Changing Skin

It was only a short time ago that I was devastated by the death of my dog Marilyn. She was truly a gift. Marilyn came to me out of nowhere and at a most difficult time in my life. I had just separated from my ex-husband. Marilyn and I were together a short seven years but she provided a lifetime of joy. Pets are like that.

Since Marilyn's death, I have been in a melancholy state. Melancholy is like an unwanted skin. It itches and irritates but is a necessary part of life and grieving.

Although my sister and I visited the Atlanta Humane Society on several different occassions. We could not agree on a dog. After the last visit, I gave up and took to entertaining myself with the birdfeeder and our fish. I decided that she should find a dog.

On Friday, my sister announced that she was going to the Humane Society once again. I paced the floor. She called twice and informed me that she found a dog that she liked. I quite frankly did not care what kind of dog she brought home. I just wanted a dog. Lo and behold she arrived with Grainger. What a great dog! He's a Golden Retriever and Chow mix (check out his tongue) and all smiles. He was given up because he chased horses. I think that Marilyn sent him to us (I sent prayers). Like Marilyn he has a beautiful temperament and is very well mannered. My sis made a wonderful choice.

Sooooooooo. I've shed my melacholy skin and donned a happier one. I'll always love my Marilyn. Her place in my heart is insured. But I am so happy to have another dog to love and to love me back:-D.

Pelo Negro

Yesterday's blog was about Naomi Sims, the first black model. The one before was about Nina Simone. I ended the Naomi Sims blog celebrating young black women (and indeed elders) who struggle with identity. I decided to go searching on youtube.com for other films about young black women who are discovering the beauty in their blackness and came across this.

ll

REMEMBERING DAYS IN THE SUN

A friend came over on yesterday. She had just arrived from a vacation at the beach. Being of the lighter hue she place her arm next to mine to prove that she really could get darker. I chuckled and commented that her trying to get as dark as me was like me trying to get as dark as Naomi Sims. We both were melanin deficient. Melanin is the stuff that determines skintone. It's what makes African Americans a beautiful chocolate rainbow.

Our house tends to be full of women for the most part and we all laughed at the comparison/contrast of skin color as we watched our family, whose tone ranged from deep dark brown to very light brown--eyecolor ranging from brownish black to hazel. Skin color can be amusing sometimes.

When I mentioned Naomi Sims, my niece who is a young adult corrected us (twice), thinking that we meant Naomi Campbell. We shot back, no we meant Naomi Sims.

"She was "the first black model", we retorted. Back in 1969, we all ran out and bought the issue of Life Magazine with Naomi's photo on the front. We couldn't believe it. A black model on the front of Life. She was beautiful! To don the cover of a magazine (other than Ebony or Jet, or black publications) was almost unheard of. Naomi's photo was the talk of the black neighborhoods.

I decided to google Naomi Sims just to see what she looked like today and what she was doing. To my surprise there is a lot of information on her on the site and she even has makeup and fashion. You should check it out. In light of the video, "A Girl Like Me", I found this comment on the site interesting. It states:

At 13, Naomi Sims was already 5 feet 10 inches in height. She felt tall, dark and different. Sent from her native Oxford, Mississippi, to better her education in Pittsburgh, she felt she was "a loner-teased and intensely disliked in high school." But family training and her Catholic faith taught her early to walk with dignity and pride.

THE HERITAGE OF NAOMI SIMS

	“I gave them elegance and regality”

It seems so ironic now, especially since we have gone from being almost invisible to being highly visible and exploited. We began with role models like Naomi Sims whose "authoritative ebony inspired all women of color to pride" and now we are face with the image of the black woman being degraded and stepped on.

I'm just thankful that there are young African American women who take pride in themselves, despite attempts to silence them through invisibility. Stand tall young sistas!

Nina Simone - Young Gifted And Black

Well, it's that time again--school begins on Monday. My granddaughter, Amanda, begins high school on Monday and she is very excited. I am also excited. However, I am also reminded that going through teen years can be very challenging today, especially in the midst of our media dominated culture. As a young African American woman she will face even greater challenges.

The media has been relentless in its treatment of the image of young African American women and as we have seen on MTV, VH1 (see previous blog) BET and others seem to have a vendetta on the image of women of color. I have grown quite weary of "bitches" and "hos".

I remember the song "To Be Young, Gifted and Black" when I entered high school. I used to blast it on the record player--drove my mom crazy. The image of Nina Simone on the cover was beautiful. She was a black woman of consciousness like many other black women of the time--Angela Davis and Kathleen Cleaver spring to mind. They inspired me to be proud of the fact that I was a young black woman.

So I wanted to introduce Amanda and other young African American women to this song and to Nina Simone. Listen and read the words. Keep them close at hand and remember, as Nina sings, "When you are young, gifted, and black, that's where it's at."

Lyrics:

To be young, gifted and black,
Oh what a lovely precious dream
To be young, gifted and black,
Open your heart to what I mean

In the whole world you know
There's a million boys and girls
Who are young, gifted and black,
And that's a fact!

You are young, gifted and black
We must begin to tell our young
There's a world waiting for you
Yours is the quest that's just begun

So when you feel really low
There's a great truth you should know
When you're young, gifted and black
Your soul's intact

To be young, gifted and black
Oh how I long to know the truth
There are times when I look back
And I am haunted by my youth

But my joy of today
Is that we can all be proud to say
When you're young, gifted and black
That's where it's at

COMMENTARY: ART IMITATING TRIFE

http://www.vibe.com/blog/vc/2006/08/art_imitating_trife.html

Urban Wildflower asks: Does this picture make you want to say anything? Date: Thu, 10 Aug 2006 21:31:10 +0000

It certainly does. However, not so much about the young women who have chosen (or have been coerced) into exploiting their bodies for Cordozar Calvin Broadus Jr.'s benefit, but rather the pitiful response to the photograph by "powerful" media moguls. Whether these women know it or not, they are at the helm of a long "gravy train", no pun intended, and I'll bet that they didn't even get a dog biscuit or doggy treat for allowing themselves to be exploited by Broadus, Jr., MTV and Viacom.

While I can understand the argument that this is so called "social satire", which pokes fun at Broadus, Jr. by making him clean up dog shit, it's who's doing the shitting that angers me. As a matter of fact, this whole notion of feces and black women appearing within the same context of do do, is beyond crass, bordering on evil, and indicates a whole new low in the construct of the "black bitch out of control" stereotype. Now the media posits that the black woman's body is so out of control that she chooses not to go to the bathroom, preferring to shit on herself or in her own space (an indication of an infantile mentality or an animal that has no respect for itself). This lack of self control points to the need to beat her, take her out to the country and leave her in a field, or euthanize her for her own good. Furthermore, her body stinks up the place, and should she be kept at home, chained and locked away from the rest of society--invisible. The question is why? Can it be that our society is so afraid of the power of African American women that it is now necessary to equate her with a turd? Think about the strides that black wmen have made throughout history. Think about the African American female intellectual community. It's powerful. But is it so powerful to necessitate the creation of a new and more vicious stereotype? Damn.

(I am remembering the women of the Congo at this moment).

What I find most appauling (besides MTV's lame excuse for the creation of the cartoon) is Christina Norman's defense of this poop. This just demonstrates that people will do anything for money including kicking their own asses. The bottom line is that whether she knows it or not, she is the one "socially" associated with the image of the defecating out of control black female and Viacom will take her to the country and leave her with the first wrong move, including supporting crap (again, no pun intended) if it suddenly becomes unpopular. Perhaps this is why she is playing the Condoleeza Rice role, shuffling down the corridors of Viacom, happy to accomodate all those "high powered" execs, in whatever manner they choose, including support of this cartoon.

Furthermore, Mr. Clock Man (or should I say Father Time) allowing the network to air the piece on the sister who supposedly defecates on the set, is just as disgusting as Norman. Father Time does not realize that by agreeing to this fiasco he may as well have inserted his mother, grandmother, or sister in the place of the woman because they too will be factored into the stereotypical image equation. And what about the sister who went along with this-- hairweave flying, smiling from behind the bathroom door. "I couldn't hold it" and in a later interview justifying her actions. We've all had incidents where our bodies have chosen to do what it wants to do and our brains have no control, but do we allow it to be exploited. This kind of filth and greed is beyond me. Some old white man said something about "all the world is a stage" (don't worry, I know who) but does this mean that we as a people must continue to be shit on the floor or shitted upon in this performance.

There was a time when we would let "the other" exalt in this kind of madness. There was a clear and definitive line of self respect. "They acted like that", we didn't. But that was in the "olden days", no more. Welcome to the world of assimilation.

I really hate it when people take my life and my self-image into their hands. Damnit I know who I am. Give me a break. Moreover, I am just plain old tired of the bullshit (last pun, I promise).

ll

strange fruit billie holiday

I have restarted the blog now that Stereo Propaganda: Deconstructing Stereotypes, Reconstructing Identity has opened. The response has been overwhelming and positive. Although art critic Felicia Feister complained about the text and accused me of "retribution" and "overstatement", her critique was favorable. This exhibition was indeed a labor of love and took me to places deep within my creative spirit.

However, in response to Felicia's article I must state that no retribution was intended. I knew that I wanted to deal with the subject of lynching but until I sat down with Wendy Alexander, a photographer now living in Nashville, I had not decided on an approach. In talking with Wendy and a friend about race and its construct in our society, which I see as a trap, the question was asked how would a Buddhist view the racial construct. Wendy immediately answered "Be the Trap." That statement was all that I needed and it opened up my imaginal space, allowing me to view lynching not from the viewpoint of the persons lynched or the perpetrators but from the lens of a tree. I used the tree as a memory device, examining not only the crime of lynching but also the crime of deforestation.

Trees are powerful metaphors in all cultures. In the cultures of the diaspora, the tree can represent the spirits of the ancestors. In Haiti, for instance, Loko is the spirit of vegetation and is associated with trees. We are all familiar with the "tree of life." When we consider the images of lynching, trees become even more powerful adding an additional layer of contradiction and sadness. The song "Strange Fruit" sung by Billie Holiday, is haunting and sad. It clings to our psyche because of the trees.

Lynching is a difficult subject and a sore spot for both blacks and whites. To face the reality that our great nation actually sanctioned and supported this kind of lawlessness is almost unimaginable. But it happened, and we must remember the victims of lynching whether it be covertly, overtly, academically or through artistic expression. It should remind us of where we have been. However, although I keep thinking that mankind will learn from its mistakes (notice I said mankind) the sad reality is that this kind of lawlessness continues both here in the US and abroad. The James Byrd lynching in Texas in 1998 and the lynching of Raynard Johnson in Kokomo, Mississippi come to mind. In Iraq, we have witnessed torture and murder at Abu Ghraib and and the recent rape and death of Abeer Qassim Hamza, a 14-year old Iraqi girl. Abeer's whole family was tortured, beaten and set afire. Her little sister was only 5 years old. . While examining issues such as this metaphorically can be interesting, we should not be afraid to face the reality of the heinousness of these crimes. Furthermore, we should be angered by such lawlessness. I am.

Strange Fruit is a blue song. I call the blues the music that makes us both happy and sad. It is a music form through which we can pour out our frustrations and sorrows while celebrating the fact that we must move on. In the photographic series, "The Awakening, A Tree Remembers", pausing, remembering, honoring, and moving on are the intended messages. To accuse the piece of retribution comes across as an inability to face up to the reality of the lawlessness and violence that African Americans have faced--as if we should make the reality palatable and easy.