Intersectionality in Art

I've been thinking a lot about the recent hashtag #OscarsStillSoWhite and the lack of diversity in this particular vein of The Arts. Jada Pinkett, Will Smith, and a few other celebrities have decided to sit out this year in protest to Hollywood's lack of diversity although the head of the Oscar's committee is a Black woman...I find that more than problematic.

For a long time, Jada & Will have more-or-less downplayed the racism in Hollywood as this sometime phenomenom . so it's hard for me to not shoot the messenger, although I very much applaud and agree with the message. My suspicion is that because we, Black people, tend to dominate the entertainment fields (sports, dance, singing, athletics, various visual arts, etc.)--there is a fear from White Hollywood "the establishment" that if the Academy Awards are opened up and they become as Blind about judgement as Justice is supposed to be that we'll dominate.

The thing is, every field of work--from plummers, teachers, architects, and actors--have their respected award that is coveted and repected by that recipient because it is a GOOD thing to acknowledge and show respect to the best and brightest from those in your field. I shudder to think of every artist that did get their due, and were robbed of their acknowledgement because they were disabled, too old/young, too fat or thin, a woman, trans, or a person of color. And yet, I know that this happens. Cis, white male seems to be the standard and we have to STOP this. The only way to be heard, to make them hear us is with our dollars. Don't support art that is obviously shutting certain groups of people out. Don't watch, buy, listen to or attend events, films, exhibits that cater to unfairness. It starts with us. Support artist, good artist mind you, but artist and art that is good quality and send out vibes of Love. It starts with us. Appreciate diversity. Monochromatism is so boring!

Most Assureldy

Most assuredly, in life, I just want to be held.
I just wanted him to hold me and it be tangible,
pressure but no force behind the hugs and wet eyes.

Most assuredly, one day
I may look on the road I've been traveling
See my dusty pants and sweaty palms,
and decide that i'd rather be on the grass
than in the field.

"Adoration Losing"

Oh To Be An Egg...The Perspective of Humpty Dumpty

I am a lost soul, drifting into an abyss of nothingness. Here I sit, and sit, and sit each day watching men, women, and children hustle about in their daily activities. Yet I have none, am nothing.
For I have no place in this world. I am a living breathing egg--personified--yet I am ignored.
I should be praised for my uniqueness, yet I am ignored?! So sit, and sit, and sit steadily here each day.

Perhaps one day I may grow wings as those flying creatures above me, and fly off with them. Then may I be apart of something? No, under no circumstances, for even they are restrained by the sky. Or, by chance, might I wear clothes and carry parcels to and fro like those below me..

(Sidenote: the original "Humpty Dumpty" poem never said he was an egg. We all assumed he was)

CONTROL.REVOLT.EVOLVE

CRISIS
(Revolution)
CHANGE
(Society. Evlution. A Nation. A race. A people)
Slavery--Control.
War--Revolt.
Death--Evolve.
A CYCLE; continuously, perpetually, spontaneously,

SURVIVING

INDIVIDUAL. CONNECTED.


i dreamed this one night, many years ago. After tossing and turning, running from the dogs in my nightmare, i bolted up from the bed as though it were made of the claws reaching out to me from my subconcious memories.
i grabbed a pen and paper from my nightstand and wrote these words down as i struggled to figure out whom i was running from while asleep. i wasn't in fear awake, or in my dream. i was just--alert--and in a hurry as though i was scrambling to make my gate before my plane left me in a town i had no more business in.

Years later i still wonder about this dream. It's the reason i make sure to have pen and paper on me always. if i'm sitting on the bus, in commute to work, i have a few post-its in my backpocket. If i'm in the bathroom, i'll scribble on toilet paper or use an app on my phone if i'm strolling through the grocer y aisle. You never know when inspiration will hit.

xo
Grace

My wild beautiful thing
wraps me up in silken dreams.
Coils me tightly between his skin
moves the red earth that lies within.
With no soudly exchange or soliloque,
he can thoroughly shuffle my soul you see?
and that silence makes me free.

Yet...

Venomously I hold this dreamer of dreams tightly abreast
Evoking vapor through the trilllion dewey pores that cover his copper armored chest
That blistering poson that my reason for inhilation,
it weakens my skin like the forrest morning floor of new clean rains annihilation.


It aches to be in love and it aches to be out of love. That's the tone of this poem. It's a reminder to be that even in the worst and best of situations there is always the yang to the yen. "Yet..." signals to the reader that WHAMO here comes the balance. As great as it is to always feel great, you need the terrible to appreciate the great. This poem revels in that. It grits it's teeth on that truth.

hope you enjoyed it. xo-Grace

When It's Done

When I die, lay my body at the bellows of the river. Take up a hand of crushed sand and toss it into it's vigorous rush.
Bring no bond made of words.
Carry in your soul those ties forged beyond the edges of this world.
Drop lilies of sunshined tears into babbling brooks.
Leave the stones where they fall. Make no memory of loss.

But
Do not forget the sunlight on your cheek as aI lay next to you
or the lightning rods we hopped over while clutching at each other.
And
I won't forget your steady hand pouring steaming cups of liquid chammomile as we sat on the porch remembering Jasmine, or the stick figures I drew clothes on from the book under your dusty bed.

Yes, when I close my eyes at last
i will only hear your voice
calling--
'Grace.'

Original poem by me, Grace K. Lewis

I Miss You, Sometimes...

Let me tell you how lazy I am. And how trifflin' I am. The 'c' key has been missing from my keyboard for 3 months now and I've yet to go buy another keyboard. I have three friends whom I've been meaning to call (Esti, Sabrina, & B.) since last fall, and I've yet to call not nan one of them. Since. LAST. YEAR. They probably hate my guts by now, who could blame them. I can't even hide behind my introversion, because I know that's just bullshit (not the introversion, but the excuses). In addition to that, it's been almost a year since I've blogged here and I'm not going to apologize or promise to do better. So let's just move on. Yesterday, I watched the documentary "Life Itself," a film chronicles the life and last days of famed film critic, Roger Ebert. I knew it was going to be sad, and I'm not normally one to cry...like it takes a lot to get me to that relm of emotional expression but when they spoke of Gene Siskel's death my heart got really heavy. I think it was what Roger said about how if he were to discover he had a serious illness, he wouldn't hesitate to tell those whom he loves and who love him about it. I thought that was profound. I felt compelled to share part of this poem I wrote about missing my mother, who also died of a fatal and debilitating disease. I miss you but then I don't. Mostly I do but it chokes out my voice. It clenches my stomach with longing for you. I swallow hard the nine-year-old scream I hold at the thought of you lying forever in a casket. I subdue my fingers from balling into fists to fight in your stead; you the mother who should have protected me from your molesting man. I shut my eyes tight at the tears that threaten to spill when I remember that we will never share anymore inside jokes or laughs over phone lines. Sometimes, on rainy cold afternoons,I sit by window blocking out the warm memory of those slouchy black boots you loved to wear... You see my mother died of Multiple Sclerosis. She died just a few days shy of Valentines Day, 2010. She told virtually no one, until the disease had progressed so much that she was experiencing memory loss, dementia, and a whole host of physical set-backs. If given a few years warning, because she knew for at least 10 years, I think we could have surely prepared better. People who knew her, that I didn't know knew her, could have said goodbye. I understand sparing your loved ones the sorry of watching you slip away, but remaining secretive is not the way to go. It's selfish. Yes, it's self-serving. You don't have the right to inflict your sudden departure (when you know it's immenent) on anyone...unless you're some supervillan...or my Uncle Rodney (same difference). Adieu, Grace K.