I watched Eddie Murphy yesterday on Netflix. He spoke about being an artist. I had talked about something similar in a post I wrote about Andrew Benjamin not too long ago, so the words felt familiar. I have to admit, I never thought of Eddie as the artistic type in the deeper sense. But after watching the documentary, I was pleasantly surprised. It made sense. Of course he is an artist. He always has been.
Why it mattered to see Eddie Murphy when I was a child
So many things today have become political conversations, and that frustrates me because it shuts down real talk. It makes people dishonest. The truth is simple: when a person sees someone who looks like them doing something beautiful, excellent, or extraordinary, it opens a door. It tells you that you can do it too. That the possibilities are not closed to you. That they are, in fact, boundless.
When I converted to Catholicism, a friend sent me a photo of a statue she saw in a museum Black Mary holding a Black Baby Jesus. We both know Mary was not African. But that wasn’t the point. The point was that unto us, all of us, a Child was born. A Son was given. And seeing that statue made our hearts rise, because the Prince of Peace had come for us too.
Eddie Murphy did something similar for me without ever knowing it. Watching him grow from a comedian to a leading actor to a family man revealed so many facets of a Black man. As a girl growing up in Detroit, that mattered. It showed me that Black men were more than the stories the news recycled every night. They were not the sum of the worst examples. They were capable of joy, artistry, growth, tenderness, and genius. Their lives were not limited to the small, violent narratives handed out by society. And if that was true of them, it could be true of me too.
And it was not just Murphy.
There were countless men and women who opened doors for my imagination: Jamie Foxx and his musical and comedic range, Condoleezza Rice with her brilliance, Colin Powell with his quiet authority, the Wayans family with their creativity and hustle. And not only celebrities. There were people in my own life who quietly defied the odds, men and women who lived with dignity even when the world expected less. They all formed a constellation around me. Lights showing that my story did not have to begin and end in the same place. That there were other ways to live, other paths to take, other versions of Blackness than the ones handed to us by the six o’clock news.
Seeing people who look like you excel does something to your soul. It expands it. It softens the ground so new dreams can take root. And Eddie Murphy was one of the first seeds planted in mine.
If this post spoke to you…
Share it with someone who might need it, too. Whether it’s a quiet encouragement or a new way of seeing things, these reflections are meant to be passed along.
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Martina Griffin is a Catholic convert, writer, wife, and mother of four. She writes about faith, motherhood, beauty, books, and the quiet ache of transformation. A lover of popcorn, deep questions, and old classics, she shares her heart at Big Bowl of Popcorn—one post at a time. Instagram | Facebook | Email Me |
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