I grew watching nostalgic black and white “classic” films with my father. Musicals and family favorites with such admired actors like Betty Davis. But like Betty none of the women I looked up to on my television set have a similar reality or likeness to my own. Challenging if my reality was the black experience or the even an American experience. And though logic and maturity rid me of the illusion of being these women the need to see oneself present even as a reflection of the world I live in has never resolved itself. The Untitled Self Portraits are a response to this issue.