I WAS HER WITNESS
I stand here today saying: Whats next? What do I want? Where am I going?
For me, my thesis remains: An exploration inside of my own journey with grief and the strong women who brought me to the water.
My Beyonce hymnal: Every day I have to listen to Beyonce. She marks herself as the first artist I listened to after my dad died and after my MaryAnn died. I listen to her before a show, after a show. Drinking-not drinking. Working out. She was the first artist I listened to after my serious break up a year and a half ago. Every morning, I played “Flawless” (The Remix) on my way to work. It got me ready to face the day ahead of me with fierceness, enough anger to move forward and class to do it.
I not only admire her, I respect her for what she has done and how she has done it. She is not my form of worship but she is my dose of reality smashed into a million pieces reminding me, WE ARE FLAWLESS. This is my exploration into loss, work, love, female friendships, fashion, with a good dose of BUZZZZ.
For: I was her witness.
And maybe, in some ways, she was mine.
How this works: Each page inside the menu bar is tabbed based on the degree of separation.
Each week I will post to each page. Click on a page and see what I’m thinkin. The pages are as follows (sidebar: your patience is much appreciated as I get the kinks figured out):
WWBD: Think Dear Sugar meets Lucy at the Lemonade Stand. Send me your woes and I’ll send you some honey.
The Buzz: My chance to silence the hateration with the force of Beyhive power and sweet honey knowledge.
Freedom: Justice brought to you by African American women, Latinx women, Indigenous Women, LGBTQIA people, Asian women and the power list is limitless. This is a chance to bring Lemonade to life while I give people the mic.
45 Minutes: Bey Fashion Advice answered every Friday because on Fridays we wear our Beyst outfits.
9-5: My horror work stories given to you in the form of comedy soaked tears in 500 words or less.
B-Vault: All the times I got drunk and talked about Beyonce, throw in some poetry to class it up a bit.
Code Blue: My stories of grief in the face of loss and a chance to give space, resources and life to the grieving. For if we are going to heal, let it BE glorious.
Save the Bees: The Bee population is in danger of going extinct. This is my opportunity to spread the news and do something about it. You Ready?
My artistic and worldly commitment:
To the horror and awe of this era we live in a culture that is capable of publishing their own writing whenever they please. We also live in a culture that values intense vulnerability and oversharing on social media in the hopes it creates a viral intensity that sparks a self made machine or maybe the silver lining connection with another. We live in a time that while being vulnerable and naked in front of another we cannot properly access each other through artistic cultivated lenses. In other words we press art against a wall as either good or bad, or worse, we press people “good” or “bad” against a moment or a place and the filter we put them through is harsh, so very harsh, with no reconciliation in sight but simply righteousness that we are doing it right and they are not.
When we do this it looks like a badly made horror movie with weird goo oozing off the wall. Not properly made or accessed. Slippery content does not create change. However, I am one of these people. I love judging other people but it has created a person who doesn’t do but simply observes. I was and continue to be one of these people: until today. I am tired of sitting on the sidelines judging other peoples ideas, opinions, artistic expressions and voices while having no courage to voice my own. For legitimate reasons might I add. I am a white middle class female. I know this makes me blind.
Do I really want to put out a story that annex’s me to the attic with other powerful but short sighted women? No. Just no.
The fancy BUT is: what is my other option?
What is the secret trap door? What if I put my work out there consciously? As conscious as it possibly could be because I refuse to:
a) filter critique but welcome it and
b) surround myself with women who are wiser, more educated and experienced than me?
Experience is my greatest teacher and therefore I guess I better try this, than sit out as someone’s shadow. That doesn’t mean I am a fool. I believe I have enough to start with, to begin. I have seen and experienced much and it has value enough. I am enough. And if I can cultivate power inside of my privilege and use it for good not evil, then shouldn’t I absolutely being playing the cards I have been dealt?
In my artistic experiences I have been lucky to meet so many different people and what brings us all together is this: we are really weird and strange and complex. What keeps us together? The choice to continue past disappointment and for me, to listen, more than I talk.