Stepping into the Dead Yard

“We fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”

Images by Dahyembi Neal

This spring I had the pleasure of attending the video art exhibit and installation titled, DEAD YARD, crafted by cultural art worker RASHEED PETERS (b. 1997, Jamaica) in Chicago, IL. Observing this work for eight months from its early rough cut stages to the physical exhibit, I’ve been tasked with summarizing Peters’ incredible personal use of video art to examine, process, and cure himself of sorrow in relation to the loss of his father, OWEN PETERS, who the piece is dedicated to. By way of DEAD YARD, Peters’ has created a living and breathing technological obituary for his father. Through Peters’ despair, we are offered an opportunity to dream of new ways to store, honor, and archive memories through new media approaches, while being introduced to a form of grief work that rejects the capitalistic bodily need for movement in times of deep sadness. Prompting us to re-imagine, re-inspire, and re-contextualize our sacred grieving cultural traditions in a new world with new awarenesses.

Before my review though, I want to offer an understanding centered around the four consumptions of grief and how it often will reveal itself within the cultural work of an artist.

Grief consumes and it does so, quickly. The first consumption is through loss. That loss can be of anything. A loss of innocence, of a game, of an understanding, of a relationship. That loss hurts, yes but the opportunity for it to be possibly reconciled often provides solace. It is not until that loss becomes definite, like losing a loved one, that the complicated language of grief finds you and your journey begins.

The second consumption is the revelatory moment when you realize that you are not exempt from it. As in, you too are subject to the deep despair that comes with the transition of a life. And from then on, grief is now a part of your human experience, whether you ask for it or not. That hidden contract burdens you as you anticipate how loss will continue to follow you.

The third consumption is when grief begins to feel physical as if it is sitting right next to you as you fall deeper into despair. As you befriend it, grief becomes omnipresent and begins to exist in a variety of different modalities, shifting as you move through life with a continued sense of urgency. Grief begins to chase after you, following you. Finding adaptive ways to meet you wherever you may be.

And the fourth consumption is when grief chooses its form of expression in your life. The way we choose to exist with our grief is often expressed through the routes of creativity we bind ourselves to. Some folks create music to sonically honor the essence of their lost loved ones. Some folks create poetry to lyrically twist their tongue in reverence for life once lived. Some folks use paint to offer a variety of interpretations of personhood. No matter the form, you realize you are engaging in grief work and that it involves creative aptitude, it requires a level of imagination that will imprint the memories of lost loved ones onto you for as long as you live. It urges you to hold on and to remember for as long as you can. You learn to co-habitat with this omnipresent experience for the rest of your time on earth, until your transition from this place then becomes the orbit of someone else’s sorrow.

This consumption-turned-work is lifelong and should be considered an active process, one that isn’t finished. This active duty can be most clearly seen in DEAD YARD, by Rasheed Peters.

Image by Brigid Kennison

Situated within a corner on the second floor of Abbot Hall at Northwestern University, audience members gather together. Tightly packed, viewers shift their bodies to open spaces between others to witness the exhibit. They find stillness and then they are transported to the DEAD YARD.

A heart-shaped chair sits atop green terrain grass. The grass curves and stretches tall from the ground to the wall. Wooden crosses rest upon black-stained windows with white borders. A case of Red Stripe with a floral arrangement tucked behind it sits in a community with candles as they create an altar with a photo of Rasheed’s father. We, the audience, are in Rasheed’s backyard. A cultural replica of his homeland Jamaica and the site of remembrance for lost loved ones, called the Dead Yard.

The Jamaican tradition of the "dead yard" is a cultural practice deeply rooted in the island's African heritage and spiritual beliefs. The dead yard is a designated space within a Jamaican community, often located near a church or family home, where the deceased is laid to rest. It serves as a sacred and communal space for mourning, remembrance, and honoring the departed.

In the dead yard, graves are meticulously cared for, adorned with colorful flowers, candles, and personal mementos, reflecting the deceased's life and personality. Family members and friends visit regularly to pay their respects, share stories, and offer prayers and blessings. The dead yard is not just a place of grief but also a space for celebration and unity, where the living come together to commemorate the lives of their loved ones.

Through meticulous and detailed production design, to the visual element that is situated between four different screens, to the sonic world created for viewers, Peters forges his own version of the dead yard

Peters, who has been living in the US since 2016, doesn’t simply recreate the dead yard. He uses a variety of multimedia art forms to examine his grief and call forth a new version of this sacred practice. Through meticulous and detailed production design, to the visual element that is situated between four different screens, to the sonic world created for viewers, Peters forges his own version of the Dead Yard. A version that allows for this spiritual ritual to take place within different locales outside of the homeland, one that feels everlasting. A version where the celebration never stops.

Image by Brigid Kennison

The sound design and musical score feel like a calling. Or better yet, praise and worship. Rooted in the calling forth of individuals to a Christian religious experience, we hear deep ember voices singing, “I Heard the Voice of Jesus Say.” Peters sonically invites the viewer into his own personal memories. We ebb and flow through these quiet moments that transition to hymns to the crackling of fire to the sounds of birds, allowing for a sensory experience that feels like you are physically located there.

The overhead light hues are traditional Jamaican colors that envelop the exhibit with warmth as they reflect off of the white walls surrounding the space, pushing the dimension of the experience further to its audience. Traditional Jamaican floral arrangements are placed lightly in and around the exhibit, framing the screens and walls, representing a growth for Peters. To me, these small arrangements represent the long process of grief, creating time as if Peters is still at his father’s dead yard, as if the world around him has moved on and outgrew the timeline of his grief and he’s still there.

Image by Dahyembi Neal

Within Peters’ interpretation of the Dead Yard, he situates four screens throughout the space. Each screen has a productive role in the world-building of its physicality. Observational location footage of Jamaica allows for the exhibit to breathe in and out, as we see nature simply exist.

Peters' interviews are structured as vignettes, each subject having an opportunity to share a moment or a personal story that they have with his father. It’s an intergenerational conversation between Peters’ paternal grandmother, his uncle, and his mother. Each provides distinct and nuanced descriptions of the quality of life his father lived. Through a recorded phone conversation with his uncle, we intimately hear how difficult it could be to recount memories of a loved one. The camera lives on Peters as he chats with his uncle about the brotherly bond that his father and shared. His uncle, rather stoic in his responses, begins to unravel as the weight of his answers begins to trigger an emotional response that feels all too familiar. The aching feeling when we miss a dear loved one. As we hear his uncle cry, Peters acts as the visual representation of his outward despair as the emotional weight is transferred to him on screen. He cries for and alongside his uncle.

Peters’ grandmother is filmed back in Jamaica. Moving between her home and her garden, she speaks clearly about the quality of man that his father was. She acts as a historian seeking to ensure that whoever is viewing this on the other side of Peters' camera understands who her son was to the core of his being, a protector. We follow her through the garden as she tells tales of this great man. It is as if we are sitting at the feet of an orator listening to the wonders of the myth of a man, her son.

The camera does not seek to move, the edit does not seek to move. Rejecting a cinematic form that is often regulated to immediacy and keeping the viewer “engaged”

The moment between Peters and his mother though was incredibly moving for me. They both lay in bed, talking about his father. They both stare forward, not at each other as if they are replaying the spoken memories in their head. To recall, but also linger in those moments. Peters asks his mother, “Do you talk to him, still?.” She responds, “No, but I just pray, I pray he finds peace...” They sit in silence, staring into the unknown. They sit in the weight of her words, not seeking to move. The camera does not seek to move, the edit does not seek to move. Rejecting a cinematic form that is often regulated to immediacy and keeping the viewer “engaged.” The sheer gravity presented on the screen between a grieving mother and son in the bed shared by their loved one is more than enough to digest. Her husband, his father. Leaving them both in the same bed yearning for him.

These three distinct interpretations of Owen’s personhood remind me of the short poems that appear in obituaries that come from bereaved families. The difference in this case is that these excerpts are filled with a humanity and emotional bind that the limited words on paper could not outwardly express. But, the most engaging imagery that exists within the four screens is the oppositional archival footage of the wedding ceremony of Peters’ parents and the funeral ceremony of Peters’ father. Both ceremonies represent a life stage. The wedding represents new beginnings, new life. The funeral represents goodbyes and farewells. In Peters’ case, both of these ceremonies took place in the same exact location, their church home. The processional moments in both ceremonies eerily mirror each other. As the wedding party walks down the aisle, clergy members and Owen’s casket proceed down the aisle. As folks gather for the wedding ceremony with joy and splendor, we are contrasted with imagery from the funeral ceremony with folks sitting with masks covering their faces, with minimal body movement as they await for it to begin. These two ceremonies are intimately connected and bound together.

Peters’ eulogy to his father is heartbreaking. This is the first time within the exhibit that we hear directly from Peters about the loss of his father. As we watch as he works his way through this weighted moment, he begins to contrast his speech with archival imagery of his father offering a toast at his wedding. These two men, father and son, who are strikingly similar in appearance, share the same sentiments of love, optimism, and hope for whatever life may bring. To edit and position these two moments in conversation with each other has an ethereal, yet haunting aspect to it that deepens the spiritual connection the Dead Yard offers to those who give in to the cultural experience. It showcases that nothing within our human experiences is coincidence or by happenchance. These moments are written exactly how they are designed to exist and it is up to us to discover those connections and lead us to cultural work that could be utilized in our futures. The use of archival footage within this piece begs the question of how we choose to repurpose and re-understand our connections to our memories when they become overwhelmed by grief and loss.

Image by Brigid Kennison

The exhibit within itself offers so much more than what this review could express. The Dead Yard as a cultural tradition is alive and well. The structuring of a more nuanced understanding of the personhood of a lost loved one through this grief work engagement fascinates me. As the world shifts around us, the Western and overbearing way America sets a routine practice of remembering our lost loved ones has become too archaic. Printed obituaries are too limiting. In-person eulogies are too demanding. But for some reason, Peters’ verité-styled reflections seem fitting. Like a stream of consciousness that the structure of a funeral or timed speech could never offer someone.

While it is a captivating offering to the canon of video art, I wonder how possible it could be to replicate at different locales, especially outside of the Western world, and how that will shift the environmental ethos that Peters seeks to create. Nonetheless, DEAD YARD by Rasheed Peters, moves the viewer toward a critical understanding of grief as a recurring process by way of imagery that has been curated through an everlasting/eternal scope. The presentation pushes us to find and understand our own unseen imaginations of lost loved ones. This reflection and piece push us beyond the function of a funeral. This remembrance is now a living, physical (and digital) obituary for immigrants who exist in spaces that are not their own. It is a calling to always critically engage with our sacred practices within the vastness of the African/Black diaspora. While also challenging us to consider and use new media and technologies to enhance our connections to our complicated human experiences.

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Marquise Mays is an award-winning filmmaker and media scholar living and working in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Experienced in an array of media and arts practices—from cinematic storytelling to exhibition curation—Marquise brings imagination, technical expertise, and cultural awareness to entertainment productions, journalistic undertakings or media-rich events and civic engagements. As an independent filmmaker and film studies scholar, both Marquise's films and research are careful renderings of individual Black life on and off screen