Sexy Stupid Boy November 5, 2009

I like to post a poem no and again. Fogive me, this is completely inappropriate and irrelevant. Still…

 

I wonder if he knows that I have this crush,
That when he walks past me, my heart races and I get this rush
I thought it was impossible, to make a dark skin black girl blush!
He can do it, with his power to make my panties gush

Forgive me for that comment that was kinda rude
Salacious, sleasy, dirty, and generally quite crude
But I can’t help it; this is how I feel when it comes to this dude
Just the mention of his name is enough to put me in the mood

I can’t be in his presence without giggling and acting silly
And all cos I’m wondering if he knows I’m thinking bout’ his willy
These days I’m thinking bout’ willy like I’m Milli Vanilli
Constantly hot and bothered, despite October weather being chilly

And then it all changes when he opens his mouf,
My attention distracted from what he has down souf,
I’m directed norf to what he has in his head, his brains, what’s goin on up top
“nah man, education is a longting ” signals not a lot.

Copyright Suzette Annan 2009

Are the fine arts a black free zone? November 5, 2009

 

 

 

 

 

 

Aimlessly wondering around South East London one afternoon, I idly found myself at the Tate Modern. With admission free, I thought why not fill up my time doing something a bit cultured, and enjoy some modern art? Walking through the gallery that is home to a multitude of paintings and installations, I became incredibly aware of two features a huge majority of its visitors had in common. One, they were white and two, they were middle class. Making my way though the gallery, I stumbled upon a rare sight: a young man who actually shared my skin tone. He definitely noticed me just like I noticed him. We both looked at each other as if we’d turned up to an event wearing the same T-Shirt. It was almost as if we were wondering what the other one was doing there? As if we were shocked that another black person could appreciate modern art. This got me thinking about Black people’s contribution to the fine arts. Why is it that when it comes to the areas of the arts like dancing and singing (in particular street dance and gospel music) you will find heaps of Africans and Caribbean’s? But when it comes to the fine arts like painting, ballet or theatre dark faces are scarce? I once invited an old acquaintance who is of Jamaican decent to accompany me to the National Portrait Gallery in Charing Cross. Her reply was “what would I want to do that for? It’s just bullshit for pretentious white people”. At first I thought her comment was, using her language bullshit, but now I think it has some substance. There is no doubt that art can be pretentious. The discipline is full of arrogant intellectuals, who all believe they are gifts to humanity because they can throw some acrylic paint on a canvas and earn millions off it. They give the impression that because they express themselves for a living that automatically makes them ‘cool’ (I would say that attitude makes them more cocks then cool but anyway). I guess black people are less involved in the fine arts because they have a lower tolerance of pretentious bullshit than their white counterparts. Black people are no less cultured or intelligent as white people; I think it much more to do with upbringing. Discipline levels in black and white families differ. Black kids are beaten and would not even dare to answer their parents back, whereas white children are encouraged to speak their minds, and some even curse their parents. To an extent white children possess more freedom growing up then than black kids. This sense of freedom is essential to understanding what art is all about in the first place. Back at the Tate Modern I overheard a posh, middle class mother and her little girl who couldn’t have been more than five looking at an abstract piece by Léger. “Mummy, I don’t like it. It’s weird.” The little girl said “Wonderfully weird darling. Wonderfully weird.” The mother replied. Part of me was disgusted by the mother’s comment. Only a pretentious white middle-class hippy type could come out with a comment so vile. Another part of me felt happy that she was encouraging her daughter to acquire an artistic vision. I began to grow tired of the Tate and decided to leave, but the sight of one piece stopped me in my tracks. Trinidadian artist Chris Ofili’s ‘No Woman No Cry’ which is a tribute to the murdered London teenager Stephen Lawrence was arguably the most beautiful painting on display. It was the only painting that consistently had a crowd of keen arty types surrounding it. A black artist breaking through to white majority audience is something to celebrate. Through the amount of heart in ‘No Woman No Cry’, other paintings failed to compare. Black people are creative, talented, colourful and full of heart. This needs to be more apparent within the fine arts.