The Black Experience

What do I know? Growing up I never had a friend of another style. A small circle.
The stone thrown causes ripples, whether wide or shallow, depends on how far we dare look. –J
Are the stones I throw of ill-intent? Curiosity of how my art turns out. Always a circle, eternity. My landing point, anxious to know how i will be received. This wondering, a great reasoning, so i am not caught off guard. Will they recognize my blandness? my differences in the same way they are depicted?
do i wear the same cloak, many faces painted on material? my cloak wrapped tight, hiding my pain so i can see their eyes? do we all share this same face? Fate?
***this is a scene i would love to see in an image. how would it appear? should it appear a certain way, in many ways? busy or stark? even naked? the appearance of outside or inside or in between?
I wonder, is Jacob Lawrence’s depiction, such an image?
Honestly, i am caught off guard, my mind wandering to these questions, exploring the black experience. In the process I discovered a new artist, Jacob Lawrence.
Perhaps i am led down this rabbit trail because of DeAnthony, my tutor partner this school year. We sat at lunch yesterday, he quietly eating, dancing to a song in his head, anxious to start art. We discussed symmetry…
he struggled, rebelled.
An assymetrical soul
in a world of lines and rows. Stretching his arms beyond
outside control. He hugged me,
twice. My heart cried
at his genuineness. He didnt
notice i was white,
only the inside,
i privileged to be part
of his world,
homeless, but still wrapped in hope.
Art Poetry Random Soul Journal travel Jacob Lawrence neighbors
Intrigued by this but puzzled by the phrase ‘a friend of another style’. Wondered what you meant by that …
a different way of approaching life as foreign to me, basically cultural differences. easiest explanation without a long-winded answer.
Ah yes, makes sense, thanks!