Lyric Prince Harris - Blog Etc

Looking Back, on What Will Be

9/9/2022

As an artist, I think a great deal about what kind of materials I use, and why.

Sometimes, paper is the best way I choose to express myself. Other times, I draw with pen, pencil, and charcoal. Still others are painted merely with the tone of my words. Overall, I think such variety gives me and the art that I do life and complexity.

Below is an example of what I mean. Check out cutouts, paint, and pencil, all done by me, taking a few weeks to pull all together. David's crystal element in the extreme foreground completes the image.

In the image above, I mix in bodypaint, found materials, paper, and acrylic to create a set of objects; I add myself in, and I become a part of a larger collage. My husband adds his own spin, documenting in his way. All of these things, separate, are merely objects or circumstance; together, it becomes art.

Grandma’s Birthday— some memories

2/2/2022

About Grandma: I think about the times we’d cook together, which was a lot. She taught me everything, and I mean everything. I wasn’t that good of a student, and there are still some things that I’ll never make like she did, the bread rolls chief among them. However, I was pretty good with cakes because I would follow the recipe instructions, the science, while she did the flair and the art of making the ham, turkey, or whatever else taste good. She actually could draw flowers really well, and she made me a picture once, of some irises and lilies, first learned when she was in grade school during the Depression. She had to leave after the sixth grade, to help on the family farm and to get hired out to pick on others, and later to get married to my grandfather at 16. He was 27.

I think.

There was this one poem that she would recite to me all of the time:

As a rule, man is a fool,
When it's hot, he wants it cool;
When it's cool, he wants it hot,
man always wants it, when it’s not.

One of my fondest recurring memories of my grandmother is her reciting that poem, over the stove, frying whatever that day. She’d always wonder what if she chose the path that wasn’t love and obligation (first to her parents, then to my grandfather). There’s no way to really tell, but she did still become a nurse, so that’s nice. Especially for that time.

I couldn’t bring myself to cook for years after she died.

happy Birthday, Grandma!

A short story series: Check Back Soon!

1/18/2022

So, quick update: I'm working on a short story series. It'll include people from all walks of life, finding their way to God and themselves in unexpected ways. Exciting stuff! Stay tuned.

Here's an excerpt from one story...

Reunion

It was Thursday, and Mark didn't feel like going home yet. Having spent hours on the road, promoting whatever new pill the others on the board told him to, all the greasy dinners he took doctors to after signing every new contract, took a toll on his gut.

But on Thursdays, he and the others from Lodge 38 would sit down, play pool, smoke some Camels, talk shit about their lives. It was a ritual, bonding them through their kids’ graduations, their promotions, their new cars and houses.

Mark’s oldest friend, Max, said that night, ”My wife is giving me hell about going to this massage place, again. I keep telling her that nothing ever happens and keep out my business, but she doesn't listen to anything I say.”

”You gotta plan your life out better, ” Terry, another one in the club, said while setting up the rack on the pool table. His gut got in the way a little bit; he tucked his shirt in deeper behind his belt, pushed the balls a little more to the center.

Hm...What do these guys end up doing? Or seeing later that night?

All will be revealed in due time!

------End of Excerpt------

Deeper Shades

5/10/2021

Often, I think we hide behind all sorts of devices, like masks, that conceal the power that we actually have inside. Sometimes, these masks are intended to protect us- kind of like the very large mask that is at my back, like wings. Other masks serve simply to hide us, make it a little harder for the other to see the underside of who we are.

Made with thinking of all my fellow Black Skins that are compelled to wear White masks every day.

Tribe or People? How to Describe the Various Groups of Africa

3/23/2021

During Black History Month, I polled the question:

Should one use "tribe" or "people" when talking about individual ethnic groups in Africa?

I'm going to request that only Black people respond to this. Thanks!

Basically, how to focus on the people, rather than the mere idea, of Africa?

The responses I received were mixed, but not in the way I expected. Two African people that responded said "tribe", others from the diaspora said "people". I remember having a similar conversation with Dr. Oyeronke Oyewumi a few months ago, where she said that she preferred "people", because the association of the word "tribe" tended to otherize Africans instead of defining them as the "people" they actually are. That is a paraphrase, by the way.

For comparison's sake, I asked a Native American friend whether he was okay with the word "tribe" or not. He expressed that he, in fact, preferred it. And so it goes.

One response, however, remains my absolute favorite. Someone direct messaged me after the poll closed with the option of "Nation". Think of that. Instead of just a band, we are organized, we are powerful, sovereign unto ourselves.

Indigenous Native Americans use "nation" in that context, to indicate a larger confederacy of tribes that have a similar language and set of customs. I wonder how it would be if African peoples of different tribes decided to do the same.

The bodypainted photo is from a fond memory with artist Kitakiya Dennis. It reminded me of this question somehow. Enjoy!

Looking back on Free Draw and Dream

3/17/2021

Zooming in on "Beauty"

2/24/2021

I honestly didn’t realize the true appearance of my face until my photographer partner, David Harris, shot it a month ago. Contrasted with my iPhone selfie, it looks like a completely different person, when it’s really just a different camera.

The selfie is from an aprox. 22mm lenses, while the bodypainted shot was done with an 85mm, which is also about the same focal length that a human eye can see. I stared at the 85 mm for hours, just wondering how I didn’t realize that I actually looked like this, that my mirror wasn’t lying to me after all.

And I still struggle-to not criticize myself. To say that my nose is fine, instead of it’s damaged by a childhood accident and it’s too big. That my skin, with its spots, is still beautiful. That I am enough. That I am worthy.

For anyone reading this, as a femme, Black, and disenfranchised by any of the million ways that America fights against you...I see you. You are beautiful. You are valid. And the only thing that really matters is how well you can actually see yourself. And sometimes, you need friends and those who love you to hold up a mirror. As for those who can’t see your true face, and never can, then leave them in the dust. Your perspective is valid. And theirs, with this deliberate misunderstanding of who you really are, is not.

Ain't The "King" a "Woman"?

2/17/2021

Sometimes, the “king” is a “woman.” Also, what exactly is a “single mother”? When you really think about it, does that phrase even make sense?

One of the most healing things I’ve ever learned, from Yoruba sociologist Oyeronke Oyewumi (pictured below) is that the term “single mother” is nonsense, because the mother’s role in matrifocal Africa is defined by the existence of her child, not through the presence of her sex partner. I wish I knew that when I grew up with my own mother, who raised me with the help of family and the grace of God.

Another thing I’ve learned is that with the cultures I profiled, frequently, “the king was a woman.” In other words, hierarchy, not gender, denoted rank. And gender itself? It defined reproductive roles, but little else.

In the slideshow above, you see Oyewumi, a dyad from the #APerfectPower show (which was possibly made by an artist named Kaseya Tambwe Makumbi) and some of my thoughts in between about the show itself.

I hope that I will continue to learn about the people, gods, and countries that I briefly discuss in this review. Thanks to Rebekah Kirkman and Cara Ober for editing.

Photos from social media networks, publicly available on Instagram.com.

Before/After Photo- of What?

2/3/2021

Can you tell what I’ve altered?

If you can/can't, that's the point. Since you weren’t a part of making this image, you can't see it all like me*, or how the photographer David Harris can. The same problem/solutions exist with rituals and ancestral memory, I think. What to keep? What was thrown away by colonialism, internal pressure, or just through the passage of time itself? Or are these things from our past sometimes erased to make things better?

I have yet to see an African art show that addresses any of these questions. So, to make do, I’ve decided on piecing together a recreation of my own-is one side all original? All fake? Hard to say. I won’t pretend that I have any of the Orishas’ blessings with this, but I did pray for ancestral guidance before this shoot. I hope that’s enough.

I just started a new page, just for this project http://www.lyricprince.com/wapapo.html). Enjoy.

*Yes, I said what I said 😉

Black Skins, New Masks

1/18/2021

During the last few months, my research into indigenous cultures of Africa and America has slowly forced me to examine myself as an artist and person. Who am I and what are my influences?

I’ve never gotten a dna test, but many of my friends have. Their results vary in percentages of African and European, with a smidge of Native; their tribal breakdowns are scattered all across Nigeria, Senegal, Guinea, or elsewhere. A little bit of Fulani, a smattering of Luo, and more people, places, and descriptions in between.

The slave trade has erased what Black people here know about Africa; also, colonialism has eroded a lot of what we know about the traditions and practices around masks in Africa. What ceremonies were they used for, pre-contact? Why, in 9/10 of cases, don’t we know the artist’s name? What inspiration can I get from a subject that I know little about but need to know about-my origins?

One way for me to cope with such a huge amount of erasure regarding my lineage is making and performing in my masks. Another is to find and gain inspiration from the artists that I can find the names for, and learn about culture in that way.

The mask in the second panel was made by Abdul Aziz Mohamadu, selling his original artwork on Novica.com. My masks are made of paper; Mohamadu makes his from wood. The mask is named “Inido,” which is “beautiful” in Igbo. According to Mohamadu’s page, this type of mask can be a courting gift or worn by man to show how he feels about a woman. Even more fun, this Igbo/Nigerian mask was made in Ghana.

While celebrating Dr. King, who has been mythologized away from his more controversial political beliefs, I want to do my own part of corrective attribution. Too often, I think the object and their meanings are separated from the physical bodies of those that wore them in the name of classification, defeating the pursuit of wholistic knowledge. The ancestors that made our oldest masks may not be known, and the dances or songs that went with some may be lost, but that’s not true for all of them. I would love to see an African art show that explores attribution and memory more throughly.

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