Category Archives: Art
Windrush #windrushtreasurechest installation
Yes, let’s resume blogging on WordPress. Daily or weekly updates!! Put into searchable categories, utilise existing site instead of building a new Wix website from scratch!!!?!?! 🎓🤣🤔
Graduating on Wed, yay!! Got a distinction in my MA and have gone on to start PhD studies last October ! Woo hoo!!!
Yoruba Culture & Artistic practices!! So now where are the tags, and hashtags, etc🤣🤣🤣
Im tired of the charade that guises under the umbrella of “church” seemingly the last place you will find “love” these days, where your light, you fuel, with bellows you keep alight yet still the “church” constantly dim. You pray, you cry, you dance, you sing, no matter what you do, if you dare to be different and not conform, you get persecuted from the very ones who dine with you!! Alas, the usual response, the familiar response, skilfully used by the rod of abuse. Blame shifting, quote a scripture, blame the victim, justify your action. Cite an example from the assemblage of books. Judas, Brutus, betrayal, what do you expect, etc, etc
I’m tired of the charade that guises under the umbrella of “church” where love stands at the door and knocks!
© Lara Rose 25/11/16
THE CHILD SAID, “I DON’T WANT TO BE THE PARENT ANYMORE!”
What is it with so called peeps who have been brought up in so called happy, normal family settings always looking down their noses at us so called misfits, orphans, bastard children like it was any fault of ours that we were born! In spite of how hard we work and fight to stay alive we still get the sense of “abnormalcy” and the feeling of being a fraud around these “perfectly” nuclear family types who constantly gloat about, “my mummy this, my sister that”, “we’re having a family outing this, ooo its grandmas 80th that”
And if that’s not enough, the constant having to either explain yourself or make up a fictional family story at Xmas for example so you don’t seem odd for not, “going home for Xmas!” Even more annoying is when a well wisher choses to have an opinion about your so called “biological” parents and jumps to defend them, “ooo it must have been difficult for them, or it must have been hard for parents to have conversations, etc!”
Ok, stop with the making excuses for irresponsible, abusive parents for crying out loud and think of the child and how difficult it was and still is for the child! You say you don’t understand but you never want to ask or learn from the child! Ask me if you don’t understand and stop using the “no one is perfect” excuse as an excuse to constantly re-abuse the child!! I’m sorry it doesn’t wash with me anymore!!!
Enough is enough, I’m tired of being the parent to my incubator and her other incubates. I’m tired of having to be cautious not to distress so called “normal” people by having to dumb down my story so as to be agreeable to you! I’m tired of people who want to be friends but only on their terms. I can tell you now it’s not gonna work, once I get real, yes, you probably won’t be able to handle the real me. And yes, it’ll explain why you’d get offended when I say, I DON’T TRUST YOU, cos I don’t just trust anybody anymore!
Excerpt from Solangu’s Tale By Sola Sofunde (C) 2016
I don’t know what is wrong with me so I don’t know how to fix me.
I don’t know who I am or where I belong in order to find the tribe of people who will completely and unconditionally accept and understand me.
From church organisations, educational institutions to musical or artistic explorations;
From African visitations, family expectations to globetrotting expeditions;
Historical lectures of torturous pasts, stories and tales of glorious kingdoms don’t last;
I still don’t know what is wrong with me, so I can fix me.
Redemption promise, washed in blood,
Why blood, why so much blood?! 😞
Brown, black, beige or orange.
Eniyan dudu, eniyan pupa, kilode?
Oh, Africa, I do not know what is wrong with me, so I can fix me.
Is it my muddied dirty skin?
Is it my tangled bushy thorny hair?
Is it the unholy liason with the fathers who steal my dignity over and over again?
Is it the casting away of her daughters, oh motherland?
Are you so ashamed of me, does my visage disgust you?
I do not know what is wrong with me so I can fix me;
Is it because I pray in a foreign tongue?
Are the gods angered that I turn my back on them?
Does the god of Iron despise the god of Abraham?
Are they at war with each other?
Oh, Abba Father, how will the truth be revealed?
Oh, what is wrong with me, so I can fix me?
Don’t know who I am, what I am! Church tells me I am a child of God, a holy priesthood and such lofty ideals;
Yet still like a stranger, imposter I feel in the midst of the congregation.
Oh why, oh why, oh, be at peace for now oh troubled soul.
I do not know what is wrong with me, so I can fix me!
© Lara Rose 2016
Written as part of my end of term assignment APD Leeds Beckett university.