She runs, a black girl
with the cold wind in her hair
not giving a care for states
work
Who’s afraid of the dark?
A 6.30am alarm wakes me. On a Sunday. And the gadget, a smart watch, ringing the alarm is somewhere on a desk somewhere hidden in a dark cold hotel room.
I stumble out of bed blind and unsteady, hand and arms outstretched in front of me, combing the black air, trying to touch something soild. Trying to stop the incessant noise.
I was brought up to fear the dark. It didn’t take my small imagination much to conjure up monsters under the bed and ghosts on landings. Lying perfectly still in my bunk bed pretending to be dead already, the dark dug deep into my psyche so that I grew up fearing my own reflection.
When I’m not watching my weight (come on, when am I not watching my weight?) I enjoy an extra cold pint of Guinness with a shot of blackcurrant to cut through the bitterness. A drink of pure iron. Thick like treacle, it works well as a lining on my stomach before multiple rounds of alcoholic concoctions follow. Who knows? Who cares? But as long as my core swims deep with the dark stuff I’m ready for anything.
On our living room wall in our maisonette flat in Bradford where I grew up, we had a velvet scroll depicting two islands. The land was made up of bright green stitched thread. The towns and villages were named in golden thread. Bright red blazed across the top, ‘The Islands of Trinidad and Tobago.’ I’m not sure if we were ever told but our dad came from those islands. It was a silent fact. I liked to touch the thread, when I got the chance. The stitching was tight and taut. My eyes, though, were pulled into the expansive black crushed velvet Caribbean Sea wondering how he survived the swim over to the U.K.
I thought these smart gadgets were supposed to make your life easier. Why wasn’t it flashing neon green, or red even, at the same time as sounding an alarm, giving me some clue as to it’s whereabouts? I felt I could have done better with my eyes shut. But I’ve been living that way for far too long. Now with eyes wide open to the dark, I’ve become wise to the tricks of history. I’m woke.
Black and White Studies
Today I started a new project which I’ve been putting on the back burner. A project which @beyourownbeloved hosted by @viviennemcm helped me remember. I think I was spending too much time and energy on talking myself out of it instead on it. As Elizabeth Gilbert wrote, ‘You don’t need a permission slip to be an artist.’ #blackandwhitestudies #beyourownbeloved #selfportrait #selfportraitureasmedicine #blackartist #blackwomenrock #selfcare #selflove #selfcompassion #creativepractice #power
Vision Board 2020
So I’ve spent the past few days digging in deep to create my vision board for 2020.
Using the free vision board guide from Makeda Pennycooke, I was able to explore my accomplishments of 2019 and let them go in order to visualise and plan for 2020.
It was a very powerful and useful process which I am grateful for and would highly recommend.
2020 looks like a time of creating space and light at home as well as embracing more travel and nature. Health and fitness feature on the list probably after the scare of last year but also realising that in order to achieve anything next year and beyond I need to be in good health.
The Black Women around me
Monday Morning Blues
After a weekend of play and a disruptive night of sleep, Monday dawned eventually bright. But my energy levels were low. I could have clung on to some Monday blues if I allowed myself to as that would have been easier. It would have been so easy to not do the school run and stay in bed. Why is it you can finally sleep deeply after not being able to sleep all night, just when it’s time to get up? That bugs me that.
Anyway in the process and progress of getting the kid ready for school and straightening the house, my self kicked in and thought I needed to do something to shift the funk. To shift my energy into the light.
School run down and then down into the bay for a quick dip in the sea. The sun was shimmering on the dark metallic waves. Calm. But my nerve endings and flesh and skin and bones were screaming as I entered the sea. The cold bitter and painful. But my mind was alive and sharp and grateful. I was now awake and smiling.
Add to this, once I reached home, a quick change into my running gear. And this was major for me. I haven’t been able to run for a few months now, especially after my operation. I had it on my list to start in the new year, but fear has been holding me back. The fear of not so much the pain of running. But the fear that the pain might stop me from running consistently and far from now on.
It was like starting from zero again. Couch to 5K was my training of choice and off I went with the first run of week 1. Every step I took, I was conscious of my back but it made sure that I focused on my posture as this could make or break this habit. So I want to start as I mean to go on with the right posture that supports my back which means engaging and strengthening my core. I like the sound of that.
So moving into Monday afternoon, I still feel tired after little sleep last night but I also feel proud of myself after conquering a number of fears today by recognising them, acknowledging them and then doing the thing anyway.
Looking forward to a better sleep tonight. I think I deserve it.
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.
Living Wild Studios 