“Racism is one millimeter of skin.” This phrase has been resonating in my mind recently. It’s such a simple, yet powerful statement about the absurdity of prejudice—how something as superficial as the color of our skin has been used to divide, categorize, and dehumanize people for centuries.
One millimeter. That’s how thin the barrier is between us. Beneath that tiny, fragile layer, we are all made of the same flesh, bone, and spirit. Yet, historically, societies have built entire systems around that minuscule difference, elevating one group while oppressing another, just because of a variation in melanin.
I think about this often, especially as an artist whose work digs deep into history, memory, and identity. When you consider how much of human potential, creativity, and connection has been lost or warped due to racism, it feels overwhelming. How could something so small—so biologically insignificant—be the root of so much pain, hatred, and injustice?
But this phrase also gives me hope. If racism is just one millimeter of skin, then the truth of our shared humanity is always right there, just beneath the surface. The work we do, whether in art, activism, or everyday life, peels away that layer, revealing the sameness that lies underneath. By recognizing this, we can begin to dismantle the structures of racism and build something more equitable, something that honors the depth of who we truly are, beyond appearances.
As an artist, I feel it’s part of my responsibility to highlight this—to create works that speak to that deeper connection, that challenge the notion that skin color should determine worth. And every time I create, I’m peeling back that one millimeter, layer by layer, hoping that others will join me in this slow, necessary process of seeing beyond the surface.
