These Shoes Were Made for...

The more technology invades our lives with impersonal, colorless and "branded" objects, the more value we find in beautiful [handmade wearable art]. In ways we can't always describe, we morn the loss of beauty and sensuousness in a merely functional world. It takes a long time [to make these objects] and the result is something that only time can deliver. ~Tony Cohan in Mexican Textiles: Spirit and Style

Latina magazine recently had a sidebar about a young entrepreneur named Kerry Clarkson Valdivia who commissions Peruvian cobblers to bring to make her line of shoes ideas.

Those of you who visit the link will see that she has some refreshing things to say about what inspired her entre into the fashion industry. For a young woman in her early twenties, she has a keen understanding, it seems, of the appeal of things exotic or unique-- not to mention the price tag that can be put on items possessing these attributes.

This should make folk think a little about how all things created--musical forms, foods, textiles, housewares--have meaning beyond their outer "skins." For example, the African ceremonial mask or Central American rebozo has virtually no meaning if the buyer of it does not respect the culture, traditions and belief systems that gave life to the product. Enduring art is fused, like a Siamese twin, to the handed-down ways that people communicate with God. To borrow a phrase: To love the fruit, we must respect the roots.

(Image copyright J. Watson-Aifah, 2005)

Peace to Maestre Diz

Whether in the form of odes that find their way into some roots-style sambas in Brazil, las ofrendas of Mexico or so many of the other traditional arts, those with souls tied to Latin America have gilded the act of remembering. They are devoted to honoring the living family and remembering the kinfolk hidden behind the veil (Was it Sandra Cisneros who said that for Mexicans the dead aren't gone, they just live--so to speak-- in the next room?). And such a respect there is for teachers!

What I'm driving at is that I came across this interview with Flora Purim where she makes it a point to mention Dizzy Gillespie. Here's a bit of what she had to say:

"If you ever come to my house, there are pictures of [Diz] all over my walls. In the three years I spent singing with the United Nations Orchestra, he taught me so much... He would sit in the back of [the tour bus] with me for several hours telling life stories about his family and things that happened to him. I loved him not just for [what he taught me about music], but I loved him also because he gave me a lot of insight and spirituality..."

Music Carnivals

"Colors of Music" by Nacera Guerin

Ummm. Luciano and Jill Scott and Les Nubians and the astute yout', Lupe Fiasco that so many are raving about-- all performing today at the UCLA Jazz Reggae Fest . Wish I could teleport to it or something :) . Ah, bem...since I've not yet mastered that fine art, I think baby boy and I might hit the Atlanta Jazz Fest to hear Flora and Airto give us um poco de Brasil and the Escovedo family light it up on percussion.

Matt Lauer in Bhutan

Above image from www.barmatours.com.bt

Above image from www.webwombat.com.au

Recently, I watched a video of Matt Lauer with young (elemetary school-age) monks in the country of Bhutan. He and an American woman very familiar with the culture of Bhutan kept speaking, with some amount of envy and astonishment it seemed, about how "happy," how peaceful the people of that country are. As they commented on this, my mind kept circling back to lessons that Eknath Eswaran, Thich Nhat Hanh and K. K. B. Fu-Kiau teach about how inner peace and contentment start with the individual, extend out into the immediate community and into the nation as a whole. It also spoke to how true education involves training a person to live in such a way that they grow a mature and fully-developed soul. I believe this is why in ancient times as well in some of today's indigenous cultures, "school" is logically connected to the places where spiritual rites occur-- be that in the thick of a forest, in a kiva or in the sanctum of a stained glass temple.

Robert Farris Thompson on Daughters of the Dust

Robert Farris Thompson has some insightful things to say about Julie Dash's old film, Daughters fo the Dust. Check out this video clip as well as this fairly new interview with the filmmaker.

If Only...

A friend let me hear Back to Black by Amy Winehouse, and all I could do was shake my head in astonished appreciation. DAMN, can the woman SANG. The tones, the inflections, the utter soul-- I have not heard a voice like hers in many a day. Reminds me a little of one of my favorites, Dinah, and a little of Billie. The thing is, I don't care much at all for Sister Amy's lyrics.

Imagine her teaming with John Mayer, whom I am just as much astounded by and whose songwriting is his especially delicious gift to anyone who takes a moment to listen.


To paraphrase Sister Tanya Stephens: we nuh ready fe that yet!

Rio Carnaval 2007

Image from http://www.beija-flor.com.br/por/01-ABeijaFlor/quadra/quadra_conteudo.htm

Congratulations to the samba school Beija Flor for their victory in this year's Carnaval competition.

Remembering Papa Ed

It has been months since Ed Bradley joined the Great Congregation of Ancestors. A true papi chulo (!!!) and renaissance man, let's take a moment to remember him.

Sarava, Old New Orleans

The memory of things gone is important... Things like old folks singing in the moonlight in the back yard on a hot night or something said long ago. --Louis Armstrong

...and a few word sketches, "old-time stories," in which some of the heart & spirit of the place is preserved:

The Goodness of St. Rocque and Other Stories by Alice Dunbar Nelson (my fav is "The Praline Woman")

He's The Prettiest: A Tribute To Big Chief Allison "Tootie" Montana's 50 Years Of Mardi Gras Indian Suiting (be sure to scroll down and see the pics)

Zion in a Vision: Dream Piece

A scroll on which words are arranged in the shape of a Moorish/Gothic pointy-topped church archway. Around the periphery of this congregation of words is a velvety, dark, star studded sky. In the center of the words are three Rasta-Ethiopian angel singers, not still-life like the words and the stars, but animated, dancing. They are women who look kind of like the I-Threes. They repeat with conviction, " I salute you, Jah." Later brought to mind Garnett Silk song, Zion in a Vision and also big idea, "Zion is a state of mind," reaching toward deep peace within.

Image from http://www.spanishliving.com/regional/arts/artists/art_Rondle.php

Holding On, Letting Go

I've heard people say that having a baby is akin to seeing your heart walk around outside your body. This implies that our children are one of the few things intimately and profoundly ours.
Then there's the Zen-like thing that Sweet Honey in the Rock has sung about: Our children are not our children. Hard pill to swallow, but true that.

I do see my son as the baby that I'm presently responsible for caring for. I am also looking down the road and sending a "prayer covering" to ensure that he becomes a make-it-happen kind of man of vision, confidence, love and humility. I want him to explore both the outer world and the interior of his own mind and soul. Already, my baby boy is well on his way.

As so many made sure to remind me during pregnancy and just after his birth, he's growing so fast! I love to see how strong, determined and alert he is. Always has been. Just that now he's getting coordinated enough to show it. As amazed and proud as I am to see him blossom-- can I be real?-- I hope that the man that he becomes has the same care and concern for his mama as his mama does for him. So, looks like I have the potential to be one of those clingy, pathetic types of mamas. God help us both!

I was watching a program on The Learning Channel last night where a 30-something woman and her silver-haired husband were playing with their infant and marveling at how big he'd gotten in such a short time. This made the woman want to have another baby. I know that feeling. Most women know that tugging kind of urge that starts in some nether-region of the brain and tugs on the heart strings and the fallopian tubes and comes when they see a pregnant woman or a young woman with a trail of young'uns traipsing behind. But even if one has twenty children, at some point all of them are going to grow. And go. What this speaks to is the need for us as parents, as humans, as developing souls to work on lessening our urge to cling, dealing with our fears of being alone. But when we get caught up on our spiritual work we're supposed to discover that we're never really alone, right?

So, now: How can we both nurture and resist our urge to be overprotective, encourage our children to honor their roots, origins and family and yet encourage step confidently out into the world? How do we help them to find their way to the wellspring of power within and gain a sense of community responsibility and inter-dependence?

Here's what one woman has to say:
So The Torah Is a Parenting Guide?

What Does Your God Look Like?

Listening to Giving Birth, Finding Form with Isabelle Allende, Jean Shinoda Bolen and Alice Walker. "What does your God look like?," a woman in the audience asks during the Q&A. So many ways to answer, but perhaps my answer would go something like this:

A peaceful presence
announced by the wind tinkling a chime.
A carnival of raucous spirits
dancing like dervishes at Pentecostalal tent meeting.
A beautiful face hidden behind ninety-nine veils.
Sun, moon, stars.
Deep space and all.
Infinity. Possibility.
Ideas daring to dress themselves
in the finery of matter
The pathway paved by simple words of prayer
leading to the resplendent sanctum of the heart.
The perfect, round symmetry of seasons.
Rain and thunder plus the blooming rose.
The pregnant belly and milk-full breasts.
A heart that alternately celebrates and aches.
The vastness of the ocean
pouring into
the open sky.

Greetings, I Bring

Do something. Even if it’s just a little something, they say. So here I am and here this is though I've gotta admit that I feel a bit tentative about this whole blog thing.

Still, I'm interested in taking a step in the direction of routinely making time for a bit of scribbling, something I've always paradoxically had trouble with, despite long having thought of myself as a writer. Now, though, I'm feeling especially "pressed" to maintain sight of my many interests and passions amidst all that has changed in my life, the best change being my new role as mama to an inquisitive, healthy and beautiful baby boy.

I am motivating myself to embark on this diversionary project-- an outlet for my ever (r)evolving heart and mind--by reminding myself that the missives can be as long as an essay or as short as a word, as intermittent or frequent as I’m able to manage. Choppy as mommy-thoughts can sometimes be. Diffuse, if that's how it comes out. And perhaps, on occasion, coherent and on the mark. Maybe blogs should be looked at as the metaphorical equivalent of the gym-- a place where folks go to work stuff out and get conditioned...

In any case, I might-oughtta take my buttocks to bed, since it's a quarter past three a.m. and the baby has a doctor's appointment in a few hours. More later!