Yell-o nailpolish
31 August, 2008 | 11 comments | Category: I.dentity, for.the.love.of.words!, poetry, thinking...
did she know? she got a sticker stuck on her,
in a box with labels pressed to hips.
they read a sign on her forehead
in bright orange sharpie scribble
did you know? or you imagined?
yellow nail polish on fingertips and toes.
even as paint flakes where paint cracks…
messy dry dribbles on toe tips
speak out bright loudness in yell-o
tears… despite smudges of eyeliner smearing
crying out speaking
drawing lines on eye lids
dulled shades of dark. shades of sad.
shades of thoughts.
echoes resounding
screams bouncing
on the afro, nail polish, tear smudges.
pent up breath explodes
release me
release. let be
and you, with raised eyebrows and crinkled lips
shrink mignon!
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Individual Gleam of Light
25 August, 2008 | No comments | Category: I.dentity, thinking...
“A man should learn to detect and watch the gleam of light which flashes across his mind from within, more than the lustre of the firmament of bards and sages. Yet he dismisses without notice his thoughts, because, it is his. In every work of genius we recognize our own reject thoughts: they come back to us with a certain alienated majesty. Great works of art have no more affecting lesson for us than this. They teach us to abide by our spontaneous impression with good-humored inflexibility then most when the whole cry of voices is on the other side. Else, to-morrow a stranger will say with masterly good sense precisely what we have thought and felt all the time, and we shall be forced to take with shame our own opinion from another.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson
not boasting to be more special than others, but unique in my individual specialness. believing i have a gleam just as special as the next person…
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I spy with my little eye…
18 August, 2008 | No comments | Category: madness!
the second installation of ‘madness in the DC metro’ chronicles. Behold fellow human! and enjoy!
life is fun. keep on living. use caution around the tracks.
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Closeted Artist
11 August, 2008 | 13 comments | Category: I.dentity, for.the.love.of.words!, nostalgia.personal, thinking...
do you remember?
pencil and paper
There were days the pencil wants to do nothing but make love to that paper…paper from the ‘agenda’…from that coveted hardcover planner of the commercial bank of ethiopia.
Those days flakes of black graphite smudge on off-white papers with abandon … contact leads to gradients of smudge and a deliberate set of slowly materializing scratches…focused dots and translucent shades. squinting eyes. In this unwitting rumba of an interplay, the artist is in the zone, an outside observer…experiencing the state of flow.
I found my agenda recently, here are scribblings from 10th grade.
I was a closeted artist who sat in class and drew caricatures of my classmates and teachers. Instead of paying attention, I was on the prowl for irritating teachers and rebelling from their expectations…because that was what we do…
It did not occur to me i could actually pursue art. It felt comfortable being ‘good enough’, and lauded by others. So, I made variety my forte…an expertise. It was all like a sprinkle of swank…With the worth given art in the society and what i thought was the mediocrity of the art i produced… didn’t believe I had the authority to claim a peg: Artist.
Looking back, it was frustrating when I couldn’t fulfill misses art teacher’s biddings and replicate nature in photo-copy mode. And for the love of destiny (or the hate of it?)- there always were those kids much more talented, it seemed, always effortlessly scratching together unearthly creations while… I… busily nursed growing pains, cramps and coughs trying to be creative – writing, drawing …
’seeped in mediocrity!’ an amusing thought, without really trying to develop…?
identity…creativity
Trying to explain all this… grappling with perplexities that tease the society I grew up in, I peg part of a stunted creativity on a conformist culture. how much does creativity develop in a conformist society? Where is the space for ‘being different’ …?… a space that encourages exploring individuality, personality…. self-expression? In some ways… living in Ethiopia resembles growing up in a training ground for peggers and cliques.
Meanwhile,
Hi! My name is tpeace. I thank you for not pegging me.
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