We are Milli, we are Nelly, we are Sam

Dresden roars. Trams screech in the distance. Horse-drawn carriages close to us, jolting and rattling over wet cobblestones. Beneath the dome lies a smell of sawdust, animals and cold smoke. Voices surge and swell, an expectant murmur makes the air stand still. The drums begin, driving us into the circus ring. Vibrations mix with the heavy sweetish scent of old perfume. The electric light flares up, burning hot on our skin. It displays us and, at the same time, casts dark shadows.

Milly, Nelly and Sam, that is what he calls us, while his crayon chases across the paper. Charcoal scratches, lines burst into being. His gaze clings greedily to our bodies, on the tension of our muscles, on the glistening of sweat, of our pulsating arteries. He works feverishly, as if he could capture in lines what excites him. Each curve is a frenzy, a lunge at the primordial. But he doesn’t see us. He only sees contours, inscribing them into his world.

We dance. We laugh. We sweat. Beat for beat, bar for bar. But behind the laughter lies a bitter truth: our bodies are our capital, our lives long consigned to the rhythm. Not from passion, but necessity. As our breath falters, he appropriates our movements. We turn into lines, projections, a fantasy which is not ours.

The light goes out, the crayon pauses. But the display does not stop here. It continues on the streets, in the stares, in the images the zeitgeist demands from us. Our dance is not solely for the audience; it follows the beat of a social order that has long since determined who we are and who we are allowed to be. The Reich resounds with progress and grandeur, military drums beat louder than our voices. In the circus ring we are an echo – a spectacle stilling the hunger for the Other.

And while he draws, as lines supplant our bodies, we spread our voices further. Quiet perhaps, yet unbroken. After all, we are more than shadows on paper. We are Milly, we are Nelly, we are Sam. Our names continue to resonate, our breath carries through the ages, our resistance remains alive. Even if art swallows us up, our existence remains a fissure in the beautiful façade, a whisper in the raucous circus ring, not silenced by the voice of Expressionism.

Natasha A. Kelly

Prof. Dr. Natasha A. Kelly is a communication scholar and sociologist, author and editor, curator, and multimedia artist. She has taught and conducted research at numerous national and international universities and served as a visiting professor at the Berlin University of the Arts from 2023 to 2025. Her artistic works have been presented worldwide, including at the 10th Berlin Biennale, Carnegie Hall in New York, and the Goethe Theater in Salvador de Bahia, Brazil. Her publications combine creative and academic approaches to Black ontologies, epistemologies, and methodologies, spanning perspectives from Black feminism to Afrofuturism. Since October 2025, she has been appointed Professor of Global African Arts and artistic-scientific director of the Iwalewahaus at the University of Bayreuth.

Find out more about Natasha A. Kelly here.