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Where I come from, there were traditions with my race and whenever you faced a curve in life, there was always a tradition.

I don't think about race before I start drawing. I think about how to make that mark to fit whatever purpose I need it to fulfill.

There must've been some part of me that wanted to make my mark. But there was never a defining moment.

I never felt that I was supposed to be white. Or black, either. My parents just wanted to let me be who I needed to be.

I never really had to put much thought into my race, and neither did anybody else. I knew I was black. I knew there was a history that accompanied my skin color, and my parents taught me to be proud of it. End of story.

It comes down to this: black people were stripped of our identities when we were brought here, and it's been a quest since then to define who we are.

It was important for me to understand who I am and where I came from. To get a hold on why I do certain things.

By ancestry, I was born to rule.

I grew up in Europe, where the history comes from.