journal
Sleepless in a Seaside Resort ( sort of)
your body aches
as comfort evades you
your mind rummages
around dark recesses
doubling back into wounds
sneaky drafts seep through window panes along with the cries of seagulls
eyes gritty and sore, moisture absent
when will it be morn?
when this charade can be over
for another night?
when you can drag your body
towards the light
your consciousness
compromised and dull?
but it’s the best you can do
after sleepless nights
under salty cold air
Claiming Space
Little Deaths
I discard boots before I hit the sand.
Dense turfs of grass tickle my ankles.
Raised veins single the cold.
White winter light under a wolf moon. Deep. Red. Heart.
The sight of seagulls.
Wingbeat to wingbeat song.
Stripping down to my costume
rich flesh graces the air.
Dip one. Slip one. Soon come.
Into the sharp shallows.
Howling with a hunger.
Dip one. Slip one.
Handfuls of sea slipping
through fingers towards
total immersion.
Welcome these little deaths,
to be born again and again.
Here and there and afterwards,
in solitude, as traces of you linger.
Haiku – early mornings
the sun rises late
body reluctant to start
remains huddled, warm
Dear Strong Black Woman
I finally got around to buying Jennifer Sterling’s book, Dear Strong Black Woman: Letters of nourishment and reflection from one strong black woman to another. And beginning to read it.
I think I’ve been reluctant to read it as I was thinking it wouldn’t tell me anything new. And I think I was also not in the right place to face it, to face a big chunk of harsh reality.
I know what it’s like being a black woman in a predominately white world. In a world where my worth is questioned and examined daily and always come back wanting.
I’m a strong black woman and have had to become this way or live this stereotype for good reason. For survival. And being vulnerable and showing my weakness or even asking for help has been for decades non-negotiable. Not happening.
But I was wrong. This slim but powerful book is just what I need right now. As it speaks to my soul, it speaks to my suffering. It legitimatises my experiences and struggles. It’s a witness and a testimony to my existence. And I thank Jennifer for writing these letters to me and to other strong black women like me.
As hard as some of these letters are to read, they are the balm I need to keep moving through this world, strong but also vulnerable, open hearted and beautiful.
Why do I blog?
I’ve lost count of how many years I’ve been blogging now. I started out on blogger.com and created a blog that documented my creativity on a daily basis. I saw this as a practice, as way of developing my craft and to connect with others. That was the main reason in the beginning to blog and I don’t see it changing now.
I blog because it feels like I’m having a conversation with myself and with some one I’m really close to, a friend, at the same time. I blog to make sense of this life I live and the world I live in. I blog to share how I see the world at any given moment. I blog to communicate the highs and the lows. I blog to raise questions and enjoy seeking the answers.
There are times that I’ve fallen out of love with blogging. Times when I can’t be arsed to formulate a sentence never mind a coherent blogpost. But these times don’t last long and are far between.
Blogging is a habit and a good one at that. Not one that I need to kick but one I need to embrace more. Hence this #100daysproject challenge of blogging for a 100 days straight. I want to get back into that sweet spot of creating blog post, creating great content that support me on my quest of becoming at the same time as connecting with you.
Please let me know if it’s working. Or not!
Why it’s important to share your practice
Just before Christmas, I sent out a Studio Note to my subscribers detailing what I’d been getting up to while recovery from spinal surgery. For some reason, I hit a really rich creative spot and I was making anything and everything.
Where I captured my adventure was in my visual journal. And yes this is mostly my private and safe space but I also think it’s important to share glimpses into this space. Maybe it will inspire others to get creative and carve out their own sacred space. I know through this sharing, it somehow acknowledges and recognises me and my practice and what I’m trying to do over here. It definitely makes me more open.
Within that Studio Note, I sent out an exclusive peek into my journal for my subscribers. I’m not ready to share it here.
If you want to make sure you get the exclusives sign up to Studio Notes now and enjoy being a subscriber to Living Wild Studios. There’s freebies involved.
Remembering the Fun
In December, I gave myself the task of painting practice. I started off with lines. It started well but I soon lost interest when I wasn’t seeing the results I wanted. My pieces didn’t look as good as the examples I had seen been created by certain artists. I felt demoralised falling into that comparison trap. I gave up, telling myself I was no good and a fraud. I was being the party pooper.
This is a habit I’ve fallen into quite a lot over the years. Forgetting that it took the master painters years before they reached the point of being any good or gaining recognition. And some, for example like Vincent van Gogh, didn’t gain recognition until after their death. Right up to that point, Van Gogh still kept practicing and painting never giving up on his vision, his craft. And only through Jo van Gogh-Bonger, his sister-in-law, loaning and selling his paintings and publishing van Gogh’s letters to his brother Theo, her husband, did he gain his rightful place in art history.
For this to happen, after his death which he had no way of knowing, he had to do the work. He still had to show up and paint and make mistakes. Face disappointments and worries and doubts. He still had to believe in himself.
When things are difficult and not turning out the way you envisioned while creating, it can be a Herculean feat to keep believing in yourself and what you are trying to do. It is easy to give up, as I did in December. The pressure I was putting on myself to be good just wasn’t warranted. It took all the fun out of it. I’d forgotten I was only supposed to be playing and having fun not creating masterpieces.
This year, I’m up for some fun. I’m taking the pressure off myself and taking more risks just for the hell of it. For the thrill. I’m excited to see where this leads in my practice. I’m keeping my eyes on my page and seeking all the delights it can bring.
