I won't deny that I grew up with a religious mother. Most of my family and friends have strong religious beliefs rooted in Christianity. I myself, was raised in the church and grew up to be a very active member. I was an acolyte, a praise dancer, I volunteered and went to camps. I was taught very much so, that we're all- as Jonathan Edwards put it: Sinners in the hands of an angry God. I was a model African American christian in our black community; I'm not knocking it, but I personally still felt empty.
If anyone is to ever know me, they would know not only am I creative, but also I'm a very curious person by nature. I've practiced everything from Wicca to Buddism. I was graced with an art teacher who challenged myself along with others, to question the status quo of what religion is. He called himself a Buddist-Jew-Christian, how can that be? Along this personal journey, I would also find a soulmate who gifted me the pain of thoroughly analyzing my own beliefs of what was and wasn't reality. I would meet another soulmate-I married a Nigerian man who practiced Christianity and along side traditional Yoruba ritual. I followed the white rabbit down the hole in search to find the emptiness. I read countless religious text from the Quran to the Dao/Tao. During this quest of constant questioning and analyzing I slowly began to feel like everything was just a piece of a cosmetic whole.
I decided to dig a little deeper. In my quest to better understand the world around me, I had to take a look into myself. I remember that although my mother was a very religious woman, she was also in tune with her spirit. I re-call her telling stories of my grandmother, especially of my great-grandmother. My great grandmother was the midwife of our family. I can see the expressions of my mothers face as she told me stories of how great grandmother would pick herbs from the fields. She summoned her help from unknown forces that still scares my aunts to this day. She was fearless of animals and give thanks to God, nature and all the abundance it holds. She was said to have healed my mothers cousin from asthma, and gave the KKK a run for their money. Some called her a witch, some called her a healer I called her a ShaWoman. I realized I would need to go back to my roots.
I also began to study more indigenous art around the globe. In my thirst for all things native, I found stories as old as time. Stories that have been rooted in the creativity of the ancestors from almost the very beginning. I've reviewed art from Ancient Egypt to the ruins of Rome and they all tell a common stories with somewhat differing details. It became very clear, our ancestors always told a story of the stars. It became very clear that what us above us is also reflected down below.
I painted this piece to represent the respect I have for the ones that came before me. In the blue skies of the background- is peace that once rang throughout the earth and her continents. The birds are the whispers of my loved ones in the wind; the beams along the head represents the sun that gives life and wisdom to all who gaze. The tribal face paintings represent a time long ago during a golden age. This painting is a surrender to the greater. I have chosen to listen, go within and heed the calling of my ancestors.
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