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In this bench scene, I used dead space intentionally to show what words can’t. Drake Senior isn’t just sitting with his Ex-girl friend-Natalie; he’s sitting with everything that shaped him.

The space around them has confined them, Specifically pointing to Drake Sr. representing the silence that has boxed him in.

Look at how much room is given to the trees and darkness behind him. That space represents

history, pride, disappointment, responsibility—the kind of things that build up over a lifetime. I framed them small in a big world on purpose. It shows that even in moments of connection, he’s still carrying more than he can say out loud.

Dead space in a frame isn’t empty. It’s pressure.

It’s unspoken thoughts. It’s everything a man like Drake Senior has to deal with and still show up anyway.

Think about the Black fathers you remember in movies. Often, they are portrayed as loud, perpetuating the stereotype that a Black male father knows nothing but fear and struggle. This depiction reflects the past. Our new generation of Black fathers needs to embrace a different approach—being present, yet quiet. This silence doesn’t equate to weakness; rather, it signifies strength, understanding, and control. I still grapple with this, especially as I approach 52. I notice how it affects my relationships beyond my connection with my children. Sometimes, I feel like they love me out of obligation rather than genuine affection. While I know they care for me, it seems influenced by what they’ve learned in school, on TV, and during Father’s Day celebrations. Loving your father is often viewed as a default, woven into our daily lives as a fundamental aspect of being human. It’s similar to the American Dream—an ideal to aspire to and achieve. Loving your dad is what most people do. Or, at least, that’s what I believed. Unfortunately, Black fathers sometimes struggle to navigate this expectation, facing profound challenges and consequences as a result.

Two Dead Drakes