Underneath the narrow swath of land that stretches from the Chattahoochee River in eastern Alabama, westward to the shared border with Mississippi, lies a limestone bed — the remnant of an ancient ocean. Over the years, the weathering of the exposed limestone produced rich soil, perfect for anyone with agricultural aspirations. Named for its dark-hued soil, the region is known as the Black Belt. It is in that lush, fertile ground that the Black Belt’s prosperity — and its problems — would take root.
Now, there’s a new story being told in the Alabama Black Belt and it’s a tale of triumph and pride in the form of a mural trail: Revolution of Joy. But to truly appreciate its significance requires understanding the history of the Black Belt.
Courtesy of Helene Taylor
In 1830, following President Andrew Jackson’s signing of the Indian Removal Act, white settlers forced the resident Native Nations off the fertile ground, pushing them westward to Oklahoma. The new settlers established a wide network of cotton plantations that crisscrossed the state and brought in enslaved people to work the land and tend to their homes.
For years, the Black Belt fulfilled its promise: it was one of the wealthiest cotton-producing regions in the U.S., and as a result, wielded an outsized measure of political influence. But its fortunes were not to last.
When the South lost the Civil War, there followed a mass exodus of newly freed slaves to the North. By 1916, the boll weevil infestation had engulfed the entire state, leading to the decimation of nearly two-thirds of Alabama’s cotton crops. Facing steep economic losses, the Black Belt became mired in steady decline.
Later, these towns, with their repressive Jim Crow laws and failed economic and social systems, would find themselves in the cross-hairs of the civil rights movement. Tales of struggle would write themselves all over the region, in the language of crumbling infrastructure, unemployment, and disenfranchisement.
Courtesy of Helene Taylor
Revolution of Joy is a 247-mile mural trail which, when complete, will run through the western region of the Black Belt, from Selma in the east extending almost to the Mississippi border. It is the brainchild of Trés Taylor, a former biochemist and self-taught artist, who, in partnership with nonprofit Can’d Aid, has already painted nine of the proposed 20 murals so far.
Each one depicts a local who has been instrumental to the growth or healing of the towns by promoting the community’s cultural heritage through acts of courage and/or education. But Taylor simply refers to his subjects as “unsung heroes.”
There is Afriye Wekandodis, depicted in Taylor’s Selma mural, “Coming Together.” Wekandodis, the director of the Middle Passage field experience at the By The River Center for Humanity, brings the African American experience to life by taking visitors on a harrowing, interactive “trip” through the process of being sold into slavery.
There is also Betty Anderson, who was just 15 years old when she famously wore a hole in her shoe while marching with Martin Luther King and John Lewis for the right to vote. Now 71, she owns The Camden Shoe Shop and Quilt Museum, which is housed in her father’s old shoe shop. Here, she educates visitors about local and regional history. Known as the town’s “cultural keeper,” she is the inspiration for the mural “Clown Quilt” in Camden.
And in Greensboro, singer, songwriter, and electric blues harmonica player Little Sonny (born Aaron Willis) was the inspiration for “Catfish Jubilee.”
The Revolution of Joy trail — driving map available here — will take its unique place within the larger Alabama Mural Trail, which aims to showcase murals by multiple artists in all 67 counties in the state. When complete, visitors will be able scan a QR code in the corner of each mural and hear the story of the town’s mural.
Courtesy of Helene Taylor
Taylor found his artistic calling after a chance meeting with folk artist Ruben Aaron (R.A.) Miller over two decades ago. There is something about the simplicity of his murals that speaks to a profound, universal desire for peace and for place — it is hard to look at them and not feel hopeful.
The idea for a mural project first came to him in 2010, during a visit to Miami’s Wynwood Walls. “I saw how thousands of tourists were visiting this small area, how the murals transformed an area that was once a warehouse district into perhaps the number one art destination in the world,” Taylor told Travel + Leisure. “I felt a calling to do something with community and art. The Black Belt was a natural choice because I love its rich cultural history. It’s a magical place, for me, because of its ties to folk art and story tellers.”
Shortly after his visit, Taylor met Diana Ralston, the executive director of Can’d Aid, and the idea to collaborate on Revolution of Joy was born. It was a match made in art heaven.
“The Can’d Aid mission is based on the simple belief that everyone has the ability to give back and do good, and community murals are an incredible [vehicle] for grassroots community building,” Ralston told T+L. (Can’d Aid assists Taylor in determining the location of the murals; securing the walls; supplying the paint, brushes, and other supplies; and recruiting volunteers often help paint the murals.)
Courtesy of Helene Taylor
The hope is that, just as Wynwood Walls helped revitalize the run-down manufacturing district into a thriving hub, the Revolution of Joy trail will attract travelers, tourist dollars, and investors, who will see beauty and opportunity in these often overlooked, culturally rich towns, and in the spectacularly pristine countryside that links them together.
Ask Taylor why he’s doing it — there’s no money in it, and the time it takes to plan and create each mural is time taken away from working on new paintings to sell — and he’ll give you a little slice of his philosophy. “A closed hand cannot receive,” he said, alluding to the ethos that we cannot do good in the world if our hand is closed-fisted. (It’s a philosophy — and a mission — that Taylor feels ever more urgent about since suffering a heart attack deep in the Alabama woods three years ago.)
Ask his wife and business manager Helene why they are doing it, and her answer is more sentimental. “What happens at the walls is magical,” she said. “There’s an extraordinary bond that is created when people come together to paint, a sense of shared purpose. They take great pride in their work, whether they painted a large section or a tiny corner.”
She conveyed what 11-year-old Pax Ingles-Thompson told his mother after working on the “Clown Quilt” mural in Camden: “Decorating the patches on the quilt helped make me part of the story.” And truly, his words could be speaking for all who show up at the mural walls.