"...I don't believe that boy ain't scared of nothing." - a blackout poem

Months ago, I rescued a pair of books from my local library that were to be discarded. convinced that I could make something with them. I've seen lots of altered books, cut paper pieces, and other works that use old books to make works that are clever, creative, and beautiful; it was time for me to play, to figure out what I could do.

They quickly became just another thing added to my space.

Yesterday, I happened to come across Laura E. Davis' recent blackout poem "the bride". I'd never heard of blackout poems before, but I was curious (as I often am). She explained that a blackout poem "usually begins with the source text in hard form, like a newspaper article, and the poet redacts text...leaving behind a poem".

It was my turn. I pulled out those aforementioned old books and rifled through my supplies to see how I might bring something to fruition. Laura was spot on with her guess that they'd be natural for me, though I don't often write poems and I'd never used words in my work before.

I opened the book to a random spot, circling words and phrases that caught my eye, that I could bring together to tell a story. I then drew what came to mind as it came together. Not much time passed before I had something.

I didn't want him to forget what I told him. 

I went to another world; come and take him home. 

Someone left, crying. 

I don't believe that boy ain't scared of nothing.

I reached for him. 

Let's go.

"...I don't believe that boy ain't scared of nothing."9"x12"
mixed media on paper

I'm curious to know what you all think. I may do more of these.

Textual source: Never As Good As The First Time by Mari Walker, St. Martin's Griffin, 2008

Twitter Art Exhibit: Orlando

I tweet.

A lot.

A lot a lot.

Okay, I don't tweet nearly as much as some, but definitely more than others. I read my tweet stream often; that's where I learn about (at least initially) a lot of the themes that show up in my work. It is also where I learned about the #TwitterArtExhibit. This year--the show's fourth--is in Orlando, Florida, and the sales of the postcard sized works entered will benefit the Special Needs Dance Programs of the Center for Contemporary Dance.

I think I first learned of this last year. I remember enquiring about the deadline, and (almost as promptly) letting it pass by. I don't know why making such a small work was met in my mind with so much resistance, but it was. This year, I had been seeing quite a few Orlando-bound works in my Twitter feed, but it wasn't until very recently that I sat down and started to sketch something out.

*  *  *

"I stay 'woke." 

The above is a slang phrase used sometimes, when someone wishes to let others know that they are always paying attention, guarded, observant, vigilant, with a response at the ready.  Someone that "stays 'woke" has their own ideas and opinions about everything they see and never blindly accepts the narrative given by those in authority. They aren't hesitant to make those opinions known to all who might listen. If I had to guess the origin of the phrase I would pin it to the final scenes of the 1988 Spike Lee film "School Daze":



Quite a few of the film's characters were literally waking up as they gathered outside in pajamas and nightgowns around Dap (Laurence Fishburne) as he yelled and rang a shrill, piercing bell. Dap wanted his peers to be aware and take notice of all that was going on around them, both in the world at large and the microcosm of that world in which the film was set, a HBCU (Historically Black College/University) campus in the late 1980s. The film ends as Fishburne gazes directly at the camera and says in a quieter, slightly pleading voice directly to the viewer, "Please. Wake up."

"Please. Wake up."

And so she is. Facing the viewer but not seeing them, she stretches, rubbing sleep from her eyes. It is morning, because she dared to see.

Morning (When I Dared to See)
gouache and graphite on paper
4"x6"

Just ask...

Just asking seems both easier and requiring more courage than actually making art, but equally as vital, as illustrated by Amanda Palmer's TED talk from earlier this year.

And I am terrible at it.

It's terrifying and yes, as she mentioned, it does feel like begging. It isn't though. Begging implies that you are asking for something for nothing. I don't dare speak for other artists, but what I do isn't nothing. It is the complete opposite of that; I make paintings and draw things and write things for a lot of reasons. One of the most important is that I want to share myself, to give of myself to the hundreds of thousands of people with whom I share this planet.

I will be the first to admit that I am not nearly as courageous as she is. Intriguing as it sounds, the idea of painting myself and standing on a city street in a wedding dress as a living statue makes my stomach churn. Even more frightening is the prolonged exchange of eye contact, or thought of stripping naked and letting people draw on me. I easily recognize the impulse to do this as the same one that inspires my most honest paintings and blog posts, but somehow (at least in my case) it doesn't seem to be enough.

"So I had the most profound encounters with people, especially lonely people who looked like they hadn't talked to anyone in weeks, and we would get this beautiful moment of prolonged eye contact being allowed in a city street, and we would sort of fall in love a little bit. And my eyes would say, 'Thank you. I see you.' And their eyes would say, 'Nobody ever sees me. Thank you.'"

I think the missing bit for me is encounters with people, face-to-face. I spend so much time on the internet; I freely admit that I don't always want to see people nor do I want to always be seen. I want the sense of direct connection to people that Palmer talks about here, that seems so vital to her career, but I'm scared of it too.

This is where I come to you, internet. I am asking. Challenge me to make art in the company of others, to make connections with people in my own ways, to find my own ways to be a living statue, at least metaphorically speaking. I'm not sure I can I can't be the painter/performer/writer I dream of being if I don't challenge myself to perform, so I am asking for your help. I am adding a 'tip jar' to the left hand sidebar of this blog; donate as you are able. For those that can, buy my paintings. Make them a part of your world.

Thank you, Amanda Palmer.

Exploring Silence

Does my work break silence?

I believe that it does, yes—with line, shape, and color. I compose pieces very deliberately, even if my intention is hidden away from everyone, including myself. My innate sense of how to use forms and figures is... what? I guess it is in service of Story, that elusive thing that everyone understands both differently and exactly the same. I break silence by attempting to articulate feelings—either with images or with words—as honestly as possible.

There is not enough honesty in the world.

Everyone is hiding. I hide too, behind my work, between my words…but it is there. I am there. Behind, around, between. Right there. You can see me if you look.

The act of making work breaks my silence.

I am so often silent, because I am so often by myself. I don’t need to make a sound, my voice rings loudly through my thoughts. There is a large, more pervasive silence with my work, the silence that comes when people encounter difference.

Silence roars.

I associate sleep with silence, an empty room, a blank sheet of paper or canvas, and the multihued black that exists behind your eyelids when you squeeze your eyes shut tightly.

Is there silence in my work? If there is, I don’t recognize it as such. How do I find the silence there, even as I try so hard to give it words?

Sketches!

Here are some sketches representative of the pieces I am currently working on. Some are only parts of images, while others show the entirety (well, more or less) of a piece.

They represent images I intend to paint digitally and traditionally, using a variety of media and techniques.

Curious? I hope you stay tuned for what is to come!

Why Beginnings Suck and Why You Have To Begin Anyway

Note: I share this post from Kesha Bruce's blog, as it sums up a lot of what I've been feeling lately. Beginnings do suck. Begin anyway.

"Let me take the idea that has gotten me this far, and put it to bed. What I'm about to do will not be that. But it will be something." -Ze Frank 

This week I’m back in the studio full time after a long hiatus while I was working on other things.

I’ve managed to clear a lot of blur and noise from my life so I can just focus on making my work for the next few months.

Beginnings are scary.

Sure, beginnings can be craaaaazy exciting, but they can also suck. A lot. 

Momentum is a powerful thing, but at the beginning of any new project—you have none. 

Right now I am at the grunting, groaning, “this sucks so effing much” part.

My only reassurance being “I’ve done this before, I can probably do it again.”

Here’s the thing: When you start, you always start from the beginning.

There are no short cuts worth taking.

Just begin.

 


Kesha Bruce is an artist and the director of Baang and Burne Contemporary Art in New York. Her ideas on art marketing and creativity can be found on her blog at www.keshabrucestudio.com.

"Games as Art" at the Grassroots Gaming Conference

I like games.

I like design.

When I found out there was a Grassroots Games Conference here in Philadelphia, and, as part of that conference, there was a Games as Art track, I was intrigued. I think the majority of those in attendance were developers; I was surprised to find out that the very first presenter was an artist. “Labs, Galleries and Arcades: Making Space(s) for Art/Games” was the name of this presentation. The presenter was Sarah Brin, Creative Director of GlitchLab LA, an arts organization dedicated to experiments in participatory new media, and co-founder of PEG-LA, a playtest group for games in public spaces. She talked about games as ‘experiences’ and ‘social culture’ and spoke of the shared nostalgia among those who grew up playing various types of games. Her ideas about and examples of participatory new media are inspiring: arcade cabinets and games brought into the gallery spaces, encouraging reciprocity between art and viewers. Those same games, brought into parties and other social spaces, sought to challenge ideas about what art is and where it belongs. The next event was a rather informal panel—“Games and Gamification as Art Practice”—that set out to explore the methods and processes extending creative work into game environments. The panelists came from a variety of backgrounds such as painting, illustration, and graphic design, and all made art clearly inspired by games while tackling a variety of societal concerns such as urban blight. Of course, there were some works inspired by various internet and pop culture memes. Styles ranged from those found in hyper realistic next gen games like those for the PlayStation 3 and Xbox 360 to heavily pixelated works reminiscent of 8-bit games like those for the Atari 2600 and Nintendo Entertainment Systems.

I began to imagine my own art in a different framework, one with an element of participation and engagement, maybe even play. I thought of the roleplaying game, in which players are immersed in an environment and are tasked with playing through a story. I like the idea of a kind of reciprocity between image, artist, and viewer. At any rate, it is something I am going to think more about, with the goal of possibly incorporating it into my work.

The final event was a panel presentation exploring the intersection of art and video games including Alyce Myatt, Director for Media Arts at the National Endowment for the Arts; Georgina Goodlander, coordinator for The Art of Video Games exhibition at the Smithsonian Museum of American Art; Sarah Brin, Creative Director of GlitchLab LA, an arts organization dedicated to experiments in participatory new media, and co-founder of PEG-LA, a playtest group for games in public spaces; and James Swirsky & Lisanne Pajot, the filmmakers behind the award-winning documentary, Indie Game: The Movie. To say I was shocked that a major museum like the Smithsonian even cared enough about video games to have an exhibition made up of them is an understatement. Ms. Goodlander did not hesitate to emphasize that this exhibit was not made up of ‘art’ or ‘indie’ games, but of familiar, mainstream titles. She talked about the preservation of games and consoles as part of the museum’s permanent collection, and how the recent funding from the NEA to games and game-related projects helped her justify such an exhibit to those who run the Smithsonian. The panelists also discussed topics like the place of video games in art history.

Apparently, the NEA is just beginning to provide funding for games and game-related projects. Ms. Myatt briefly discussed this round of projects. She seemed excited and hopeful for the future of this particular branch of media arts.

I think I am too.

A new adventure...at the heart of my mind!

I've now returned from my first semester's residency at Goddard College.

Goddard College - Port Townsend, WA

I'm full of new ideas and a renewed curiosity. My study plan is all about creating a more 'body-centered' art practice, because if all the labels of race, gender, sexual orientation, and sexuality are stripped away, what remains? Someone commented that this seemed to be my way to connect form to process and content in my work, and I can't help but agree.

What will the 'body-centered' part of this look like?

From my Spring 2012 study plan:

In order to build a more embodied art practice, I will work with manual processes and traditional media: figure drawing, large paintings that use my entire body, sculptural body casts, and linocuts, lithographs, and serigraphs made by hand. I recognize that it is possible to engage in these very physical processes and not reconnect with my body. To that end, I will use movement: Kundalini yoga, the sensory-based Nia, ecstatic dance, and the movement-based acting technique known as Viewpoints. As I do these exercises, I want to record the knowledge from my body in a journal. What will begin as weekly classes I want to become part of my daily life. The works I intend to make this semester will focus on the female form in ways I never have before, as my own body awareness increases. My body has nearly three decades of stories gathered within it. It is time for me to learn to listen to them.    

Wait. What? Serigraphs? Lithographs? Yes. I have long wanted to explore more and varied printmaking processes, because I am curious and because different printmaking techniques yield very different looking results. I'd like to spend a bit this semester playing with media of all kinds, even if nothing tangible comes from it. No matter the media, though, I want to concentrate on my body as subject and object in my work.

I have a feeling this will lead to lots of very interesting work.

Oh, and feel free to recommend other artists whose work I should look at, books I should read, or shows I should check out.

A message from Ira Glass to all who do creative work

It really is just that simple.

Regardless of the creative work you do, you just need to do it. I post this video for me as much as I post it for others, because there are periods of time--days, weeks, sometimes even months--where I am not doing the work of creating. I catch myself doing anything but creating, for a variety of reasons.

I think back to the work I did in college, most of which no longer exists. All of the ideas central to my current work were there. I still ask similar questions. If anything, I ask more questions. Asking questions is a good thing, a great thing...but making the work is the only way to share the questions so that we can all search for answers together.

Chimamanda Adichie: The danger of a single story

"Stories matter. Many stories matter. Stories have been used to dispossess and to malign, but stories can also be used to empower and to humanize. Stories can break the dignity of a people, but stories can also repair that broken dignity."

My art and this blog are my stories and the stories of those who look and love and live in ways similar to me. These stories may or may not be in direct opposition to how black Americans are portrayed in popular culture, but that is but one story. As Adichie said in the video, "the consequence of the single story is this: it robs people of dignity. It makes our recognition of our equal humanity difficult. It emphasizes how we are different rather than how we are similar."

An important distinction to make is that although we as people are similar, we--as members of various ethnicities and genders and sexual orientations, with various levels of ability--are not all on equal terms in society. She speaks in the video about a global scale; my perspective, though speaking of black Americans specifically, seems to be the same, though her thoughts seem a bit overly simplistic.

"The single story creates stereotypes. And the problem with stereotypes is not that they are untrue, but that they are incomplete. They make one story become the only story."

Revisiting Collage

Collage is a medium I gravitate to every now and again, mostly when I look at magazines and decorative papers and even bits of typography and see things I imagine could be used elsewhere, in a different story. Yesterday afternoon, I began looking, inspired by collages I saw on Black Art in America...and I found quite a bit.

A friend of mine asked me to explain the criteria I use to pick what I cut out, and the simple answer is that I choose shapes and colors that catch my eye. There are a lot of images that are common to my work, such trees, women and girls, and urban imagery. There is a bit of deep orange, a gilded picture frame, a few doors, some blue from a sky...and I have no idea how or when or even if it will all come together.

Let's see what happens, shall we?

On Finding Ways to Help

I recently ran into this site, for an organization called Barefoot Artists. This is a project of artist Lily Yeh, who also founded the Village for Arts and Humanities in North Philadelphia.

Immediately, my thoughts upon seeing this are "this is so cool!" and "how can I help?" To be quite honest, I wanted to know more as soon as I read Barefoot Artists mission. I didn't even have to read it in its entirety to feel that this organization has, at its core, goals similar to my own:

Barefoot Artists seeks to bear witness to the forgotten and the oppressed, and works to share their stories with the broader public to promote understanding and action.

By engaging the poorest communities around the world with "participatory and multifaceted projects that foster community empowerment, improve the physical environment, promote economic development, and preserve and promote indigenous art and culture", they are showing, not just telling how art can make individuals and communities better. I like that an organization like this seeks to learn from and develop projects with communities rather than someone coming from somewhere else telling a group of people that they are doing it wrong, whatever it may be.

From this and projects like it, I realize that I, too, can help...as soon as I figure out how.

On Drawing and Sketching

I rarely ever make sketches. I don't ever fill sketchbooks with drawings; a glance through my sketchbook may reveal a few ideas that are really worth developing, but by and large, its empty.  I have taught drawing; it is easy to see the difference in the drawings those who draw regularly and those who don't.

I see the value of the sketchbook.

It makes me question my own dislike of drawing: Is it because I think I'm not good at it, or because I'd rather paint or do printmaking? Is my time better spent working on the final product, or visually developing the idea behind it? I know that the drawing can be a final product in and of itself, but those aren't usually done in my sketchbook...

I drew in my sketchbook today, something that I definitely plan on returning to. I also periodically reexamine my sketches, for ideas that could be developed further or something I could incorporate into whatever it is I am currently working on.

Sometimes I think that maybe I don't dislike drawing as much as I think I do. For me, it is a means to an end, catching ideas and images before they are forgotten and helping them grow...as they help me grow in my artistic ability.

Frustration, longing, restlessness...and the energy drawing

What does frustration look like? Longing? Restlessness?

I know what they feel like, a little too well, but maybe if I figure out what they look like, I can paint them and (I hope) work beyond them, towards something new and wonderful...

I'd like that very much.

In my mind's eye, I pick up a pencil and I scribble and erase, scribble and erase--an energy drawing. I haven't done one of those since college, as attempting to bring about an image from what seemed to be a mess of lines was pointless, I thought.

Maybe, that is exactly what frustration looks like. The process seems to be very similar; an attempt to bring order and perhaps even beauty to a messy mind...but what of the product?

The energy drawing does not always produce a beautiful thing.

Sometimes, it remains raw and rough. There is beauty in that as well.

"I am not sick. I am broken..."

"...But I am happy as long as I can paint."

I would have loved to meet Frida Kahlo. She, along with Audre Lorde, Georgia O'Keefe and a few others, are my heroines. They have said things, made things, and written things that felt to me like they spoke my heart with their words and images, so deeply did they resonate and reverberate within me.

I do realize that I am broken. Most of the time, I feel like my mind has jagged outer edges that are ready to cut me if I think or feel too far in any one direction. Again and again, I run into those foggy glass walls. I don't know what lies beyond them, but I know that I've spent so long yearning for more that the wanting seems like a part of me. The walls shatter a bit more, creating small holes that let me glimpse into those corners of mind that I dare not enter, where there is fear and thoughts I dare not think. There is also hope lying in those shrouded corners. I feel it and try to have faith in it and all who placed it there. When those walls shatter, even the tiniest bit, more jagged shards are created. They plunge into the soft flesh of my arms, chest, legs, and face to serve as a reminder not to dream or hope or think or believe too much. I must not think or feel beyond the walls of what is deemed "safe". I need not know what lies beyond.

But I do.

I need to know what lies beyond in much the same way that I need to draw breaths into my body and pictures on the page.

I am thankful for even the tiniest increases in the space in which I feel safe.

"I am not sick. I am broken. But I am happy as long as I can paint."

I say...

When people ask about what inspires me, I tell them that everything does. This is but one example.

Remember my painting One Thousand Swirling Wishes?

The image above is what inspired it; a photo i took of some water in a mug. Oh, and a flower that is often considered a weed.

A needed reminder, perhaps, that ideas are everywhere? We--as creatives, as people--just forget where to look sometimes.

Healing the Connection between Inner and Outer Space

My inner space is constantly moving forward while my outer space seems to stay still. Though there is a part of me that would like my outer space--my physical self--to move as fast as my inner one, I truly believe it is the work of the inner space that is most important, most vital to my continued growth and learning, both as a creative being and as a woman.

Yet I remain frustrated with the slow-as-a-snail's pace movement of my outer space.

I need to draw this. I already see its potential as a painting...even if I don't quite 'see' the image.

These are the bits of prose that usually end of in my sketchbook. They are often more numerous than the drawings; bits and pieces of observations and quotes and prose that I don't usually share for they are as scattered and incomplete and mysterious and overwhelming and emotional and nebulous as my inner space. My art collects this and that from my inner space so I can see it clearly, feel and express it--bring it into my outer space--with some measure of certainty...

Oh, and many thanks to Laura--who I think lives a much more exciting life in her outer space than I--for the metaphor.

Featured Artist: Omenihu Amachi

Omenihu and I studied art and communications in college together and it is my honor to share his work and words with all of you. He is one of the people who helped to encourage all the art majors who studied and worked together at Cheyney University to find their own voice and their own stories to tell through whatever medium they chose.

 "Wise and Foolish Virgins"

by Omenihu Amachi

On studio space
Like you, Nashay, I have utilized whatever space I find myself in, to create the oil and acrylic paintings and other art forms that I am blessed to express. I do know how painful it is, to stop painting abruptly, clean and pack up so that the space can be used for something else. For me, it takes much courage and determination to set up all over again, especially in another location and sometimes after the pallet is dry. However, just like Alika, the Igbo lizard who leaped from the tallest iroko tree and hit the ground on its belly, looked around and saw no one congratulating him for the feat, we persevere.

On my early days as an artist
My first memorable conviction as an artist was when, at age 7, after I made a quick drawing of my sister. When I realized that the drawing closely resembled her, something clicked inside me and I knew I could draw or paint just about anything, though I did not see myself as an artist back then.
I was happy to take all the art classes that came my way thereafter, and only decided to work as a professional artist after I moved to the States (from Nigeria).

On medium and inspiration
I employ the use of oil, acrylic, ink, watercolor, charcoal and graphite to capture nature's formal elements.
These mediums provide a gateway for expression of visions inspired from my past and present life-long experiences, dreams, imagination, events and folklore.
I constantly find inspiration in spirituality and beauty and in the culture and environment of my human experience.

To view or purchase my work, you may visit:
www.amachistudios.com
www.facebook.com/omenihu
omenihu@yahoo.com
267-582-6976

I found this randomly online...

... and I can't help but agree.

I am inspired by all that surrounds me. I take ideas from poems and paintings, from random bits of conversation, from textures I feel and taste, from smells, from everything...and from nothing at all.

Bruce Mau's "Incomplete Manifesto for Growth"

I found this little gem on Twitter, and there are so many ideas here that are inspiring, intriguing, and just plain interesting...

9. Begin anywhere.
John Cage tells us that not knowing where to begin is a common form of paralysis. His advice: begin anywhere.

1. Allow events to change you.
You have to be willing to grow. Growth is different from something that happens to you. You produce it. You live it. The prerequisites for growth: the openness to experience events and the willingness to be changed by them.


Allow events to change you, because they will. It is a lot easier to learn from them than to fight them trying to keep things the same.

16. Collaborate.
The space between people working together is filled with conflict, friction, strife, exhilaration, delight, and vast creative potential.


I am learning a lot about this as I'm developing a project with my friend Firinel Thurman. What we have in mind seems so huge and daunting, but it has amazing potential. More later (maybe?), but I am hopeful that this will explore and expand both of us as creatives and as people...

10. Everyone is a leader.
Growth happens. Whenever it does, allow it to emerge. Learn to follow when it makes sense. Let anyone lead.

These are so worth a read, especially when, like now, I seem to be lacking focus and direction. It is a reminder and a list of instructions to keep growing, keep learning, work to expand your horizons while appreciating the journey. I am definitely filing this away for future reference...