human. stumbling through life. seeking vulnerability. grace. embracing and exploring a sometimes engulfing darkness. stay looking for a truth that feels like home in my black. queer. 31 yr old skin.
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always return to baldwin in times of artistic strife:
the role of the artist, then precisely, is to illuminate that darkness, blaze roads through that vast forest; so that we will not, in all our doing, lose sight of its purpose, which is, after all, to make the world a more human dwelling place.
the state of being alone is not meant to bring to mind merely a rustic musing beside some silver lake. the aloneness which one sees in the eyes of someone who is suffering, whom we cannot help. or it is like the aloneless of love, that force and mystery which to many have extolled and so many have cursed, but which no one has ever understood or ever really been able to control. i put the matter this way, not out of any desire to create pity for the artist-god forbid!-but to suggest how nearly, after all, is his state the state of everyone, and in an attempt to make vivid his endeavor. the states of birth, suffering, love, and death, are extreme states: extreme, universal, and inescapable. we all know this, but we would rather not know it. the artist is present to correct the delusions to which we fall prey in our attempts to avoid this knowledge.
-the creative process
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let me fall | laura mvula
i wait, nervously muddle through you found me here alone; i followed empty dreams for you i wait, out of the folly fields don't try to save me now; i wonder how it feels to be free and i pray, i pray that i would sleep sleep for a thousand years there in your arms won't you let my soul shine like the morning sun? another day has come, so let me be and if i fall, let me fall and if i fall, let me fall i wait, nervously muddle through you found me here alone; I followed empty dreams for years and I and i wait, out of the folly fields don't try to save me now; i wonder how it feels to be free and if i fall, let me fall and if i fall, let me fall and if i fall, let me fall and if i fall, let me fall i can see a fallen angel as she's turned to flowers and the miracle of time no looking back when hope is pushing forward hand in the sky will lead us out of the darkness no looking back when hope is pushing forward hand in the sky will lead us out of the darkness no looking back when hope is pushing forward hand in the sky will lead us out of the darkness no looking back when hope is pushing forward hand in the sky will lead us out of the darkness no looking back when hope is pushing forward hand in the sky will lead us out of the darkness no looking back when hope is pushing forward hand in the sky will lead us out of the darkness no looking back when hope is pushing forward hand in the sky will lead us out of the darkness no looking back, no looking back
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the beginning of any big project always starts with brown paper on a wall. thrilled to be reimagining [black as eye wanna be]! Feb 24th y'all!
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cause sometimes it is of beans in palms weighing good days and bad days fingers crossed eyes closed let the good days be enough let me be enough let me be enough let me be enough let me be enough let me be enough let me be enough let me be enough bare. fucked. low down. let me be enough let me be enough let me be enough for the good days cause i have seen a’many moons
let me be enough let me be enough let me be enough let me be enough to give let me be enough to give let me be enough to give let me be enough to give let me be enough to give let me be enough to give
let me give to be enough
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why i don’t social dance
tonight. i am reminded to be careful what we say to folks we don't know. i found myself on the dance floor for the first time in a while. i found myself. free and following a beat. my own beat. two shots in. and i just wanted to move. i did. playful and smiling and building freedom in a presumed safe space.
silly, silly me.
"i just wanted you to know that you dance really well but you smell bad." and in one sentence. tears pushed against my lids. this man. this body. this smell. it's been a long day. filled with suppressed pettiness. and dance rehearsals and a day job. and now my sweating black body is seeking comfort in movement. yes sir i do smell. it is my smell that in the moment i couldn't own because under your voice is my own. confirming what you said. and andy tells me that if i were a man. or if i was there dancing with a man he wouldn’t have approach me. if i wasn’t a solitary black woman in a heterosexual white mans’ space he wouldn’t have said that to me.
and i, just searching for a single moment. a single space where i can feel completely free. where i can dance with no repercussion. without fear and i am reminded that my freedom. my 5 minutes or 60 minutes of absolute forgetfulness doesn’t exist. i am reminded in my haven. in my city that i am still a smelly brown woman trying to dance to forget. trying to dance to lift the weight of my skin. oh my dear god. grant me freedom. just an ounce.
and it’s silly. if i were po’chop i would’ve told him that he is lucky to have smelled me. that the only reason he feels comfortable enough to approach me and spill those words onto me is because i am a woman. a black women that his systemic soaked patriarchal brain registers as less.
thicker skin i tell myself.
you should know better
who the fuck do you think you are that you deserve a sense of freedom.
who the fuck are you sis?
you are a speck in a sea of fucking suffering
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sometimes u find yourself surrounded by dope artists. amazed and stunned into awe. #vam
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i’ll be returning to my home town. nestled in the bible belt. poplar bluff, mo. to perform for the first time since my adolescence. they requested a bio and an image to promote my performance. this is the image, taken from show-me burlesque festival 2016 by carrie meyer/insomniac studios. below is the short bio i sent to them.
i have answered to many names. you know me as jennifer harris dailey. since leaving poplar bluff. i’ve studied many dance forms. from modern and african to what i now do as my profession, burlesque. i am known across this country as po’chop. the meat so sweet even vegetarians want to take a bite. i have won grants,received numerous standing ovations, traveled from new orleans and new york. to st. louis and atlanta. i have taught and encouraged folks to celebrate their light. and though many know me only as po’chop. my name is now jennifer freeman. i still carry the person you created in my chest. my work is a direct reflection of the love given from my family and community nestled in poplar bluff. there are no words to express my excitement and deep honor that comes with returning to poplar bluff to dance and share. i will be performing a unique style that blends modern dance, african and hip hop to tell a story of struggle and victory. this is the aspect of christmas that has resonated within me. the coming of light found in a distant star, in the midst of great darkness.
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nothing new. just out here. serving all stank face and zero fucks. at the clue edition of clipper cabaret.
shout out to Lucy Wieczorek for capturing all of my foolishness.
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ive made darkness my home. believing in nothing but its endlessness. but a needle of light found me. illuminating a power. a force that i can only name as love. #theroux photo by #royguste (at Cafe Istanbul NOLA)
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Tattered and stained. Time and tales. Promises and lies. Grit and anger. i have a chest of stories. mine. told on stages and under hot lights. Costumes are a reflection of time. Rarely updated. Rarely washed. Ripe. Aged.
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