Ana Mendieta was haunting me, showing up in my daydreams, following me around, asking me to go deeper. I knew it was a haunting because, quite frankly, I didn’t like her pieces; I had never been interested in her earth body work. Her muddy sculptures didn’t move me. So I resisted. Exclusively studying and truly loving the work of Black artists who believe in Black people. Ana, Cuban, was not Black, and had in fact married a rich, famous, powerful white man with a drinking problem and explosive ego. I couldn’t connect. I wasn’t seeing it.

But the witch was after something, and it felt selfish, like she wanted me to focus on her.

So I got Xochitl Gonzalez’s novel, which read like a voodoo historical retelling of Ana’s life and murder. Her death gripped me. Maybe that’s when Ana said, "Ah ha. Now, listen." So, I began to. I listened to the few interviews she gave, watched her niece unfold her legacy, sat in museums staring at blood dripping from Ana’s forehead, thumbed through flyers from her earliest New York shows. I read about how she fell 34 stories, pushed by the man who was supposed to love her. I guess Ana wanted me to see it all. And what I saw was myself and other women whose lights were extinguished mid-process, just as they were finding their power. A deliberate disruption. Quelled under the weight of white male mediocrity. In many ways, I’ve allowed myself to be changed and tamed by people, positions, and relationships. But with awareness comes clarity. A reminder that culture demands our minds be dulled, our sharp edges softened, and an insatiable desire for more eclipse any self-acceptance.

So, may this work recall, haunt, and invite us to name the many ways we, as women, witches, and people, are tamed. If we name these violences, we will look out for them and avoid those who use them against us.

This is an evolving piece; more spells may be added periodically. To add spells or experiences, inbox @theangryafrican_ on IG.