Showing posts from May, 2015

Observation: Man And Moon

To the bank, then to the pharmacy for sunscreen. That was the plan. But the actual reason was that I wanted a walk. It was about 19 minutes to 10pm and when I stepped outside, I did not regret not checking the weather; I regretted not entertaining my old habit of wearing sweaters in heat or cold. The moon was not half full but it shimmered all the same. There were some stars. I really ought to learn about these stars. I want to. At the bank I deposited some money and half way back home I came to a sudden halt because I remembered that I had forgotten the sunscreen. With the reminder came a mild regret and a moment of indecision. Then I felt relieved: I had forgotten to research what sunscreen works best for my skin!  It would have been a mistake had I remembered to make my trip to the drugstore. Painting by Soly Cissé He distracted my thoughts not because he was right in front of me. But because of what he was doing. He stood facing the not-even-half-moon. His hat about two sh

Personal Style: Spring Romance

There was this period, right after junior high, when I started wrapping handkerchiefs around my neck. My Naana, amused by this phase in my sense of style bought me the bandana I am wearing here. My very first bandana and the most unique I have yet seen. These days it brings to mind fond memories of Mother's Mother. Orange and pink, two of my favorite colors in a necklace from the closet of one of my first buyers. She sent me a note——after she received her first purchase from me, a Nonitse scarf——that made me cry. We would trade clothing later, it was her idea. I had not expected the necklace but liked it immediately. Orange and pink! She sent me more than I sent her.  Wearing it makes me feel like a flapper girl which then brings to mind Mrs. Dalloway in her youth. But mostly I am filled with warm thoughts and curiosity about a friend from Detroit whom I have never met. dipoyo pillbox hat (one of my favorite things) - Mawusi bandana - gift from my granny neck

Journal of an Aspiring Artist: Introduction

She filled up dresses, blew up skirts, parted hair, pushed and pulled at everyone. The wind. On my way home, I opened my arms wide. "You're flying!" A woman behind me said. We laughed. "I would do the same but my hands are full." She looked down and I followed her eyes to the bags hanging from her fingers. I liked her for liking what I was doing and for saying so. I smiled at her  and told her I could hold the bags for her if she wanted. She laughed some more and I joined in. We wished each other good night.  Water does evaporate, so perhaps the breeze is sea. I am fish. I was coming home from Edwidge Danticat's reading of Claire of the Sea Light at Hunter College.  She read up on the 8th floor with glass walls that showcased arrogant skyscrapers lit by a setting sun, then by their own man-made lights and reflections from the blue light of night. I am unfamiliar with Danticat. I went to the reading on a whim. This spring/summer/autumn I want to hear and l

Poetry: Migration by Lyrae Van Clief-Stefanon

Migration by Lyrae Van Clief-Stefanon             . . . if I see something happening                    which I like, I let it happen. . .                          -Jacob Lawrence                                          If it’s love flowing freely,                                          I’m ready.                                                  -Tracy Chapman Black is an ardor.                  Color moving as              wholeness—yellow migrates blouse to light handle to bell green       migrates button to satchel to wall blue migrates coat to sea to night sky—finds an order. Black is an ardor      of smokestack cirrus birdflight                         blanket            boll stem. Against spikehead                              slipper judgerobe nooserope—: Hair.            Fatback sliced on a table is a block of pink stripes falling               open as a story’s pages                            bout to be sliced and served.               Ple

Photography: Down Under the Manhattan Bridge

Also known as DUMBO. -- Jane

Opinion: Black Lives Matter

You, fellow human of fine emotions and sensibilities, your life matters.  You deserve to walk down the street worrying about things like how many likes your selfies will attract on Instagram, or what you are going to have for lunch. Otim kɛ Kenam . When you see a police officer, you are supposed to not really notice them. Unless you are an admirer of uniformed people, and even then, it should register in your very occupied mind something like, police, and perhaps some unnecessary sense of security. But you ought not feel fear for your life. Even if you are an awful person. Did you see that episode of Californication when Hank got beaten by the bald overweight police man? Right when they left the crazy party where for a minute he thought he had been touching a naked Karen? It was the first time it registered with me that the police is sometimes the criminal. The thing is power is corrupting. Think about it. When was the last time you felt really powerful? How did you feel? What did