Heritage Day

Today is my last day

 

I manage to crawl off the bed that ceased to be coupled almost a decade ago

then land in my still relatively tiny bathroom, though my own physique seems to be shrinking by the second now

I look up at my reflection and I realise the purpose of mirrors

There is a headline,

my face

wrinkled and grey beneath its letters seems to unfold like an over ripe flower without ever having been touched

it says;

Heritage Day

I shuffle along until I trip over the now almost dry white board marker and I begin the list:

One: I inherited the dark lines of deceit off my mother’s core

Two: I learned how to live with being a liar

Three: I came as a foreign being full of love

Four: I was denied love but I’m still leaving filled with only those four letters

Five: Life was beautiful though the darkness is always the beginning of a new story

Six: I inherited the art

Seven: I will never forget

 

I rinse myself off and decide that it would be better to leave full of hope

After all

3 months before they expected me I was ready

13 years before I was

they weren’t

my family

 

The wardrobe whispered the call of majesty

I obeyed my longing eyes

past the dioors and my goodbye suit

I found the two letter phrase barely in disguise and I remembered why

Heritage day:

One: I learned how to judge myself better than anyone had ever judged me

Two: It wasn’t always sunny

Three: How to fake the smile through heartache

Four: How to cause the same

Five: My clothes are cheap

Six: I am unworthychocolat_l

Seven: I knew this each time we made eye contact… after all; we are self proclaimed judges

 

So neat, tidy and fresh I walk towards the lonely seat and the non functional tv

and on the top right hand corner of the screen

A phrase in white paint screams out at me

Heritage Day:

One: My skin colour murdered my first love

Two: I inherited the skill of not caring much for those attributes

Three: My father Died of a broken heart

Four: You saved mine

Five: Our life was puzzled together by vibes and muted sentences

Six: In the end, my quirks were irrelevant and your were my indica

Seven: I fell eternally asleep with the very thoughts that days and nights before had always haunted me.

 

Palm on palm now

My eye lids find their space

No tears left in me

My heritage day is eternal

and I only grew to know that the moment I looked into you!

 

 

 

 

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Your own… Personal… DADA!

“Anti-Art” were the words used by Hans Richter to describe the movement that was DADA. This was because the movement was the complete opposite to art and DADA went against everything that art stood for.

Where art was based on traditional aesthetics and such; DADA ignored tradition and aesthetics.This was the reaction of the creative population towards World War 1. ‘Anthem for Doomed Youth’ by Wilfred Owen almost immediately springs to mind when pondering upon the rise of DADAISM.Throughout his struggle to keep alive, Owen created a lot of his own kind of DADA. Now we need  not get confused since the movement included mainly: visual arts, literature, poetry, art manifestoes, theatre, graphic design and many more.

DADA is not limited… the point is that there are no rules, a total artistic freedom.

Postmodernism, Pop Art and a lot of other lovely things indirectly sprung from this movement. Figuratively, this was the breath of fresh air after the war, the knitted pieces of broken people recreating what had been lost to them in the kind of silence that screamed at the rest of the world.

It is said that one of the origins of DADAISM is associated with the Cabaret Voltaire in Zurich…[for more on that visit: http://www.dada-companion.com/cabaret/].

Enough of the theory… this blog is about personal DADA.

All our routine activities have the potential to be more enjoyable, beautiful and artistic. Brushing your teeth, making your bed, making breakfast… eating that breakfast, the way we walk, talk and act… those are all routine habits that one could easily begin to appreciate and enjoy more if we actually put ourselves into them…

Try using the back of the toothpaste tube to apply the paste to your brush… or humming the Adams Family theme song while you do it or sing ‘ This Is Hallolween’ if it will make you feel more cheerful. Living life can be as wonderful as painting is to those who (like myself) are no good at it. There are no rules when it comes to being yourself .

Many people may not even be sure as to who they are, and even then I say: Make your own, personal DADA. I must add that your own kind of DADA does not necessarily have to be cheerful if that is not who you are or how you feel… Once again there is complete freedom to create any form of art inspired by any and every emotion that one goes through. I for one have a different walk when I am sad as opposed to when I am happy. I do things differently when I am in a different mood and to an extent everyone does, only we do not really notice it.

Try picking up  the empty coke can the next time you walk down the road… think about what your kind of DADA with regards to this can would be. Throwing it into the nearest bin by the way also counts! The next time you go shopping try buying something that you would feel totally comfortable in and try not think about what it looks like but rather if it is the kind of the thing you could sit in/wear/sleep in for days at a time if needs be.

Try sprinkling a bunch of mint leaves on your pizza the next time you order one.

Eat DADA, draw DADA, write DADA… live DADA.

Be different by being you… whoever said that you cannot be goth,hippie, religious and gay all at the same time? You can be a nerd and still be cool and vice versa. There are no rules and no impossibilities; I often say how I wish people would stop adding the word to the dictionaries.

I was always fashionably in trouble when I was in high school. I broke the rules that did  not suit me, but always in such a way that I never really got into any kind of trouble for my actions. I often disagreed with my teachers and I would get away with it because in the end we would have a factual debate and often I’d come up with a better argument.  I never really had any real friends at school and yet most people knew me. I was the gay, fashionably rebellious, soft, caring and friendly girl with the strangest sense of style and the nerve to wear a mow-hawk on school grounds (or so I’ve been told). I wrote essays that my teachers never really enjoyed reading but had to give me credit for regardless. Yet I loved my school and my teachers, so much so that I want to go back to the place as a teacher and hopefully one day I will create one such establishment of my own.

My ultimate form of DADA would be to teach it in an institution for the alternative and traditional arts, languages, sciences etc.

Possibility means scope and variety and the space to mess up and try again without having to erase or rewind. There is so much more I wanted to say… I guess I’ll have to come back to it.

Until then…

Make good (DADA) art!