When I was younger, I wanted (among other things) to be a Pussy Cat Doll. I practised dance moves, flipped my braids a lot and wore my skirts as short as my mum would let me (I went to boarding school so they were always pretty short).
I wanted to be a woman…wonderfully and gorgeously a woman.
Now that I’m here though, I’ve learnt that womanhood is hardly like I’d pictured it.
Beauty breeds confidence-and so do over sized tee shirts…
Looks aren’t everything- there are bills, school assignments, and death inspired exercises all packed in a pretty little tote called Adulthood™.
Wake up everyday like you’re fighting for your life…
Love feels like a new pair of snug jeans…
You’re a black woman, you’re a skinny girl, and above all, you’re a human being…
Your vagina does not make you a woman…
Chanting ‘Bloody Mary’three times in the dark does.
To check out more of Sarah Andersen’s comics, scoot on over to Amazon.
I don’t want to go anywhere today. Every single part of me seems to be in pain: my head hurts, my nose hurts, my friggin eyelids… Eyelids! I didn’t even know that part of me, like, worked.
Okay, I know that they work, obviously. (Chuckles nervously)
But can’t I just get away with flu-addled brain today? May be even get a break from adulting and stuff… Stay in my bed clothes *ahem, ripped tee shirt*, get a little soup action, pop in a few sob-teen movies…
There’s so much beauty in this world; sometimes so much that the soul can endure no more. Of jewel seas and daring green, borne of pine and oak and scaly ebony dreams…. Then there’s the beauty of man, pilfered like singing blood upon canvas; daring and raw and scared and human, hang against bland wide walls, in bland wide rooms that call for swishing skirts and feathered hats.
Galleries! If only I could live in one.
Perhaps I can?
See, last weekend we drove down to one (‘we’ being my older sister and I, and her three year old son. These two people are very important to me you must know, something that goes beyond the name we share. My sister introduced me to all things art and literature; actually all three of my sisters did, but she’s the one who really pushed me to writing- and wearing make up, she was very adamant about that one especially.
My nephew’s this tiny little ball of mischief that absolutely lights up my life. He’s also one hell of a storyteller. Usually whenever I decide to sleep over at theirs, he’d curl up into me, kick his mom out of the room, and tell me fantastic tales of rabbits and dogs and the adventures there of, that sometimes, not always, involve monster trucks and hospitals. As I said, the light of my life.)
Okay, so back to the tale!
We drove down towards One Off Contemporary Art gallery, got lost more than a couple of times before landing into a peaceful little neighborhood with hardly a soul in sight.
It got a little tricky at first as the gallery possesses no markers, so we kinda had to do a little une, deux, tres dance till we found it; at last, there it was! number sixteen, opened up by an old cobbled path and creeky gate, shrouded beautifully under chaotic white bark trees.
This is all you can see once you’re on the premises…and grass, obviously.
Besides the vacuum silence that greets you, is the no cameras allowed signage right by the parking space…and a duck.
An angry little duck that squawked and yelped and tried to bite as we made down bushy stone steps into a lovely clearing.
Now here we met a dog.
He barked and kissed and danced circles around us just as a bigger dobble gangér waltzed in; calm and furry and in search of hugs.
Well, I love hugs too!!
Our newly introduced welcome party (and the duck that hated us, of course) then proceeded to push us down another set of stone steps, this one leading straight to the gallery.
A piece of the wild that rose from the earth; here lies a small part of an artist’s playful heart, beckoning like a mother, a siren calling the wandering spirit…home
And thus the Lord of the Galaxies rose, his temples throbbing with weariness. The little babe wailed some more.
“Now you want me back? I thought you wanted me gone.”
The child’s cheeks, as cherub-like as the day was long, puffed once, an unseemly crease etching itself upon its brow.
The Lord of the Galaxies chuckled, his tight chest letting be.
“You’ll be a hard one to handle, won’t you?” the child’s face brightened then, its pudgy little arms reaching out for the dangling stars, always a little too far to reach. “Taurus, my little Taurus. Toughest one of them all.” Ps: this has absolutely nothing to do with Greek mythology. Just a little scribbling I did in the car :-).