Stop chasing crumbs. Build your own legacy.

"You do not build legacy by chasing crumbs from the table. You build it by naming the table, reshaping the room, and knowing when to walk away."

This quote carries more than poetic force. It names a reality that many Black photographers live. They are offered exposure instead of authorship, presence without power, platform without permanence. These crumbs come dressed as opportunity, but they rarely feed anything lasting. They are not designed to. They are designed to showcase the giver, not sustain the receiver.

Behind the camera, the pressure to accept whatever is offered often masquerades as gratitude. Be grateful for the repost. Be grateful for the gear. Be grateful for the temporary spotlight that disappears as quickly as it arrives. Yet this cycle only upholds the same gatekeepers who never truly open the gate.

These crumbs do not lead to legacy. They lead to exhaustion. To dependency. To being known but never in control of how or why.

Radical visionary Carrie Mae Weems put it clearly:

"I’m acknowledged, I’m offered awards, and those kinds of things, they’re really wonderful. But I’m aware of what it means not to have the work valued seriously, so that you’re always struggling for a fair price for the work, that you have to fight for that."

The crumbs don’t nourish. They distract. They delay the work of building something real.

The point was made plainly in 2020, when Fujifilm USA faced public scrutiny during the resurgence of the Black Lives Matter movement. Its X-Photographers Ambassador programme, which showcased elite talent representing the brand, was called out for its lack of Black representation. In response, Fujifilm stated that the programme was under review. Promises were made. Statements were issued. But for many, it felt like a script on repeat. Inclusion was implied. Structural change was not. Visibility was offered. Power was withheld.

Photographer Devin Allen experienced this dynamic firsthand. After his photograph appeared on the cover of TIME magazine in 2015, he recalled being told by a Fujifilm representative at the Look3 Festival that his work was viewed as “negative” and not in line with the brand’s image.

As a result, he was excluded from their ambassador programme. Rather than chase approval, Allen aligned with Leica, who embraced his vision and welcomed him as a brand ambassador. It was a move that reflected principle over performance, authorship over appeasement. Allen chose to build with those who valued his perspective.

Tina Campt’s theory of refusal helps us understand the power of that choice. In Listening to Images (2017), Campt describes refusal not as withdrawal but as strategic presence. When Black photographers decline crumbs, they do not disappear. They re-centre. They redirect their energy toward authorship, ownership, and alignment. Refusal is not silence. It is sovereignty.

Bell Hooks, writing in Outlaw Culture (1994), reminds us:

"The function of art is to do more than tell it like it is. It’s to imagine what is possible."

To name the table is to define your own creative values and professional boundaries. To say what success looks like outside the frames that have long excluded you. It is choosing not to play a game designed for your erasure.

To reshape the room means building systems, structures, and spaces that do not rely on dominant validation. It looks like collectives, self-published books, alternative exhibition spaces, and community archives that hold our stories with care. It is an act of design, not reaction.

And to walk away? That is the deepest kind of clarity. As Audre Lorde wrote in Sister Outsider (1984):

"Caring for myself is not self-indulgence. It is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare."

Walking away from tables not meant for you is not weakness. It is wisdom. It is how you protect your voice so that it can continue to speak.

Legacy is not borrowed. It is not gifted by brands or institutions. It is built in refusal, in imagination, in conviction, and in community.

You were not made for crumbs. You were made to build what others thought impossible. So walk away when you must. Name the table. Reshape the room. And write a legacy that is entirely, unapologetically yours.

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