During one of my habitual doom scrolls through social media, I stumbled upon something that made me pause Danielle Mckinney had an exhibition in London. I was thrilled. Dover Street is just around the corner from my office, so I made plans to visit right away.

I’ve encountered her work countless times on Pinterest, always stopping in awe. Her paintings depict Black women in moments of rest, solitude and quiet reflection. There’s a vulnerability in the way she captures simple emotions being, peace, stillness that feels radical. As Black women, we haven’t always felt safe being seen this way. Her subjects don’t perform; they simply exist. The darkness of the rooms and the richness of the skin don’t fade into the background they glow differently, pulling you in.

Her work challenges how Black women are viewed, and for me, how I view myself. It reminds me that I don’t need to perform Blackness to make it palatable. I can just be.

What I love most is that her art isn’t overtly political or confined to surface-level narratives. It opens a space quiet, expansive, and deeply felt for something else entirely.