Yesterday, I went to the Broad.
This show opened the day after I left in November so I was There first thing Wednesday to check it out.
…With about 150 other bright-eyed and bushy tailed arthead whathaveyous.
It didn’t disappoint.
It actually felt like I was drawn just to see Mark Kelly’s piece.
& to cheese up into the majestic folds of EL Anatsui again, whose work reminds me of lives spent making armour and weaving gold into The Anannke’s robes in my mind’s eye before I’d written a descriptive word about her.
He’s my anchor in there these days, alongside a few other pieces I’ll keep close to my chest. It’s like visiting family beyond families, even though I’m not Ghanaian* in the slightest.
I came out into the olive grove and decided a walk through Bunker Hill was what was needed, doffing my hat at the bits and pieces along its causeways that have always bearhugged me.
By the time I returned to basecamp I felt like I’d walked alot up and out, and had earned the right to lay down lol.
So I gave myself the space to feel wtf I needed to feel for a bit.
When the silt of it weighed heavy in my chest- where it had pooled when I finally laid down- I dragged myself back up into my clouds (mah angelic, front-facing imminent domain sector lol) and then threw my ass down to the gym like Poseidon barreling down from Mount Olympus in IMMORTALS. I then gave myself a cable arm day that devoured all that muck. Used it as fuel.
A new choice, but it really worked.
I was able to eat after that.
Katt Williams “here-here’d” alot last night, too. Realities come to. Not just realizations. New world type shit.
You feel the dawn coming, you know?
Long before the orange reaches up to rub the inky undercarriage of another dark night that refused to dampen my soul.
To wake up easy at 528 today, wandering towards the good in a lighter way was worth what was relinquished to receive it.
Right price, a freedom worth it’s weight in orichalcum.