The Kitchen Table Series by Carrie Mae Weems, 1990.

Carrie Mae Weems: “I realized at a certain moment that I could not count on white men to construct images of myself that I would find appealing or useful or meaningful or complex. I can’t count on anybody else but me to deliver on my own promise to myself. I love Fellini. I love Woody Allen. I love the Coen brothers, but they’re not interested in my black ass. They’re simply not interested. They have no sense that … We don’t even occur to them as subjects. We don’t even occur to them as a viable fucking subject. Not to even say hi to. That’s how distant we are from their fucking imaginations. I can’t count on them to do my job. I just can’t count on them. I can’t count on them to play fair. I can’t count on them to think about me in any sort of serious way, because it’s clear that they don’t. I look at it as unrequited love. You know? I love them, but they ain’t thinking about me. It’s not really a complaint. It’s just the reality. I build a form for myself that don’t exist anyplace else. I don’t see me represented in any other serious way anyplace else for the most part.”