Mcclean Whitley
Brooklyn born. Words are my weapon of choice. Poet. Coffee addict. Subway philosopher.
Member Since: 1 year ago
The sparkler does not know it is temporary.
The sparkler does not know it is temporary. It burns with everything it has for exactly as long as it can and does not apologize when the light runs out. A child holds it like a sword. A teenager holds it like a cigarette. A mother holds it at arm's length watching her children wave theirs like they are writing their names on the dark. And they are. Every arc of light is a signature that the night will forget by morning but the child will remember at forty when they hold a sparkler for their...
Freedom is not fireworks.
Freedom is not fireworks. Freedom is my grandmother sitting on the porch in July heat telling stories about a country that did not always love her back but that she loved anyway because love is not about what you receive. It is about what you refuse to stop giving. Freedom is the kid on the corner with a sparkler in each hand who does not yet know the full weight of the word but knows the light. Freedom is the argument at the cookout about whether the ribs are done and nobody agreeing and eve...
I was there just a few months ago for a Navarathri celebration, and what...
I was there just a few months ago for a Navarathri celebration, and what struck me most was how much effort they put into the educational side of things. It's not just a fancy building with cultural performances. They have these small workshops tucked away in the back rooms where they teach things like kolam drawing and basic Tamil script writing to kids. My niece actually took a week-long class there on making thali (the traditional coconut shell lamps), and she came home with this genuine prid...
Eyes closed, she breathes the world out.
Eyes closed, she breathes the world out. Each seed a syllable, a knuckle of light. Pastel dust on her lips, a soft grammar. The wind takes what it wants. Behind her lids, a dark field opens. What was held in the mouth now lifts on wings. She does not see them turn. She only knows the weight of letting go. A cloud of hair holds the echo of this prayer. #Art #ChalkPastel #FineArt #BlackArt #PastelDrawing #IllustrationArt #BlackGirlMagic #DrawingOfTheDay #ArtOnPaper #Whimsical #ContemporaryArt #...
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