SON OF A GRIFF
Some histories are not written in ink; they are carried in the blood and spoken in whispers. For BIPOC people whose ancestors were ghosts in the official record, genealogy is not a precise line, but a constellation of stories with gaps left for dreaming.
This series dives into those gaps. It takes its name from the "Griff," a derogatory census term for a person of Black and Indigenous heritage. Here, that slur is reclaimed and reborn as the griffin—a creature of myth, a being of two worlds fused into one impossible, powerful whole.
Son of a Griff celebrates the imprecision of oral history as a sacred space for invention. The work uses mythological creatures as a metaphor for a biracial identity so often deemed "unreal" by official records. It suggests that to be unrecorded is not to be lost, but to be magical—as rare, powerful, and real as any creature of legend.
This series dives into those gaps. It takes its name from the "Griff," a derogatory census term for a person of Black and Indigenous heritage. Here, that slur is reclaimed and reborn as the griffin—a creature of myth, a being of two worlds fused into one impossible, powerful whole.
Son of a Griff celebrates the imprecision of oral history as a sacred space for invention. The work uses mythological creatures as a metaphor for a biracial identity so often deemed "unreal" by official records. It suggests that to be unrecorded is not to be lost, but to be magical—as rare, powerful, and real as any creature of legend.