to everything I do. It’s not always overt, but it’s rooted in community, togetherness, and shared responsibility. I often describe myself as a cultural worker rather than simply an artist, because I believe that comes with a duty to the culture. Artists—and really all of us—have a responsibility to reflect the times we’re living in.
Given the political state of the world right now, I think we all have an obligation to show up for one another and
take up space in ways that are constructive, humane, and supportive of collective survival, peace, and well-being.
The message in my work is about active participation rather than passive observation.
That perspective comes from how I was raised. My parents are Rastafarian, deeply political, and they instilled in me a sense of connection to things larger than myself—from my Caribbean roots to a broader connection to Africa as a Black person. Learning about figures like Malcolm X and Marcus Garvey shaped how I understand history and responsibility: they didn’t just exist within their circumstances, they analyzed the forces shaping their communities and acted where they could. That ethos continues to inspire my work, and it’s something I hope encourages others to think about how they, too, can get involved.
3. We know your film is being shown at a studio. How did this accomplishment feel? How important is it for you to see your art transition from a digital space to a more physical/tangible space?
It was a really welcome surprise. I completed a yearlong residency with BRIC from 2024 to 2025, where I used their funding and facilities to create the film. Traditionally, the residency ends with a single screening, which did happen last October, and that experience—seeing the work on a large screen in a theater with an audience—was incredibly affirming.
What made this especially meaningful is that this is the first time BRIC has expanded the residency into a months-long exhibition. Having the film live in an exhibition space is reaffirming as an artist and feels like a natural extension of the work. Coming back to the themes of my work, the film isn’t about me; it’s about streetwear and the people across New York communities who authentically shape style and culture.
Showing those stories within a major New York institution feels fitting, both for the subject matter and for the people represented. There’s something powerful about allowing the film to exist on a loop, giving audiences the chance to return and engage with these stories over time.
4. Was there ever a moment you came close to giving up on your creative or activist journey? Why and what drew you back?
I wouldn’t say I’ve given up, because I don’t think I’ll ever stop caring about the things I care about. But recently, I’ve been in a period of slowing down and re-evaluating. After finishing the film, when people ask what I’m working on, the honest answer has been: not much.
I’m a very ambitious person, and I’ve spent a long time constantly moving and producing. Lately, I’ve realized how little time I’ve given myself to pause. Creating work that’s always focused on others can take a real emotional toll, and I’ve been thinking more deeply about what it means to be an artist, and why I make work in the first place. My personal life has also pushed me to prioritize myself in ways I hadn’t before, and I’m considering how my art might reflect that moving forward.
I’m still figuring out what the next few months will look like. Last year, I applied to several MFA programs and was accepted to all but one, but I ultimately chose not to attend because I couldn’t afford them. Experiences like that—where financial barriers and gatekeeping become very real and
force you to rethink your relationship to the art world, even when you know you’re capable and qualified.
Ultimately, what keeps bringing me back is that this is what I care about most. There’s nothing else that holds my attention in the same way, and beyond that, I believe art serves a larger purpose in the world. Remembering that bigger responsibility helps ground me, even during periods of uncertainty.
5. Are there any other areas you’d like to explore, whether creatively, professionally, personally etc? If so, what? If not, how do you want to evolve in your current endeavors?
That’s a great question. Lately, I’ve been focusing on reconnecting with my body, especially through practices like yoga. I’ve also been in therapy, specifically somatic therapy, which emphasizes the connection between the body and the mind through breathing and physical awareness rather than just conversation. That reconnection feels like an important space for growth for me, particularly as a woman and as my relationship with my body continues to evolve. I’m inspired by how that physical awareness will shape my creative work moving forward.
Creatively, I’m also returning to writing and fiction. I recently finished a short screenplay, and the last narrative short film I made was in 2021, so revisiting fiction feels significant. At the beginning of 2024, I released a small collection of short stories and poems that resonated deeply with people. I sold physical copies and eventually moved on from it, but recently someone reached out, read the last remaining copy, and shared how impactful it was for them. Moments like that remind me how meaningful fiction is to my practice and motivate me to lean back into it.
Seeing original storytelling celebrated, like Ryan Coogler’s Sinners receiving major Oscar recognition, has also been inspiring. Especially in the world we’re living in right now, I believe imaginative, original narratives have the power to open new possibilities and perspectives. That’s a direction I’m excited to continue exploring.
6. What is a dreamer and doer to you?
I came across a quote today that said joy is a way of practicing hope, and that really resonated with me. To be a dreamer, you have to commit to both joy and hope. Hope sustains the dream, especially because life knocks you down constantly. Getting back up requires actively choosing joy, even when it feels unrealistic or almost delusional. It’s about being bold enough to seek and practice joy every day.
But dreaming alone isn’t enough. There are many dreamers who never become doers. The doing is what turns practice into reality — it’s how dreams take shape in the real world.
People often romanticize the vision or the fantasy, and while being a visionary matters, progress comes from boots-on-the-ground work.
Doers show up and put in effort, even when they don’t have perfect clarity about the outcome.
Balancing the two is powerful. It’s the combination of theory and practice. Dreamers carry the imagination that keeps things moving forward, and doers bring a sense of duty and grounding that makes those dreams real.
