There is a richness in the layers and intersections of a life lived within the full spectrum of the human experience on earth. For most of us, life is exceedingly hard. For most us, life is a continuous rotation of years going by wishing for the same “more” year after year. A desperation of MORE that fuels inspiration for greater creativity.  More spins on the energetic traps of addiction and self centered self harm. More on the demand for commitment for love promises and passionate healing root and sacral center explosions. More accepting low regard as a method of upward mobility presented as humility. More money. More Fuck. More Power.

I came all the way up from the streets of Philadelphia where I wasn’t supposed to make it, I wasn’t. So many instances of divine luck intervening, crushing a trajectory set by my history, socio- economic background, familial dynamic, racial oppression and all that shit that comes with it, too many to name. Ahhhhhhh, that was created to destroy me. But I took everything that they got and made cute Toki hats, crochet some nest bombs. Put your sacred thing in that nest and see how it responds. I’d paint on fabric or canvases when I could get some, nothing in my mind, but everything in my soul. I painted with my eyes closed. That was the conjure in the art. Then came God Most High whispering to me songs I could see with my eyes closed. Healing songs. Yes, I said conjure in the art. The art was the way we could talk our resistant talk and not be a threat to the status quo and still be alive. Back in the day, the hardest militants (in thinking aka intellectuals) became the most provocative artists because the discourse in the university and art industry welcomed the sad songs and warrior cry of the masses of black men, and some women.

Spectrums. They are pretty right? Various vibes and lights relating to each other in mathematical and sacred ways. Then here come the emotive creative, mostly women, with all their baggage and turmoil they expel into methods of design, spoken word, cultural production- all the while being told “you crazy”. The hysteria of women is employed to institutionalize the bold and wild creative woman. That’s why so many ended up in mental institutions, drugs or impregnated. 

We wild and crazy, sometimes sad, always triumphant.