Near death experiences bring you closer to sculpture

Critical reflection on a worldview changing turning point

X-Ray showing where fragments from chipped teeth lodged into my lips

The world stopped for a moment as my body ascended, legs flailing across the road, landing haphazardly on my XL Telfar bag, cushioned with the cinema camera that was neatly tucked in its compartments.

This all happened on Sunday, at the crack of dawn. I had built a relationship with the routine of morning shooting. Anything to avoid people, less about my social anxiety, and more about avoiding over-performance from passersby around film crews. Filmmaking in public has always had the gravitational force of attracting strangers en masse. The good, the bad, and does the above count as ugly? I’ve had the range: from speed-invitations to Lake Como, to citizens’ arrest muppets threatening to call the police because, apparently, filming a block of council estates is illegal. I digress, and on that fateful day, I was cycling to my next scouted location, wistfully avoiding any commotion.

This was short-lived. A tragic ending to say the least, as a maniacal driver speeds down the opposing lane, swerving in my direction, then out, at the very. Last. Second. I was scared for my life, visibly shaken, as I turned in my attempts to document the license plate of this lunatic. He was a danger on the streets and needed to be reported. It should be unanimous to cyclists around the world that agility is greatly limited on a bike. Now, add my film equipment to that equation and picture my U-turn, a mere snail on the road of reckless rabbits. By the time I had ended my manoeuvre, the vehicle had returned for more. My time for evasion was slim, and I knew the bike was no longer useful in this situation, for I was being attacked. This was a direct attack.

Under this threat, we choose one of three. I didn’t really have time to make a decision as the vehicle started to reverse into me, dodging it at the last second. Fitness has always been a lifeline for the black community. Growing up, I watched the classics: Love and Basketball; Coach Carter; Remember the Titans. These films show people how fitness can get them out of situations. You might damn well be close to failing your whole school year, but if you’re physically fit, you might actually be okay. Growing up working class also meant that my home was broken, my mother working until late hours to keep the energy bills maintained. This isolation meant that I threw myself into fitness even more.

I think this sustained relationship saved my life on the day of the incident. I was leaping for the stars, evading every attempt from my invaders. After their reverse, they accelerated at the human in front of them. I find it insane that any person would look another one in the eye, as they sit behind a wheel, and would dare hit that acceleration pedal. It happened in Marylebone a few days ago. That person in front of that car is no longer with us. In my case, I suddenly found myself atop the car bonnet, confused at what I was witnessing, and startled by my uncanny reactions.

Growing up in Hackney as an illegal immigrant in the noughties meant that I have been desensitised to the violence that poverty catalyses. Before citizenship, my family stayed with a friend whose children were involved in some classic London antics. Gangs burst into the homes of suspected competing gang members, only to find out that they got the wrong home. Police raiding family homes in search of drugs that get rapidly flushed down the pipes. I don’t think this prepared me in any way for what happened on that horrific day, but it deprogrammed my mind from the initial shock that someone might feel when bearing witness to the sick, twisted evil that consumes a human behind a vehicle to attack a pedestrian.

A near-death experience will either change you for the good or for the bad. After the incident, though hit, I suffered no critical injuries. I have been working steadily with the police and other medical services in search of justice. Through this experience, I have learned to understand my perceived position in this world. Questions like ‘Did you know them?’ ring through my head, echoing the words of many friends who felt compelled to enquire. I mean, I get it. Why would the perpetrator do that if I did not know them? Unfortunately, I did not know them, plain and simple. My feeling towards this question is that this represents a wider engagement with the colour of my skin. It is a symptom of my blackness that compels the viewer to ask such a question. It is the precursor to ‘it’s some gang shit’, the meta-text to ‘you brought this on yourself’.

In addition to challenging sustained doubt from the world, communicating my struggle to medical services has been like poor Sisyphus, rolling that boulder of injuries up the hill of ‘you look fine’. I think an anecdote might help here. During my recovery, I was blessed to pet-sit a therapy dog - a red Labrador - during our walks. We met a white woman walking her cat. I know, who walks their cat? But she apparently had time to, and well, was walking a damn cat towards me as I walked my friend’s therapy dog. The dog went for the cat, and the owner was displeased, eventually picking up her cat, which continued to resist and scratched the neck area of its owner. I was ashamed but ultimately injured because I was recovering from being attacked by a car. She, however, was frantic, pulling the arm bands of her dress outwards following the direction of her shoulders that got tighter to each other, screaming demonically, ‘LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT WHAT YOU’VE DONE TO ME.’ This contrasts to my near death experience, where in fact, I was too chill interpreting that, I 100% underplayed the severity of that incident to the medical services, and I have been trained to get on with it. I like to think about what the reaction of that woman would be to a similar car incident. Perhaps a prolonged wailing, perhaps a completely mute era lasting, say, 6 months.

This experience has brought back memories that I thought layed dormant. Though a slow recovery, I have started to better understand how society has made me feel because of the colour of my skin. I make art to create without boundaries. As the world attempts to place boundaries around me, I continue to push back, showing the world what people of colour have done and continue to do. Because of this, I have had to develop a strong sense of self. Resistance and resilience are deeply ingrained. For Sylvia Wynter, it is intergenerational. I can only talk about my home and my mum is the most resilient person I know. After the incident, my self image was shattered.

The word trauma vibrates through my eardrums like a crow circling carcass. Every medical specialist has used that word to describe my experience. I second it, but was not keen to associate the two. I am still in shock even in writing these words, but I find that the writing helps me identify the words that seem to have escaped me. I completely lost track of my schedule after the incident. Deep as I approached the last term of my masters, the final submission a 40-minute film documenting the creation of a stone plaque. I couldn’t even recall the name of my film. I birthed its name, and couldn’t even recall it’s signifier. This happened with a lot of projects where I was a bit lost for words and actions. It’s been a few weeks, and I am still adjusting, but I have learned to accept support. The sustained shock I have felt has meant that I grow anxious towards situations that put my body at risk.

A near death experience invokes the feeling of loss, then takes it away, just to show you that it could all go in a second. This reality shattered my self-confidence, which was built up after steady growth and achievements. Now, I feel weak. I feel vulnerable. I feel unfit. I severely injured my leg during the incident and was unable to walk for some time. Though no critical injuries, the added mental weight of dealing with a physical detriment for more or less the first time in my life, brought to light the fragility of life. In this way, my worldview has changed. Now shy of risk and fearful of maniacs, the world feels new to me.

I hope to engage with these ideas further through sculpture. What it offers is a chance to engage with materials that break and bend to form bodies of mass and shapes. I see a lot of crossover to the incident and I am currently working on some designs, exploring questions that might help communicate this feeling of fragility, risk, but also balance. The balance of good vs evil; risk vs challenge; Mind vs Body.

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