A beautiful mind and a bad-ass speaker--- James Baldwin

"A film recording of a discussion at the West Indian Student Centre London"

Invincible & Bahamadia

powerful men and young women...

...an age old story and one that is currently catching headlines because of certain lurid violent acts, perpetuated by such men known to have ingratiated themselves in the public eye, have been unearthed..
i hadn't planned on posting about this (enough good and bad has been written on the topic), but then I caught myself being fascinated with this image:

Woman with a Fan
Pablo Picasso (1905)

I thought, here is an image I want to post. Something about it's simplicity and complexity intrigues me. It is what it says it is (and it's beautifully achieved) but the awkward posing and emotive colour scheme both hearken the postures of Egyptian hieroglyphs and the expressionism of turn of the century European art- achieved through a more moody, withdrawn and more than anything, controlled technique and composition. This image spans time and space and it is a portrait of a woman- one of the most popular themes in Western art. In attempting to find out more about this piece (that is described as part of Picasso's Blue and subsequent Rose period and in fact, was completed right after he met his first know love interest and right before his work transitioned out of his Blue Period understood to be inspired by a deep depression following the suicide of a close friend) I (perhaps inevitably) became engrossed in the artist's biography and specifically his relationship(s) to women. Picasso is notorious for his philandering and abusive (emotional and physical) tendencies with respect to the women in his life and yet his work - especially his work portraying women- continue to be celebrated. Why is that and does it have something to do with his understanding and ability to both uniquely and referentially depict the patriarchal eye?
As an artist, Picasso has been celebrated as a radical, exploding perceptions of dimension and expression and his personal predilections (from what I can tell) have largely been understood as reflective of the emotional struggles that an artistic genius- such as himself- is wont to endure and enjoy. This doesn't sit right with me and recent "outings" of famous men abusing younger and less powerful women suggests that while such abuse of power continues to be a problem, women have occasionally found ways to fight back.
While the above image inspired me to write about the mysteries of Picasso, this image (below) reminded me that, while a brilliant artist, it's important reflect upon how his misogyny was a driving force in his work. Also, articles like this one demonstrate how easily one can slip into celebrating misogyny as a motivational tool in art.

Picasso looks on (with what seems to be confusion) at the foregrounded figure- his mistress, muse and mother to two of his children, Francoise Gilot. Gilot was an up-and-coming artist at the time of their meeting and left Picasso on her own terms, becoming a celebrated artist.  (Photo by Robert Doisneau)

Regretfully, I've completed another "unfinished thought" post ... 

dreaming of dresses...

Dolce & Gabbana

Paolo Sebastian

Free People

Oscar de la Renta

Balenciaga

Electric Renaissance

This is the first song I played today! And today being thanksgiving in 'merika, and me being a Canadian in 'merika making a bunch of food for some 'merikan friends this song and video seemed very fitting (to my mind, which enjoys nothing more than to make loose tangential connections between themes and mediums). Here we go: the song sounds at once retro and futuristic, which is kinda how American culture has always seemed to me- especially big budget American culture. After spending a few thanksgivings in the States I've noticed that it is much more of National event (than our Canadian holiday) that - at the same time- encourages Americans to focus on the family. So there's this weird push to merge the two histories- the national long duree history of the US (which usually is pretty bad with regards to accurate Settler interactions with Indigenous Americans...) with the personal history of the family. This type of merging is present in the video that accompanies belle and sebastian's beautiful song-- american technology (and the imperialism that usually accompanied these drives) being taught and learned in intimate/familial spaces as well as in more popular mediums of art, television and film...

this was trip down random erin lane- hope it wasn't too confusing
gotta go bake!

Also THIS!!

  

Visions of Johanna

no fear

Ferguson

One social and mainstream media trend with respect to the Ferguson shooting and subsequent ruling that sticks out for me as especially despicable is the widely held view that black Americans need to "appropriately" seek justice.

As I sit here in Philadelphia, a city so divided by race- on public transit, in every commercial space I've entered, on the streets, within neighbourhoods- that I still sometimes look at Obama with awe, I wonder how did a black presidency ever come to pass? Watching Obama sputter out incoherent thoughts filled with messages of passivity and patience and faith in law, in the American justice system and its foundations!, I'm reminded how the scenario of a black president presiding over a fundamentally anti-black, white supremacist state works out. He speaks something understood to be reason to the madness labelled and leeched upon by american journalists as rioters, the looters, the ones 'destroying their city', the ones who do not care about the rule of law, think they are above the law, the ones who have not learned the art of peaceful protest, who do not have justifiable anger, those young "thugs" taking advantage of a tense moment in the nation's history. How dare these "agitators" ruin a good moment for the nation to reflect on the state of policing within "those troubled communities" and make matters more complicated and even perhaps justify some heavy-handedness by police officers- the kind the american government and media have historically been reluctant to report on/admit to, to indict, unless of course such an event happened 50 years ago and was followed up with a procession of freedom loving events and moving footage of representatives whose poetry on freedom and the american dream could be co-opted for countless inspirational posters and big budget hollywood films.Tonight,  Obama dropped lines about understanding that there are still "problems (ostensibly with the actions of police) and communities of color aren't just making these problems up," and then buried these thoughts in sea of contradictory, conciliatory discursive moves that confirmed to white america that such race-based problems are not "the norm." What one was left with after listening to a man repeatedly subject to accusations that he was not a true American citizen was some vague notion that a reaction of anger with respect to ANOTHER black man killed by a white cop was only acceptable if "channeled" (a favoured term in this speech) "constructively". The only cues we get as to what constructive channeling would be were Obama's throw away references to Attorney General Holder's recent work and a necessary respect for the infallible concept of the "rule of law" and the sometimes flawed but mostly heroic wielders of its dignity- police officers. I sought out the transcript on his speech tonight, because listening to it live was difficult to follow. So random and vague was his language and so bored and staid was his delivery (a delivery that I've come to associate with most of his speeches on the delivery of American justice in the domestic and international realms - a delivery quintessentially Obama-esque) that I needed to re-read his words to make some sense of what I had just heard. Upon reading the transcript, my confusion was confirmed as justified. The speech was indeed incoherent, save the one important thread that is predominant during these moments of injustice in america- be patient, respect the law, things are pretty good here so avoid actions that violate our mostly fair status quo. The transcript can be found here.
These are my rambly two cents on the topic right now.
My god what a sad yet predictable result to an awful tragedy, suffered by those too familiar with tragedies at the hands of police and with the sad results produced when a fundamentally flawed justice system is given the exclusive right to clean up.

walking along spruce/south st. philly...

here are some cell phone pictures I took as tourist (trying to be inconspicuous)/ grocery shopper (remembering how much I love this city)~~

guises

Listening to Shugo Tokumaru this afternoon has been a glorious trip. All of his lyrics are sung in Japanese and before very recently I had never heard his music, yet I feel as though I've been hearing him for a while now. His sound taps into familiar melodies, warm melodies, melodies that stick with you. It got me thinking about the concept of the guise- not in the sense of how an external can act as some sort of superficial barrier to a genuine, authentic interior, but the joy that I take in observing the creative guises artists can layer and manipulate and how these layers speak to our flawed desires to know the authentic. I will probably think aloud about this more in the future. Below is the master guise artist, Cindy Sherman and my attempt at persona art.

Untitled Film Still 14
Cindy Sherman 

when athletes are magical...

There is something beautiful about watching a rookie (in any sport and at any level of competition) rise up to or completely exceed expectations. This phenomena was put on brilliant display last night when the 19 year old Bruno Caboclo- a rookie touted by the same big name scout as both the Brazilian Kevin Durant as well as, "two years away from being two years away," and by most onlookers as a bizarre draft selection for the rising Raptors- made his NBA debut last night.

Also digging Bruno's joie de vivre in the pic below!

We ready for the winter #rookie #nobad Nos estamos prontos para o inverno #novatos #podiaserpior

A photo posted by Bruno Fernandes (@brunofive) on Oct 10, 2014 at 5:30pm PDT

First day back in Philly...

I've become accustomed to moving, and music has always been a part of that process. This new Cokemachineglow podcast did the trick today.

One year after the Ebola crisis happens Geldof thinks it's time to reinquire whether Africans know that it's Christmas time...

Do they know it's Christmas time at all? -->worst hook ever
i can't believe this shit still happens...sigh

Respondents from Kenya, Liberia, Ethiopia, Tanzania, Nigeria and South Africa share their opinions in this great piece

Nature, abstracted

My god, this tumblr page is beautiful. Endless inspiring images!
like these:

Roland van der Vogel

Svetlana Rabey

datadoodle

which reminded me of an upside down, abstracted version of a picture I took this fall:

Diary of a Mad Kenyan Woman

"This system needs injurers and killers. This system needs enforcers.
All hands on deck."
Wambui Mwangi

from her latest post on "Touting Contempt: Slag Them, Slap Them, Strip Them, Snuff Them"
found here .

Wambui uses repetition to speak to the labour involved in the oppression of women that is both gratuitous and manifold.
Brilliant.

Nina Simone- I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel To Be Free

One of the best performances I've ever seen (online, live, etc.) -even if it's partial.

Aaliyah- Try Again

 In honour of the goddess that was Aaliyah, I thought it fitting to post this video (not her best song, but I would say her most memorable video/image/hook/dance with prop) on the day Lifetime launches their terrible biopic. Google this shit-- apart from Wendy Williams (the producer) no one has anything good to say about it. There's no chance I will watch beyond the awful trailer even though I LOVE the idea of films about musicians and I loved Aaliyah and her music growing up. To make matters worse, Lifetime wasn't given any of the rights to her music, and thus their biopic of an r&b legend was to be filled with lame music that she never sang. Grrr!
At least twitter saved the day with this:

And at least artists like FKA Twigs are making innovative r&b music

Tracy Helgeson

Setting Sun
2009

Aunt Bettie Looks Like Margaret Thatcher
2009

So I found this artist through Pinterest of all places. I was first struck by the beautiful colour composition of the landscape picture pinned (not the same as the one pictured above), but as I went through her portfolio, I developed an even greater appreciation for her wit and the character depth she manages to draw out of what appear to be more-less flat images. Employing a red backdrop wash and a soft brushstroke that creates a dreamy-fuzzy surface, Helgeson's landscapes and portraits look like direct transfers of the artist's memories or dreams to the canvas. I love how she manages, through these seemingly simple techniques, to capture such complexity and warmth.

Audrey- favourite moments

I fell in love with Audrey after this short conversation and dance with Bogey. I had never heard such beauty in diction- especially her "noooo" at 1:08; at once, Audrey was completely elegant and endearing (0:07). Near the end, following one of the more awkward kissing scenes in popular film, Hepburn delivers the perfect expression.

Joanna Newsom- Sadie

"And bless you, and I deeply do
No longer resolute, oh and I call to you
But the water got so cold
And you do lose what you don't hold

This is an old song, these are old blues
And this not my tune, but it's mine to use."

I love Joanna's music-- fiercely. This song reminds me of my childhood -- of being stubborn and having heart-to-heart conversations with my dog when I felt like no one in my family was listening to me or taking me seriously. This song brings those feelings right back, both as memories and relevant/ongoing anxieties. Joanna's voice (in this song especially) is unyielding, but at the same time fragile (it cracks and wavers in ways that don't seem contrived) and her words are both respectful/aware of 'what's good for her,' but also spirited in her own resolve. This song- for me- speaks to the painful process of growing up.

Seon Ghi Bahk: Fiction of the Fabricated Image

http://www.zadokgallery.com/exhibition/2/press_release/

hair politics (part 1)

via http://shootofheroine.tumblr.com/

This is some crazy beautiful hair. So, surprise, I have a lot to say about hair- women's hair in particular- and the subtle politics that surround what is and what is not appropriate hair, hair that supposedly makes you look beautiful, natural, young, not too young, mature, professional, etc. The disciplinary tone of this narrative becomes even more pronounced and violent in relation to black women's hair (a topic that I hope to comment on in the future, but for now, because I am tired I will just speak in generalities, with the promise of continuing the discussion at a later date).
I wanted to share a quick story about my own recent experiences with hair colour and the thoughts and discussions that have come from taking, what some would consider, a huge risk! Last winter I decided to dye my hair bright purple. I did so fully knowing that my hair would not look "natural," that such a bold style would make my round youngish face appear even less mature and most importantly, that I would not look professional. Just last year, I was paranoid that my 4th year university students wouldn't take me seriously and so I consistently wore clothing that I would only wear if I was going for a job interview. Yet, one year later I rocked a bright violet do. While my self-conscious side tells me I've been labelled as having a mid-life crisis, (and though I would agree that my stress and anxiety levels are probably at an all-time high) I don't think it is an appropriate or fair label. As a young girl and later a younger women, I never wanted to dye my hair purple. Younger me would have thought that would make me look "freak-ish" and ultimately not attractive. To my understanding, I just all of a sudden wanted to (and I wasn't interviewing for a full-time job, so it wasn't too risky). Growing up I was so concerned with looking 'naturally beautiful' -- a common goal set out for women that often leads to routines replete with gadgets and gizmos that, I hesitate to say are "unnatural" for fear of perpetuating problematic discourse. Lets just say, the goal of looking naturally beautiful often leads women to hurting themselves in one form or another.
I recently had a conversation with my sister-in-law about the appropriate time to allow one's daughter to dye her hair. She believed that if a mother let her daughter dye her hair a shocking colour too young, she was sending the wrong message. According to her, the daughter would grow up thinking that she was never beautiful enough. Now I know for a fact that this sense of inadequacy plagues many girls and women regardless of whether their hair is brown or dyed green, so I found the comment striking. Of course we don't want our daughters to develop issues with inadequacy early on in life, but what is the relationship between these feelings and notions of what is and what is not "natural" or "naturally beautiful"?
... something to think about.  (wow, that ended up being much longer than I had anticipated! apologies for the loose, rambly structure)

Modest Mouse- Whenever you breathe out, I breathe in (positive/negative)

when a song turns your breathing shallow, until you gulp for air and you can feel the blood rushing to your head as you scan your surroundings to see if anyone has noticed your state of disrepair

Adrian Piper

Adrian Piper critically and through creative forms of confrontational art made us think about the power as well as the ambiguity of race in its many manifestations.

Feist- I Feel It All

Lest we disregard...

                                                   Black Woman with Chicken, 1987-88, 1987-88
                                                                                            Carrie Mae Weems

Perhaps I'm just as susceptible to sentiment as the millions who watched, listened to and participated in Remembrance Day celebrations yesterday, because when I want to understand the past and write about the fallen, the oppressed and the heroic, I am often moved to do so by reading about the personal and the following passage, especially: (i'll have more to say about this passage in future posts!)

(from "The Fact of Blackness" in Black Skin White Masks, by Frantz Fanon)

"I came into the world imbued with the will to find a meaning in things, my spirit filled with the desire to attain to the source of the world, and then I found that I was an object in the midst of other objects.

Sealed into that crushing objecthood, I turned beseechingly to others. Their attention was a liberation, running over my body suddenly abraded into nonbeing, endowing me once more with an agility that I had thought lost, and by taking me out of the world, restoring me to it. But just as I reached the other side, I stumbled, and the movements, the attitudes, the glances of the other fixed me there, in the sense in which a chemical solution is fixed by a dye. I was indignant; I demanded an explanation. Nothing happened. I burst apart. Now the fragment have been put together again by another self.

As long as the black man is among his own, he will have no occasion, except in minor internal conflicts, to experience his being through others. There is of course the moment of “being for others,” of which Hegel speaks, but every ontology is made unattainable in a colonized and civilized society. It would seem that this fact has not been given sufficient attention by those who have discussed the question. In the Weltanschauung of a colonized people there is an impurity, a flaw that outlaws any ontological explanation. Someone may object that this is the case with every individual, but such an objection merely conceals a basic problem. 

Ontology—once it is finally admitted as leaving existence by the wayside—does not permit us to understand the being of the black man. For not only must the black man be black; he must be black in relation to the white man. Some critic will take it on themselves to remind us that this proposition has a converse. I say that this is false. The black man has no ontological resistance in the eyes of the white man. Overnight the Negro has been given two frames of reference within which he has had to place himself. His metaphysics, or, less pretentiously, his customs and the sources on which they were based, were wiped out because they were in conflict with a civilization that he did not know and that imposed itself on him.

The black man among his own in the twentieth century does not know at what moment his inferiority comes into being through the other. Of course I have talked about the black problem with friends, or, more rarely, with American Negroes. Together we protested, we asserted the equality of all men in the world. In the Antilles there was also that little gulf that exists among the almost-white, the mulatto, and the nigger. But I was satisfied with an intellectual understanding of these differences. It was not really dramatic. And then. …

And then the occasion arose when I had to meet the white man’s eyes. An unfamiliar weight burdened me. The real world challenged my claims. In the white world the man of color encounters difficulties in the development of his bodily schema. Consciousness of the body is solely a negating activity. It is a third-person consciousness. The body is surrounded by an atmosphere of certain uncertainty. I know that if I want to smoke, I shall have to reach out my right arm and take the pack of cigarettes lying at the other end of the table. 

The matches, however, are in the drawer on the left, and I shall have to lean back slightly. And all of these movements are made not out of habit but out of implicit knowledge. A slow composition of my self as a body in the middle of a spatial and temporal world—such seems to be the schema. It does not impose itself on me; it is, rather, a definitive structuring of the self and of the world— definitive because it creates a real dialectic between my body and the world.

For several years certain laboratories have been trying to produce a serum for “denegrification”; with all the earnestness in the world, laboratories have sterilized their test tubes, checked their scales, and embarked on researches that might make it possible for the miserable Negro to whiten himself and thus to throw off the burden of that corporeal malediction. 

Below the corporeal schema I had sketched a historico-racial schema. The elements that I used had been provided for me not by “residual sensations and perceptions primarily of a tactile, vestibular, kinesthetic, visual character,”¹ but by the other, the white man, who had woven me out of a thousand details, anecdotes, stories. I thought that what I had in hand was to construct a physiological self, to balance space, to localize sensations, and here I was called on for more.

“Look, a Negro!” It was an external stimulus that flicked over me as I passed by. I made a tight smile.

“Look, a Negro!” It was true. It amused me.

“Look, a Negro!” The circle was a drawing a bit tighter. I made no secret of my amusement.

“Mama, see the Negro! I’m frightened!”

Frightened! Frightened! Now they were beginning to be afraid of me. I made up my mind to laugh myself to tears, but laughter had become impossible.

I could no longer laugh, because I already knew there were legends, stories, history, and above all historicity, which I had learned about from Jaspers. Then, assailed at various points, the corporeal schema crumbled, its place taken by a racial epidermal schema. In the train it was no longer a question of being aware of my body in the third person but in a triple person. In the train I was given not one but two, three places. I had already stopped being amused. It was not that I was finding febrile coordinates in the world. I existed triply: I occupied space. I moved toward the other … and the evanescent other, hostile but not opaque, transparent, not there, disappeared. Nausea. …"

Poppy Day- the politics of remembering

Remembrance Day always conjures up strong emotions in me. I have no personal attachments to the celebrations, in so far as I don't have anyone in my family that I know to have fought in the "world wars" and the blind nationalist support for commemorating Canadian historical achievements that I espoused throughout my elementary and secondary schooling has long since waned. What's more, my work as a historian has sharpened my attentions to how people in the colonized parts of the world and their oppressed and racialized brethren experienced these "great" wars of the 20th century. It's clear to me (and many others) that governments (and Hollywood) exploit the collective emotional weight that this day bears, but by simply pointing this out, we do not erase the weight. 

I don't wear a poppy because I feel that it represents an exclusive remembering- one that excises from popular memory the lives and deaths of those not considered of the 'Great White North' (or civilization in general) and one that omits the histories of racial and class violence before, during and after the World Wars in the West. I do, however, remember on this day the sacrifices that were made during these wars, as well as the histories that were frantically written to capitalize on such loss.