Mary Sibande.

 

Mary Sibande is a young South African artist born in 1982. 

Using paintings and sculpture, she explores the construction of identity in a post-colonial context, in South Africa, and also criticizes stereotypes of black women.

See her entire gallery at: 

 Gallery MOMO

Full Plate.

My life is like a steady stream of chaos right now. My plate is full. Pilled to capacity with carbohydrate-rich foods, salty vegetables, and meats. Socially, I have a waiting list of people that I need to hang out with. And I'm worried about all of them.

"Brittney! You're ignoring me! We have to catch up!"
"Hey! When are we going to hang out?"
"I want to see you! Can we have lunch tomorrow?"

::slops on mashed potatoes::

I've been in a game of phone tag with a friend for about 3 weeks and I can't seem to have the time to talk to her.

"Stop ignoring my phone calls!" (via message)

::piles on collard greens::

I haven't called my mom in a week. I have 3 graduate classes that all have papers/projects due in the next seven days. I've cooked a real meal in my kitchen once this week. I'm juggling two part-time jobs and attend two small groups a week. I'm worried about using my boyfriend's gas allotment to get me back and forth to work; among his other problems that he's dealing with. I signed up to make two sweet potato pies for a dinner I'm attending this weekend. I'm in therapy (basically) and I need to start looking for an internship to get my supervision hours. My computer's at the shop to be fixed, and I need it to do homework.

::adds a slab of chicken-fried stake::

I want to go home. I want to sleep. I want to bake cookies and watch The Cosby Show. I want to snuggle underneath my boyfriend's rib and not move an inch.

No matter what I do, or how hard I try, someone goes without something they need from me. I'm worried about flunking an assignment. Or being a bad friend. Or being undependable.

God knows I can't do it alone, so I'm trying to trust him. Meanwhile, keep up with the momentum.

Sistah-Hood

What do you see when you look at this picture? I mean, besides the fact that this is taken from the gallery of Tyler Perry's movie adaptation of For Colored Girls....

I think of my mother being comforted by her three sisters and their mother while standing next to the grave of my brother. I think of the great bellows of laughter coming from the hair salon that I frequented as a child. I recall the knowing glances and outstretched hands that I have exchanged with another Black woman. Granted, I have the pleasure of knowing many beautiful women...across the entire palette of ethnicity. However, there is a deeper sense of unity that I feel when I, and other Black women embrace one another. Welcome one another. Encourage and affirm one another. Because we are known to bicker and be competitive. Tear down another because her hair is natural. Or relaxed. She's too skinny or flat-chested. Or too big. Lighter or Darker. Rough around the edges or materialistic. Carrying an infant or a Gucci bag in her arms.

It's nice to have kindred arms, though we are only connected through shade, hold you up. And it may not be done intentionally, but it always feels familiar. Sometimes, I have to double-take, because I could swear that the arms of my "sistah" feels like the arms of a "sister".

New MaryMary. :)

Walking by Mary Mary Music