When I was growing up, I would be mesmerized by kids who could Double Dutch Jump rope. I myself, never learnt how to jump.
I think it might’ve been because I couldn’t jump high enough, or maybe it was because I couldn’t move my legs fast enough, over the passing ropes. But whatever it was that prevented me from learning how, it surely wasn’t because of a global pandemic.
I was just thinking, what are today’s children going to grow up and not have learnt? What part of their journey will be delayed or missed out on?
I wonder, do they miss watching kids jumping Double Dutch jump rope? I do. So, I’m adding this thought to my growing list of things we lost because of the Wrath of ‘Rona.
My walls aren’t meant to just hold up the ceiling or separate the rooms. While those are of course, excellent reasons for a wall’s existence, what if the other reason for a wall, besides hanging a photograph and the occasional clock is to add joy & color?
When I look at my walls, I see spaces to add another painting. If my walls could talk… I hope they’re bragging about how I dress them up, with original art, my paintings.
These queens of the community, the survivors and strivers who share stories and inspire one another. Who stretch a dollar out of fifteen cents, and provide food and a roof over their abandoned children’s heads.
These women will raise children to dream of great heights. They will believe that they can become SOMEBODY. And they’ll not benefit from role models or many gifts from philanthropists.
These women will raise boys to become men in a patriarchal society that celebrates Mothers, one day out the year. And these women will raise girls to become women in a patriarchal society that struggles to encourage women to be something other than Mothersome.
This was her first notable achievement, the one in which she would build up her confidence, allow her to take risks and opened the pathway to opportunity, the gateway of happiness.
Now she cooks, drives fast cars, directs movies & takes meetings.
But one of the early WoW moments in her life was pedaling. Transitioning from a tricycle to a two-wheeled bike! A sweet accomplishment that opened the road toward other achievements, her success & freedom.
In 2020 I didn’t get to attend not one holiday party. For me, that’s the one thing I really like about working and about having job. It’s literally the only time when bosses and my co-workers loosen up, when we can all be our authentic selves. The “Holidaze” with its bonuses, cocktails & laughter.
Like everyone else, I’m so over ‘Rona and this never-ending pandemic. And even though I don’t like needles (who does?) I’m looking forward to getting the vaccine. Because it means a change up, slowing down the numbers and perhaps may lead to closure, so whatever it takes to end this madness, right? Right. Because I for one, don’t want to lose another Christmas, ever again.
I’d prefer to complain about having had Christmas, about how it’s become too commercialized and how I’ve spent too much money, than to not have a Christmas at all. Because I like to sing and laugh.
So 2021 is going to be better, I can feel it.
Next year we’ll look back on the 2020 holiday that almost wasn’t. We’ll respectfully toast the lives that COVID-19 took and we’ll share in gratitude of those lives that were saved by front liners, our heroes.
And eventually this pandemic will end.
“Hello World!” And once again, we’ll be able to go places and travel. Oh how nice it’ll be to meet people! I’m going to smile at everybody, because for too long my smile was hidden under a mask.
And I’m going to be super kind to people, strangers and my family. Because I’ve yelled a lot, my anger and frustration has been displaced, it’s had that impact. But change is coming and I’m going to look & see more deeply than just eyes.
I’m excited to be a part of the Great Society ReBoot, after ‘Rona leaves and we get together again. Until then, stay safe & stay optimistic,
“Holidaze” at the Sugar Shack in downtown Boston, where my Uncle Erskine performed.
When I was little, he’d bring me along on Saturday afternoons to watch him perform his set. I’d sit at the bar and sip soda, while he and the band rehearsed. From where I sat, I couldn’t wait to grow up. Smoke cigarettes, drink alcohol and get high.
I’d watch them dance and slide across that small stage, in the dim lights, until the manager came. He’d point his cigar at the Exit sign & tell my uncle that kids weren’t allowed in the bar.
I hated that sign, as if it was the only reason that I had to go 😂
We can’t know for certain, but chances are that a little girl is watching.
She’s watching her perform. Watching her actions, her mannerisms, her gestures and the company she keeps.
Listening carefully to what she says. Listening for inflections and tone. Is she using her business voice? Or the relaxed voice that she uses when she’s home, safe, among family and friends? A little girl is taking notes.
What will the woman do when opportunity knocks? Will she be prepared? Will the woman wedge the door wide open, so other women might follow her path. Or will she only be able to slip a small stone in the door jam, hoping it’ll be enough for others to follow?
Once inside, will she break the proverbial glass ceiling? Will she smile bravely and create good jobs and career opportunities for other women?
If so, she’ll have to do it while wearing heels, with her grandmother’s pearls and her mother’s regrets. She might even have some regrets of her own. She might not know it, but somewhere a little girl is watching and studying her performance.
And oh, say can you see, she’s going to make it look easy, so that little girls in America & everywhere might see her and think that they too can become her, a possibility… A Success!
A dear friend of mine called me on the telephone & asked if I was busy. I replied, “I’m painting.” We agreed that we’d talk later, because nothing was up, just the usual chit-chat phone call. So we cordially said our goodbyes and hung up.
Later, my dear friend called me back and again said nothing’s going on, just called to make small talk. So I replied, “I’m painting, can I call you back?” I added that last question, because who better to know when I would have a moment, than I?
And my dear friend asked, “You’re not done painting yet?”
It took me a minute to find my indoor voice. “I’ll call you back when I’m done painting,” I said into the telephone receiver & we cordially said our goodbyes and hung up.
Remembering my nephew as he would toss his daughter up into the air and catch her. Remembering the infectious sound of her giggles.
I’d watch them play Peek-A-Boo and Hide-N-Seek. He’d chase her around the living room and into the kitchen. He’d make big loud growling noises and she’d squeal in delight.
He’d pounce towards her, just missing her by the toes, and he’d gently grab her arm. All the while she’d squirm and twist and contort her little body every which way, to get loose. And all the while, my nephew is boding her, instructing her and encouraging her on ways to not get caught. To instill in her the need to run faster.
But of course, he could catch her, but that’s not the point, so he won’t. Instead he’s encouraging her to keep her head up, telling her that she mustn’t squeeze her eyes closed, that she must look and keep her eyes opened.
Then he’s growling again, menacingly this time, so now she must listen, using all of her senses to stay alert, to be aware, to watch out for her daddy and the signs of his playful danger. It’s coming.
Every now and then he’ll stop to give her a kiss. One of those deep raspberry belly blows, that make her little legs kick into the air. And then he relaxes too, a moment to enjoy fatherhood. Because as quiet as it’s kept, he’s giddy with delight too. He relishes these moments.
But from where I stand, I can see his fear, it’s there, in his eyes. What if they come after him and catch him, then go after her? What if…
His daughter pushes off him and lickety-split she’s gone. She’s a fast learner. She’s giggling again, pulling him back into her world, where it’s safe. For now.
He switches back to playful dad mode, back into the hunt for raspberry belly blows. He crawls after her, lovingly reminding her to not let him catch her.
Me standing there, watching and holding her doll baby. It’s the other game that she likes to play, the gender related and domesticated role of motherhood. But it’ll wait. Right now she has her dad, this little black girl, being taught life skills, she’ll become an expert in both, in order to survive.
And then, like a lioness in the jungle, she’ll nurture and protect her cubs and further the myth of the black super woman.
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Acrylic on canvas. “Her America” is part of the America 2 Me series of paintings using a premise of caution. The original flyer used in the #BlackLivesMatter protests held in Los Angeles and Boston during the summer of 2020.
My daughter, Deanna Marshall is an activist who gifted me flyers from the September 9, 2020 protest in Boston, MA. I’ve stained some flyers and incorporated them into pieces of my art. Hopefully to extend the message, “until racism ends in America,” from generation to generation, in a cautionary tale.
Sometimes art brings out the best in artists. Through emotions Those of you who know me, know that I do not handle rejection well.
A feeling of silence comes over me, like when I was a kid and a lump would form in my throat. Rejection paralyzes me and so, I stopped painting for three days. Now, that might not seem like a lot to you, but in my world it was 3 days spent fuming.
And here’s another little bit of trivia about me… success is my revenge.
So, through hard work & determination I intend to do it all- museums, galleries, movies, tv & whatever else I dream up.
And when I’m done, I’ll submit my work again and this time, they’ll welcome me with open arms and what do you think I should say?
I just finished this #BLM 💕series & instead of celebrating, I’m sharing & starting the next. In the infamous words of my mum: “I’m so god damn mad right now” 🙏
DaNice D Marshall TechnyGalleries 