Yes, indeed. We all have a story to tell. King Adz video takes us through what goes on in our creative minds, in our critical selves that get crippled by distractions, self-created disbelief, insecurity, self-loathing. Watch this clip and see how you feel.
To tell my story, to know my story---It's the way I weave all the colours in my tapestry of life- orange, red, turquoise, brown, purple, blue, white and gold- that is me. And my patterns and tension will vary but the design is beautiful. So with that I know I keep weaving to know where it leads me next . . .
On May 25th, 100 in 1 day: Cape Town will be a citizen driven festival of doing, that let's us realise our dreams we want to see and create in our city just like Ron Finley did.
I want to see food forests and fruit trees to be at bus stops. When I walk my dog, I can also bring a bag and pick fruits in my neighbourhood along the way. I do find fruit trees where I can . . . here are some of my recipes from The Culinary Linguist.
An interesting fact:
"Why did Jan Van Riebeeck plant roses in the Cape? Not for cut flowers, but for rose water"
- Hetta van Deventer-Terblanche- South African storytelling on a plate (from her talk at EatOut Food Network DsTV Conference in Cape Town)
Now I don't feel so bad picking lemons occasionally from Company Garden's lemon tree in the rose bush section.
"This photo was taken in the sacred Cecelia Forest in Cape Town by Nadegé Sanz. With it I want to honour and celebrate the pure beauty of every woman and girl on this International Woman's day. I celebrate your sacred body, I kiss your every curve and fold, wrinkle and stretch mark, every ripple of fat. I encourage you to honour yourself too, even when others don't, to free your own spirit, to respect your own body, to treat it with love and awe. You are a warrior, you are an artist, you are a healer, you deserve your own love first, without the approval of others. Shine your brilliant light from inside, dance wildly, swim naked, walk bare foot. At a time that we are so judged, so misused, so misunderstood, so labelled, so hated, so violated, may we make our own selves whole and complete again, as we entered this world...no make up, no cloth to smother, cover or beautify what is already beautiful. We require no one's permission to do this. Only our own. Our own love." words by Ernestine Deane http://ernestinedeane.com/
A story strong to South's Africa heart beat, plays a different tune for Detroit's singer-songwriter Rodriguez.
picture jacked from Google.com
Living in South Africa and hearing the impact of his music upon adults from that generation is fact to how powerful the powerful influence of music is to our collective history. Music's language connects personal experiences across the world.
The locational link of this particular music story-South Africa and Detroit caught the interest of my dad, who grew up in Detroit.
He recently forwarded me this article after watching the Documentary made about Rodriguez and South African listeners: Searching for Sugarman.
Rodriguez' lyrics and music stretched beyond the artist's imagination into a moment of history that has been shared with the world.
Tina Fey: I want to thank my parent's for somehow raising me to have the confidence disproportionate with my looks and abilities. Well done, that is what all parent's should do.
While working in studio as the on-set costumer on a commercial shoot with director Mehdi Norowzian and DOP Zubin Mistry, I found myself cuddled in the coolest place during breaks--in between the air conditioning system.
Needless to say, the eye on set captured it on his phone.
My friend Mary sent me this link because I'm one of the many girls who has fly dookie brown leather jackets and 99 cent priceless Tshirt from thrift shops around the world. Love this flavour! Now when I go to clothes swaps, I end up holding onto the fine cotton threads I've had since 5th grade, and getting rid of the new shit... may just have to do a compilation remix of my thrift journeys from Honduras to Cape Town with Macklemore. And I am definitely going to use this as inspiration for the next music video I work on :)
Eversince Lupe Fiasco released "Bitch Bad", I was thinking where the Female voice was in Hip Hop. Nicki Menaj and Azelia are bubble gum wrappers that don't have much chew capacity. Mc's are not absent, they are strong in all parts of the world.
I am drawn to the sisterhood in Atlanta where the MC's are releasing lyrics to the highest super delight, no need for repetitive materialistic chants-just solid dope lyricists that don't spit from an adam's apple and represent Respect.
I'm giving respect and spreading inspiration from She the Hard Way. A collaboration of different poetic flow from Sa-Roc, Khalilah Ali, Stahhr, Rita J, Boog Brown. I love the way Stahhr describes the compilation as a delicious 5 course meal. I don't have any information on the progress of this project, but each of these MC's hold a strong place in the way Hip Hop continues to evolve towards conscious poetic messages for our global socio-polito-econo-naturalistic Earth concerns.
Our Earth loses 2 rhinos a day due to acts of killing these endangered animals for money.
Rhinos are poached predominantly for exotic animal-part trade or medicinal mythical cures-medical ideas that have been scientifically proven to not treat or cure what they are advertised for.
The value of protecting rhinos needs to be taught in order to replace the value of trading their parts. Poaching is not the only problem, but it is the most important one to stop as educational projects and programmes can reverse the idea that the demand for them is necessary.
A man in South Africa, as seen in NHU Africa's Saving Rhino Phila has begun to farm as a way to influence a flood of rhinos horns into the marketplace, thus reducing their price and striving to maintain a healthy rhino population. But farming rhinos is not a solution as it doesn't eliminate the myths of these medical 'cures' and provides a 'safe' place for killing animals that will be may one day be called "previous wildlife, now cattle". Although there are other human-caused risks to rhinos, it is imperative to stop poaching these animals and supporting positive wildlife conservation education.
Human-centric ideas such as rhino horn uses for human consumption only decrease the longevity of our wildlife and will drive them into extinction. We have a responsibility to our planet to work towards becoming wildlife conservation activists in our own capacity.
Chris Mason from Natural History Unit Africa, produced and directed this Public Service Announcement, PSA, for World Rhino Day 2012: a Call for action to support Anti-poaching projects by WESSA, The Wildlife and Environment Society of South Africa. They filmed it on Kloof Street, Cape Town City Bowl, on a timelapse and reversed the Mak 1 One art piece into a disappearing artpiece.
It asks a question: Do you care if Rhino's disappear?
Let's hope this message and many other efforts allow us to care everyday to take responsibility to the stop of poaching.
Ideas to combat poaching through education projects are welcome to be shared here.
Other artists share concern about the killing of Rhinos. The Wooster Collective showcased words and pictures from another prolific Cape Town based graffiti aerosol artist, Faith47, painting in Shanghai, click here to see and read. She brought the spirit of African Rhinos into Asia.
The digital images fold as the TV screen tires The cops, rifles in cabinet, past their third beer are edging towards bed The night is quiet as the smelter has been closed,
the only music is of the wind on razor wire the ears are too shut to hear the ancestral thuds on goatskin humanity has somehow died in Marikana who said what to whom remains a detailed trifle the fury of the day has to congeal, the blood has to congeal I reverse the footage bringing the miners back to life in vain, the footage surges back and the first bullet reappears and the next and the next and the next and I reverse the footage in vain, again and again in vain
The image of the man in the green shroud endures Who wove the blanket and what was his name? There are no subtitles under the clump of bodies, no names stapled on their unformed skull A mist of ignorance also endures, a winter fog woven into the fabric of the kill The loom endures too, the weaver is asleep The land of the high winds will receive the man naked The earth will eat the stitch back to a thread What will remain is the image and I in vain Reversing him back to life to lead the hill to song In vain, the footage surges back another Mpondo, another Nquza Hill, another Wonder Hill the shooting quietens: another anthill
My love, did I not gift you a necklace with a wondrous bird pure royal platinum to mark our bond?- was it not the work of the most reckless angel of craft and ingenuity? Was it not pretty? Didn’t the bird have an enticing beak of orange with green tint? Throw it away quickly, tonight it will turn nasty and gouge a shaft into your slender neck And it will hurt because our metals are the hardest- gold, pig iron, manganese yes, platinum Humanity has somehow died in Marikana
What is that uMzimu staring back at us tonight? Darken the mirrors Switch off the moon Asphalt the lakes
At dawn, the driveway to the Master’s mansion Is aflame with flower, so radiant from the superphosphates of bone of surplus oxygen and cash, such flames, such a raw sun such mourning by the shacks that squat in sulphur’s bracken and I wait for the storm, the torrent, the lava of restitution the avenger spirits that blunt the helicopter blades in vain
these also endure: the game and trout fishing of their elective chores the auctions of diamond, art and share the prized stallions of their dreams their supple fingers fingering oriental skins and their silver crystals counting the scalps of politicians in their vault
The meerkat paces through the scent of blood I want it to pace through the scent of blood, she is the mascot, the living totem of the mine’s deep rock, the one who guards the clans from the night’s devil she is there as the restless ghosts of ancestors by the rock-face feeding her sinew and pap
goading her on: the women who have loved the dead alive the homesteads that have earned their sweat and glands impassive nature that has heard their songs the miners of our daily wealth that still defy the harsh landscape of new furies the meerkat endures- torn certainties of class endure the weaver also endures: there- green blankets of our shrouded dreams humanity has died in Marikana
The strike is over The dead must return to work.
----------------- " (written after a tough two weeks and seeing Pitika’s miner sculpture with the green corrugated iron blanket) "
