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154 African Art Fair Paris

Sabodala Riders

Les images dans cette nouvelle série de Djibril Dramé nous font découvrir une résistance, une résilience face aux maux de notre Afrique avec en fond de toile un appel à découvrir de l’or avec lui, même si tout ce qui brille n’est pas or. 

Curated and written by Modou Dieng Yacine.

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Work work !

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#KeyWest #PhotoGraphyFest #Representation

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Album “Darkness At Play” cover for Anais. Universal Music Artist.

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Art visit

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Catch me at the Lincoln Film Center at 8 : 30 PM on Tuesday 22nd

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Hello New York City

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Africa represento

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Drink coffee at a reasonable time

As a result of ingesting absurd amounts of coffee at the wrong time (because what’s good decisions?), I’m very much awake with nothing but time to face myself. At some point during my moment of reading, praying, meditating, and switching between sitting at my desk and the edge of my bed for the 17th time, I started staring at my “vision board”, and feeling this chasm between me and the things I think I want. Here’s this flimsy cardboard, filled with “inspiring words” and photos of other people and their experiences, existing in the same space as me, feeling foreign as fuck. Then it dawned on me that the last time I actually really examined it, was the day I made it, and the last time i truly felt it was never. Next thing I knew, I was (terribly) tearing things off of it and talking to myself (out loud) about how absurd it is to aspire to be other people/live their experiences.

Things removed: People I’m envious of; words that aren’t of my voice; and some other things intentionally or unintentionally torn off because I don’t have the grace to remove things in even cuts.

Following thought: who I am right now, my current experiences, my current occupation, my current physical space- these things matter. I do not have to be anyone else or do anything else in this exact space and time, because this very chapter matters. My fuck-ups matter. My habits matter. My volatility matters. My uncertainty, but also deep-seeded certainty matter. My anxiety + fear matter. My big + tiny triumphs matter. My not knowing what the fuck is next matters. My hate/love/dismay/acceptance of my body matter. My ideas of love, romance, sisterhood, friendship matter. My perception of “home” matters. My (sometimes raggedy, sometimes extra) displays of emotions matter. My views of world affairs, God, the universe matter. My cognitive dissonance matters. My constantly defining, erasing, and redefining myself matters. My presence in all of the spaces I occupy as this identity matters. My non-linear ass growth matters. My own story matters. Otherwise, nothing else does.

I am my contribution to the world.

It’s one thing to be inspired, and another to look to others for how to live, look, be, survive. To model my life, look, success after anyone else’s, is an utter waste of existence.

Basically, when Oprah interviews me for Super Soul Sundays, I want my shit to sound like my own.