We recently connected with Finesse Devonne and have shared our conversation below.

Finesse , thanks for joining us, excited to have you contributing your stories and insights. One of our favorite things to hear about is stories around the nicest thing someone has done for someone else – what’s the nicest thing someone has ever done for you?

The kindest thing anyone has done for me is…stay. Not just be there, but to stay there with me. “There” is any dark, scary, unfamiliar, and/or emotional place.

I have a few friends who have done this…who do this for me. One is Andy V. Before Andy really knew me, we bonded by accident. Andy cried for me…kinda, ha ha!

We got to watch a movie and write about it for extra credit. The movie was For Colored Girls. Andy was the only guy so he was looking for someone else to come with this group of girls that pulled him in. He and I had just met through a mutual friend. So, we arrive to a packed theater and the girls ditch us for four seats together… We found two seats at the top, end of the aisle (arguably better seats).
I was trying to avoid seeing something that would cause me to have an emotional reaction, so I ended up covering my face with both hands. Why both…I don’t know. If you don’t know the scene, go watch the movie though. Anywho, Andy did the same. I thought he was crying until we started lowering our hands at the same time.

He’s on my right. I turn slightly to look at him with just enough peripheral to see his face so I could turn away if he’s not okay. I wanted him to have his moment without my interruption. I don’t know him like that yet, so I’m not sure how this man will react if he notices a familiar stranger viewing him in an emotional situation. I must have failed at being subtle because he looked at me too. Caught, I asked, “You good?” He says, “Yeah, I just thought you were crying and I didn’t want you to cry alone”. Bros ever since. Neither of us had shed a tear.

Jay and Josiah are also consistently there for me in similar ways.

Awesome – so before we get into the rest of our questions, can you briefly introduce yourself to our readers.

I’m something or someone different to nearly everyone. I don’t know that creative is the main adjective though. I think strangers view me as illegible… They try to read me but they can’t. They know I’m in their language but I ain’t. So, with a moment as my canvas and their mind as my brush, I paint. I feel eyes on me when no body is looking. I’ve become accustomed to giving a show, but I don’t want to HAVE to be performative in order to be accepted. Hopefully all that makes sense to you later.

The field I’ve laid into most is modeling. Not fashion, but modeling. I’m not interested in clothes. I just like to make a moment. On runways, that comes in the form of manifesting a designer’s vision of seeing THEIR art on display the way THEY intended. I give it demeanor.

In photography, the visions have mostly been MINE. I reach out to photographers whose photographic aesthetic most closely match the vibe of the moment I want to immortalize. To be honest, it has only rarely happened. When it does though, it’s magic! Those are the highs I chase. I have to connect with the photographer and they have to connect with my vision, not just a check.

I got into this because I’ve been called ugly, stupid, and just been degraded for so long. I needed to see if it was true. I needed an audience to watch me on purpose and let me hear if they cheer, or boo. I needed to catch it on camera. And if it was true,  I would use the clothes, the lighting, the angles, etc.,  to create some different version of myself for the moment.

My art is cathartic. My art is for me! I’m always amazed when someone connects to, or appreciates it. It’s an extension of myself that even I can’t grasp. I can’t hold it, so it twists, turns, and tortures me until I let it out of my mind. It’s supposed to be free. Sometimes that’s symbolized with the absence of clothing.

My bro, Shaw Jewelz, jokingly makes me warn him before I make that annual post. When I don’t, I get a call. “D@*% it! I was at breakfast!” LOL! Truly, he’s always been supportive, whether I had it all, or nothing.

Even without clothes, I think I’m most vulnerable when I write, but that’s not something I usually display because:

I mostly write
when something’s wrong.
If it ain’t right,
I must be wrong.

It was only always my fault.
I used to push plates. They were on my faults.

I ain’t ate. Still stayed and I fought.
Beating me up seemed like the default.

Maybe
that’s why
my genes skinny
with holes in ’em.
Begging.
On my knees,
praying pleas
for old denim.

Low inner G.
A still bee.
The go-getter?

I stayed small
So you wouldn’t be offended.

When I had it all
You made me your contender.

The fire under me
was gaslit?
Mind-benders!
Struggles to forget,
yet second-guessing what I remember.

I rejected me the way they did,
hoping opposites attract
and they’d react
by giving back
what I was missing.

I was different.
I had opinions.
They didn’t listen.

I used to be excited.
Now it’s best to be indifferent.

I thought I needed ’em.
Aint know they needed me.
Yet they paid me no attention
when I gave it for free.

<–(Now, I’m expensive.)–>

Let’s talk about resilience next – do you have a story you can share with us?

In September of 2018, I went to NYC for the first time. Afropunk. Loved it! While there, I got word that a casting call would be occurring in two weeks for a fashion show during New York Fashion Week. I’m going! The casting is on a Saturday morning. The show is Sunday night. There are no guarantees. I’m going anyway. I check my money, book my hotel and my flight.

I get back to New York and pop up at the casting. It’s at the top floor of this hotel in Manhattan. There are HUNDREDS of people! I have no clue how I’m going to get recognized. After several hours of waiting, photos, and mini workshops, the leaders decide to have pre-req’s for who even gets to go before designers. They line us up in groups of four. “If we pull you out of line, you can grab your things and head home. We thank you, but this is not the time for you. There will be volunteer opportunities. Find Jeremy to put your name on the list of volunteers.”  My group is up.  It’s me and three women. I’m second from the right. We walk…

I was the only person from my group to move on! I get in front of the designers.  It’s silent. There’s about 10 designers and stylists at tables that form an U. Three behind me, five to my left, and two in front.  I walk.  “Thank you.  You can wait in the holding room. If you hear your number, you were selected.”

I didn’t hear my number. I go scrambling for the volunteer list. I ask someone. “Yeah, what’s your name? Okay yeah, see you tomorrow.” Naw…I need to see my name WRITTEN. I aint showing up to be turned away because don’t nobody know me. I hurry down the hall looking for someone who knows something. Who has pen and paper? Who is taking names?  So many people are leaving. I see a designer pushing a rack. I approach him and introduce myself.  I asked if I can volunteer with him. He says yes, but never stops moving. Aint NO way he finna remember me tomorrow. I need to find that list. Finally, I find Jeremy. Jeremy writes my info on a long list and says, “text me at this number. I’ll send out all instructions tomorrow morning.”

It’s Sunday. I get the text, but I’m hurt that I’m not walking. I’m also hungry. If I get food though, I’ll be late. Aint no sense in being down, hungry, and late. I need to pick a struggle… 2-out-of-3 really. I choose what I can change immediately.

I walk in the venue finishing a slice of pizza when I see this woman struggling bringing in clothes. I offer some assistance. She tells me that this is for her son who is a designer in tonight’s show. I say, “Perfect! I’m a volunteer. Let me help.” Her son walks up. It’s the dude that kinda (politely) waved me off yesterday! His mom says to me, “Just stick with me.” That day, I was a personal assistant, tailor apprentice, and model coach to dozens of strangers.

It’s almost showtime. The designer had this one look that he’s tried on several models (male and female), but didn’t like it on any of ’em. Five minutes before the show, he tosses me some jeans. “Put this on.” It fits. “Perfect! I love these on you! That’s YOUR look.  Let’s go.” WHAT!!  That’s how I end up walking during New York Fashion Week.

We often hear about learning lessons – but just as important is unlearning lessons. Have you ever had to unlearn a lesson?

I’m not through unlearning it yet, but the lesson was that I’m not allowed to be myself AND be loved. That I could only choose one.

For me, love is a decision. Love is action. In some instances, it’s not so much about the receiver as it is about the giver. It’s more than a feeling. While faith without works is dead, I believe the same is true of love. That’s why, I don’t personally believe in falling in love because love should lift you on purpose. I don’t believe in falling out of love either. I just think people choose to walk away from it.

I think love is about capacity. What do you have the capacity to give? How much time, space, or/and resources can you provide when needed? What is it that they require?  Then, what do you have the capacity to take? When things aren’t going well for someone you’re in it with, how much stress can you take off of them? That can be spun so many ways…

My backstory is just that, when I was most vulnerable with people, these were the times I was torn apart and/or taken the most advantage of. So, I learned how to demarcate myself. I learned how to be present, yet detached. I also learned that it often wasn’t an issue with me, so much as it was an issue with the person who was hurting me. Often those people were hurt by something or someone else and hadn’t fully healed yet. Maybe some loosely similar trait of mine was a trigger. So, to keep them from going off, I learned to pull back. I stay away so I don’t do anybody like that.

My friend, Bree, helped me recognize my own problem. She was dating my roommate. If I saw him, I saw her. She tried to connect with me and I was blocking. She didn’t stop trying. I wasn’t mean to her, but I wasn’t making it easy. Her consistency was the revelation. I withheld from people thinking I’d be the reason the bond would fail before it formed. I thought I’d mess it up, so I’d rather never have it than lose those types of bonds becauae they also involve sharing pieces of self. I didn’t want to share anything I didn’t know the value of.  That’s how I used to get taken advantage of.  I now feel ok with giving of myself, regardless, because maybe that piece was never for me to keep. So, that’s what much of my art represents. They are pieces of me I’m ready to give OR let go of.

Contact Info:

• Instagram: @mfdevonne

Image Credits
@mrblakemartin @anthnybuford @christophermarrs @swioernoswiping @rianehumanphoto