So much of all these paintings are coming out what feels like moments before my shows next week. I never knew the pressure would push so much work out of me. I can’t imagine all of it can end up at these shows. I don’t have this many frames in my life and t be honest I don’t think I want them after the show. I hope every one comes.
So much of all I do is mixed in with the culture of my surroundings. My neighborhood on the right day is so flavorful. The food smells are almost sexy. There is this food truck across the street from my studio and a Bodega next door. The languages dance across the streets at stop lights. I love how kind everyone is. It has this 8 fit feel to it from my big bay window.
Being in search of others like you can be a pain in the ass. I’ve had my Youtube channel for around 6 years…but professionally around 3 years. In that time I have met ten People of Color who are also Youtubers. Some of them are overseas. Most are women. It has this oddly invisible feeling about seeing the smallness of our channels. I wish I knew better ways to reach out but in all honesty, I’m not sure how Youtube really works anymore. All the old tricks are being replaced. Metadata doesn’t change how you are searched for that much. People see you first and scroll the past. I’m tempted to change my name on Youtube to a cool nickname because I feel my name Jawara maybe subconsciously is a racist trigger. I think they see Jawara and think “not one of us.” I get a lot of people will not get that but a few of you who live with eyes wide know there are people in the world who make those choices about the people they surround themselves with. This year has been the year of People of Color dealing with a crippling amount of racism. Some outright and other casual. Casual racism is when someone says something racist but doesn’t think they are racist so it must be ok because it is meant as a joke. Most of the time I choose to let casual racism go because I can’t let my day be fucked up every day waiting in line at Starbucks hearing a loud phone call in line about something awful a person says about a race of people who they don’t think are in the room at the time.
Even if they are not around ….it’s still racist.
You can tell because the people in the room either say “that is racist” or the whole room looks away from you or last everyone shakes their heads looking at you. You might think this is them trying not to laugh with you but no… that is the “I hate having to deal with you” face. It feels like a prison sentence for life. If I react and speak up they provoke a response and then hide behind the protections of the law. Which they are most likely to win because the law is often not on the side of People of Color is history. Martin Luther King Jr. was thought of as an outlaw.
I make paintings. I am not a civil rights leader but I feel their word every day. They spoke those words so we could feel them … all of us.
Vamos pegar um cafe. (Let’s go get coffee). But if we do I need to listen and not spin your own narrative at us. This will never be your chance to teach us about how we live and what we feel. It is not a back and forth conversation. I’m teaching you first aid for People of Color.
be nice to each other
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Catching up is impossible.
I see all these great storytellers spinning webs. It is beautiful and I worry I’m more visual. So I make my films and my paintings. I hope they are fun or at least pulling you like Cthulu.I feel like causing madness could be fun at first but sucks as the decades go by. Not a great superpower for the long term.
So I have been making like crazy and dancing between art locations.
So much making. All this snow and hot tea….and whiskey in coffee cups.
These brushes live in magical imaginary cannons waiting to attack canvases with the violence of creativity. The best art I have ever made I felt like I was in a fight afterward. My neck hurt and my shoulders hurt and my gums bleed. It took me weeks to feel like I hadn’t been in the hardest fight of my life. I’m addicted to that feeling now. I really find that drug these days. I have to go bigger and crazier to get that high. it is my addiction.
Snow days are kind of perfect to put my body in a grinder of creativity. I have hours to make lines perfect and curve my shoulders in flawless hooks with my ink covered hands holding worn out brushes. I dream of my art table in the middle of a huge room surrounded by nothing so I can twist and move cross a huge heavyweight paper endlessly.
This art show is coming soon in April and I have so much to make and so little time. It will be great and hopefully painful.
I am but a man with a brush.
I am but a man with a brush. I dream and sleep. I’m good at both if I may brag? A lot of that art comes from dreaming. The lucidity of waking up and running to a pen and paper is my shining achievement.
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I love all the making.
Also please go check out my Patreon. It has lots of fun ways and gifts to it. For $12 bucks a year you get a lot.