Sitting in a dark corner of a Brooklyn café with her back facing the audience, Diana Reyes reaches for a slender paintbrush and carefully dips it into a vibrant shade of blue. A local poet recites one of her favorites from Audre Lorde, giving thanks to all women of the world in every shade and size. A soothing blend of jazz and soul music emanates from two speakers in the opposite corner. As the crowd listens to the poet, Diana’s brush has, in a short span, created a black silhouette of a woman whose hair reaches out to the sun and sky. The frame almost emerges from the canvas, set against a blend of pastel blue, sexy pink and luminous yellow. As the poet closes, the audience diverts its attention to the woman in the corner, in awe that what was once a blank, white board is now a painting that comes alive and speaks volumes in its creation.

It wasn’t unusual for the 26-year-old Canadian native to pursue a career in painting. Her father, now a retired artist from the Philippines, made a living from it as well. But, after falling short in selling his work, he retreated to a life of “normality,” giving up his passion for art and instead working to earn a blue-collar living. Reyes, also known under the moniker Fly Lady Di, knows she has a knack for drawing an audience into her work and appearance. Though a quiet soul, she shines through her outrageous dress, usually donning colorful 80s eye wear and a multitude of colors in shirts and dresses. Although her father’s fire slowly dimmed over the years, Reyes passion and persistence to drive her art into the heart of urban New York ignited.

SM: You recently said that art, in general, is a derivative of pain. How much of your personal pain is reflected in your work?

DR: My art is used as an outlet. I’ve been saying recently that every painting is like a window into my thoughts, my soul, my love – everything. I don’t like to censor myself and one of my goals this year was to be more full and honest in my work. When it comes to art, it’s always been that way. I think that drives it harder to come out. It gives me a focus like none other. I channel everything through art and dance. I also like to say that my paintings are like poems I can’t write down and songs I can’t sing. It’s my way of expressing – and there’s no better way to put this – what I feel inside.

SM: What’s your earliest experience of knowing that you wanted to become a painter?

DR: One of my first memories as a child was watching my father at the dinner table paint. He was also going to night school at the time. And I remember thinking, ‘That’s what I want to do.’ Frida Kahlo said in her autobiography that she watched her dad paint and knew as a child that that would be her someday. And I thought the same thing.

SM: Is your father still in the Philippines?

DR: No, he’s in Toronto. He’s been there for the past 30 years.

SM: What made him lose his passion for painting?

DR: He got laid off and then he got depressed and never pursued it again. He doesn’t have a tough skin; he sort of succumbs to the circumstance. He doesn’t fight to get out of it – unlike myself.

SM: So, where do you get your confidence?

DR: I’m just really hungry to create!

SM: Do you think part of that motivation is being surrounded by like-minded people in New York?

DR: My reason for being here, ultimately, is to pursue these things. There is a great support system and inspiration here. And you have resources like a motha! It’s just a great breeding ground for art to emerge.

SM: How do you balance dancing and painting? Are you still dancing?

DR: Right now, I’ve left dancing alone for a while because art has consumed so much. I became inundated with all these projects and a lot of people were interested. It gave me a momentum to push my art even further. I thought, ‘Why not try to capitalize off it?’ I’m also trying to make a name for underground art and women of color, especially in live painting. There are other live artists out there, but we have a strong collective in New York City.

SM: Do you think some of your best work is done through live painting or at home?

DR: To be honest, my best work is something that took several months to complete. The journey within the painting itself is definitely a part of the finished project. But, I also enjoy live painting. Some of the work I’ve done live has even impressed me.

SM: How do you get into the moment?

DR: When someone asks you to paint live, you’re aware of the all circumstances. There’s going to be loud music, crazy lighting, and it may not be organized, so you have to adapt to those situations. I try to think of ideas ahead of time. I always like to have a visual concept in mind prior to starting because distractions are plenty. It’s almost like chaos.

SM: What were some of your struggles when you came to New York?

DR: It’s a funny story with me and New York. I first came here to pursue dance and then I got held back a year in Toronto. I wasn’t able to come back to the States for a year and when I came back, I took a year to build a foundation and get acquainted with New York and how to survive. The thing I struggle with the most, is that [live painting] is so new to people and they don’t really know what it takes to get your canvas and paint in a club and then start painting, and then have to find a way home afterward with a canvas. They don’t realize that we need money from it – for supplies and transportation. All of these are conditions that people just aren’t aware of.

SM: So, do you consider yourself to be a pioneer in live painting and introducing it to New York City?

DR: Definitely not. It was being done before I got here. But when I got here, I just became one of the front runners. People like Sean Bono puts together art battles and he brought it to MTV as well. Concep, who is a good friend of mine, was the first person I knew who did live painting.

SM: Who are some of the artists (old and new) that inspire you?

DR: Ibrahim, Concep and Picasso. I definitely feel like a part of him [Picasso] lives inside of me. And Frida Kahlo for sure!

SM: Do you get your inspiration from Frida in regards to using all of the vibrant colors?

DR: You know, the colors just come to me – it’s almost like they pick themselves. I almost don’t want to take responsibility for what I create. It’s a mystical, transcendental experience when you’re in front of the canvas and it feels as though God is creating my work – not me.

To view more of Fly Lady Di’s art, visit http://www.myspace.com/flyladydi

fly began performing poetry eight years ago, but there isn’t a questionable doubt that she wasn’t born to be on stage. Her work focuses on cultural and feminist values, a complexity of African-American and African heritage, and liberation equated to the freedom of being gay. She has performed in over 25 cities across the U.S. and a multitude of universities. She has also organized and launched two independent national poetry tours in 2005 and shared stages with Amina Baraka, Bonfire Madigan, Sharon Bridgforth, Staceyann Chin, climbing poeTree, DJ Kuttin Kandi and Hanifah Walidah. Her latest work will be {Volcano’s Birthrights}, a one-woman show debuting in September in New York City, which will be a personal inflection into her 28-year-old life, addressing the issues of race, class, gender, sexuality, war, imperialism, love, self-esteem and family.

SM: Was your first passion writing poetry or were you always a performer?

YE: I’ve been writing since I was nine years old. I was teased a lot, so I created these little stories and scenarios and then wrote about them. It just felt good doing it. When I went to Oberlin College, I set up a show for myself and there were about 200 people that came out. When I left Oberlin, I knew performing was something that spoke to my heart.

SM: How have the issues in Nigeria shaped who you are as an American?

YE: I often tell people that I’m straddling with one foot in Nigeria and one in New York. I’m African and our values, sense of community and where we call home lies in Nigeria. The food I cook, the way I look at the world – all those things. And it’s really ironic, in a sad way, that some Africans come to America for a better education and a better life, but those opportunities are not available in their homeland because Europeans came and took that away. And yes, I’m in this country to access these amazing resources; however, I miss home and people who look like me.

Part of my identity now is to create and build a home wherever I am — whether I’m in Nigeria or not. And sometimes, when I’m in Nigeria, people see me as American. So, it can be awkward to say I miss home and when I go there, I don’t fit in.

SM: How does your family feel about you being an ‘out’ lesbian?

YE: My family doesn’t know that I’m out at this point. My mom knows and she just wants me to be happy, so there’s no issue with that.

But, I don’t consider myself to be a lesbian. I’m a dyke. I think lesbian is a word that is easily digestible for people. It fits in people’s mouths easier than dyke. To me, dyke has more ridges and it’s raw. And that’s how I feel. The word that matches my sexuality and sensuality has to be that. A lot of people think that it’s a curse word – and it is, depending on how you use it. Dike was a Greek goddess who had a female partner and that’s how it started. Then, it turned into something negative. But, I claim it as that – a goddess who loves goddesses.

SM: Is that a fear for you – not coming out to the rest of your family? Or is that something that you will do eventually?

YE: I don’t know because Nigeria has some of the most intense laws in regards to homosexuality. I don’t know how my brothers, aunts and uncles feel about the issue. But, I highly doubt they have this pro-dyke sentiment. I am afraid that they will disown me and I’m very close to them. And it’s harder because I’m not there physically, so when I do go home, I don’t want them to say that.

SM: You recently did a show about domestic violence in lesbian relationships and violence against women in general. Is domestic violence in lesbian relationships something that has become more prevalent in recent years?

YE: Violence happens period. I think that’s the first thing I have to say because when we’re talking about LGBT relationships/issues, you have to think about gay bashing and the humanity of LGBT folks constantly being desecrated and the government not wanting to help our brothers and sisters, let alone assist us in our desire for health care and marriage. We’re so busy fighting for other issues that this particular one can be easily overlooked. I think it’s really important that we don’t tolerate it and we need to hold each other accountable because these are things that are happening to people.

SM: Since you started writing as a way of expressing your personal feelings, is that something you continue to draw from?

YE: They are so related that it cannot be detangled, you know? My family still lives in Nigeria and if they can’t eat, that affects me. If they’re bombing Iraq, that affects me. It’s all interconnected. I think a lot of times, people distance themselves from the political because they think they can’t do anything to change it. For example, I talk about health insurance. I went to undergrad and grad school for a bit and I don’t have health insurance. Why is that? It’s like the government is telling you, ‘Oh, no health insurance? Go somewhere and die.’ Poetry gives me an opportunity to break everything down and explain it better.

Last year during my first trip to the Big Apple, I had the pleasure of meeting 25-year-old Alicia Boone at three a.m. on the two train headed toward Brooklyn. It was a chance meeting — one of mutual respect and a refreshing sense that young people here were making ‘art their business.’ She spoke excitedly of her first event for So Live! Arts Movement (SL!AM), a non-profit organization which showcases independent artists at local venues and provides educational resources to manifest their dreams into a profitable business.

Two years strong, SL!AM has hosted a variety of shows and panel discussions and workshops from Solomon’s Porch to Pratt University. Boone is still in awe of the blossoming talent that emerges from her Bed-Stuy borough. Her warm, generous spirit brings a ray of optimism and hope that is unmatched in a community that receives most of its accolades from living a hard knock life. When asked about her goals, she is chatty and giddy – reminiscent of the days when children just knew they could be anything. Well past those days, Boone firmly believes that she, as well as the artists that she represents, still can.

SM: What was the premise for starting SL!AM?

AB: In 2004, I moved to NYC and I was introduced to the independent artists’ community. After working with singers like Maya Azucena, ONESELF, Honey Larochelle, and with the soul music series the Blowout Lounge, I realized that there was a need for an avenue for artists to have access to pursuing their passion full-time. One of the ways I thought I could contribute to that was by providing a space where artists could gain the business and financial skills I saw missing. Finally, after years of working with such artists, doing promotions, and producing shows, I branched off and pursued my vision for So Live! Arts Movement. I started off with the SL!AM Sessions, a multimedia arts showcase with live music, fashion design, and art. However, while the first SL!AM sessions was not a multimedia event, it was a great start and very inspiring for not only the people that came, but also the people that worked to get it there.

SM: Who are the other board of directors and what are their roles?

AB: Kanako Haji, Director of Music and International Relations, is originally from Japan and has a background in music, business, and marketing. Ashley Mui, the Business Development/Fashion Director, is originally from the Bay area and has a background in styling, music, and media. Tamika Brown is the Creative Production Director from Queens, N.Y., and has a background in art, music, management, and comedy. Diana Reyes (Fly Lady Di) is our first SL!AM-sponsored artist originally from Toronto and has a background in dance, media, art, graphic design and communications.

SM: How are you specifically giving back to inner-city schools and what are independent artists gaining from being a part of SL!AM?

AB: Well, we currently work with universities and have independent business and finance panel discussions. We also combine art and music with our education classes. Artists that work with us gain an amazing amount of business development support, a chance at our unique sponsorship opportunities (art supplies, online marketing, and business support), and investment opportunities. Right now, we have one artist on our roster. We will be scouting this year for other exceptional artists that will be successful at making art their business and will be a positive representation of SL!AM, as well as an inspiration to other artists and the schools we work with.

SM: During your business workshops, what are some of the key points you emphasize in order for artists to ‘make art their business?’

AB: We emphasize the importance of time management, online marketing, how other artists are advancing in their field, social responsibility, how to keep your integrity as an artist, and how to manage yourself as a business and an artist.

SM: Since the inception of SL!AM, what is the most memorable experience you’ve had?

AB: The whole experience is memorable — like carrying a baby for nine months and you finally get to see it! A special memory for me was when the band HEAVY brought the audience on stage for the last song of their set for one of the SL!AM Sessions. Our goals this year include having a series of workshops around New York City to build our roster of artists and to market ourselves to a wider audience. The chemistry of all the artistic mediums coming together in this city is pure magic.

Late on the first Tuesday evening of June, I sat in the middle of my living room two feet away from my television with my arms wrapped tightly around my knees, tucking them into my chest. I leaned forward with the anticipation of a five-year-old child, anxiously awaiting the theme song to their favorite cartoon. But, unlike the fictional characters with whom I expected to spend my Saturday morning television time with as a child, on the night of June 3, I waited patiently to see a real figure who, before this year, had yet to materialize into the realm of reality. I waited to hear the acceptance speech from the first African-American to win the presidential nomination of a major party.

While this history-making accomplishment was enough reason for any American to be glued to the television that night, most of my anticipation centered around an eagerness to listen to the first presidential candidate in my short voting tenure who is refreshingly articulate, exceptionally candid and unapologetically intelligent. As Obama concluded yet another eloquent oration to the resounding applause of thousands of supporters, my mind began to entertain a notion that had become increasingly prevalent as the Democratic primary began to fully develop and Obama’s bid for the party’s nomination became less of an ambitious senator’s aspiration and more of a reality.

Is Barack Obama too intellectual to win the presidency?

The first time that I began to accept this suggestion as a viable obstacle for Obama’s presidential campaign came after I heard Senator Obama address one of our country’s most socially dividing topics in the most directly honest and intellectual manner as any politician has addressed an issue since President John F. Kennedy’s speech on his religion. Responding to the criticism of his relationship with the controversial Reverend Jeremiah Wright and his affiliation with Wright’s Chicago-based Trinity Baptist Church, Obama stated:

“…Like other predominantly black churches across the country, Trinity embodies the black community in its entirety — the doctor and the welfare mom, the model student and the former gang-banger. Like other black churches, Trinity’s services are full of raucous laughter and sometimes bawdy humor. They are full of dancing and clapping and screaming and shouting that may seem jarring to the untrained ear. The church contains in full the kindness and cruelty, the fierce intelligence and the shocking ignorance, the struggles and successes, the love and, yes, the bitterness and biases that make up the black experience in America.

And this helps explain, perhaps, my relationship with Reverend Wright. As imperfect as he may be, he has been like family to me. He strengthened my faith, officiated my wedding, and baptized my children. Not once in my conversations with him have I heard him talk about any ethnic group in derogatory terms, or treat whites with whom he interacted with anything but courtesy and respect. He contains within him the contradictions — the good and the bad — of the community that he has served diligently for so many years.

I can no more disown him than I can disown the black community. I can no more disown him than I can disown my white grandmother — a woman who helped raise me, a woman who sacrificed again and again for me, a woman who loves me as much as she loves anything in this world, but a woman who once confessed her fear of black men who passed her by on the street, and who on more than one occasion has uttered racial or ethnic stereotypes that made me cringe.

These people are a part of me. And they are part of America, this country that I love.”

– NPR.org, March 18, 2008

Instead of dancing around the often-sensitive issue of race in America, he confronted it squarely as a topic that deserves attention and demands discussion. Obama delivered this speech in an insightful and articulate manner instead of sacrificing the importance of his topic or the soundness of his reason for the sake of diluting his diction to society’s increasingly lower expectations of political speech. Obama’s “A More Perfect Union” speech intrigued me, yet I found myself more interested in the media’s response. While praising him for his candidness, media analysts began to question the intellectual level of his rhetoric, arguing that his speech may be far over the average listener’s head. Both Senator Clinton and Senator McCain have used the “too elite” argument in an attempt to alienate voters from Obama. Senator Clinton argued Obama was “out of touch” with average Americans. The McCain camp claimed Obama represents a “liberal, cultural elite,” and is out of step with real American values.

I am baffled by the success of this tactic of labeling the Democratic presidential nominee as an intellectual elite who is not in touch with the average American and who is not the type of person with whom you can relax and toss back a beer. Both Al Gore and John Kerry saw their intellectual advantage completely overshadowed by George W. Bush’s amicable “good-old-boy” appeal. I simply believed that after eight years of Bush’s increasingly gross incompetence and his perplexing inarticulacy that this strategy of “dumbing down” the presidency would simply crumble at its core.

Yet, I find myself marveling at the fact that this tactic may have some success against another Democratic presidential nominee. And, I am particularly intrigued by the seemingly ironic use of this argument against the first African-American presidential nominee of a major party. In its general usage, the term “elite” typically refers to a group of people who are in a socially superior part of society and by virtue of their position or education, possess power or influence. For a long period in the United States’ history, African-Americans were not privy to the social status or education that would garner them the label of “elite.” While African-Americans, as well as many other minorities can now more appropriately be associated with elitism, I believe the suggestion that Obama is any more elite than that of his opponents is an invalid implication.

Obama’s background more closely resembles the American dream than Clinton or McCain. He came from a modest background and through hard work and natural talent, graduated from two of the country’s most prestigious colleges (Columbia University and Harvard Law School) before finally working his way to the United States Senate. Given this, I am left with the inference that Obama is mostly categorized as “elite” by the media and his opponents based on the fact that he addresses the American people with a conspicuously high level of intelligence and consequently talks over voters’ heads. As a voter, I am insulted by the suggestion that a candidate who is not ashamed to flex his mental muscles when addressing me is equivalent to elitism. I am weary of candidates playing down their intelligence in order to make themselves appear as “common folk.” I applaud Obama for displaying his mental fortitude and challenging voters to dust the cobwebs off their brains as well.

Obama preaches a message of “change.” I truly hope that one of the changes that our society and the media makes in the months preceding the 2008 presidential election is a shift from equating scholarly political thought with elitism. I hope that we will begin to value a candidate’s display of their intellect as evidence that they possess a trait commensurate with the aptitude that is necessary to handle the demands of being the highest elected official in this country. And most of all, I hope that Obama does not “dumb down” a single word.

The Boys of Baraka is, without a doubt, one of the best and most moving films I’ve ever seen. The directors follow four boys, ages 12 and 13, for three years as they go through the process of being chosen for, traveling to, and learning at an experimental school in Kenya for troubled Black male youths. Without hitting the audience over the head with wearying and ungraspable statistics, I got the message that not only does attention need to be paid to kids like the ones in the film, but that these kids can actually make something of their lives.

It was amazing to hear the boys speak of their lives in Baltimore, M.D. They seemed to have an understanding of the odds that were stacked against them, and even though they didn’t completely give up on dreaming of something better for themselves, they realized that there was a real possibility that they’d get stuck in the same rut in which they found the men in the neighborhoods. The fact that Baraka is told primarily from the boys’ points of view is what makes it so powerful. ~J.B.

Millions
Directed by Danny Boyle, 2004

Danny Boyle’s Millions is ostensibly a plot-driven tale about what happens to Damian and his family when a sack full of cash falls on top of the cardboard hide-out Damian has built by the railroad tracks near his new home in Liverpool, England. Should they use the cash to do good, as Damian wants? Or, should they spend it on themselves and their family as his practical 9-year-old brother, Anthony (Lewis McGibbon) argues? For Damian, doing good is his mission from God and could be the path that leads to seeing his mother again. For Anthony, it’s payback time for all that’s been taken from him.

But Millions is much more than a cash caper about what to do about the money (and what happens when a bad guy comes looking for it). The choices the boys make put a light on the hidden pain of a grieving family and the difficulties it faces in moving on, especially when the steps are so different for each member. The film has the look of a book you read to a child on the verge of sleeping and dreaming. It’s vibrant and verdant and heartbreakingly inviting, begging you to escape into a lovely tale in which children, through a simple act of faith, find their own heaven on earth. ~J.R.

Blackout
Directed by Jerry LaMothe, 2007

On August 14, 2003, one of the hottest days of the summer, there was a citywide power outage in New York. Jerry LaMothe’s Blackout allows the audience to relive this event from the perspectives of several characters, each experiencing a different level of discomfort as a result of not having any electricity for 24 hours.

Unfortunately, the film falls short of its intention, which is presumably to shed light (no pun intended) on an inexcusably and potentially conspiratorial event that left a large population of inner-city minorities without electricity for an entire day. The point (as constructed from watching the behind-the-scenes specials on the DVD) that the filmmaker is trying to make is that the city simply didn’t care enough about these people to get their electricity back on in a timely manner, so that: a) looting and rioting wouldn’t occur, and b) no one would have died. A couple of conversations to this effect somewhat flippantly occur throughout the film, but no one screams about it convincingly enough to really make the audience feel that a major injustice had been done and that a movie needed to be made. For me, the events that were portrayed in Blackout could’ve happened any day of the year, in any “rough neighborhood.” ~J.B.

Doubleday Broadway

In the memoir, She’s Not There, Jennifer Finney Boylan reveals what it felt like to grow up as the wrong gender and his desire to be a woman. But before James (Jennifer’s former name) could articulate these feelings, he knew they were best kept private. Throughout the book, James desperately wants to become a woman, but his urge to be the man everyone else needs him to be is much stronger.

Jennifer shows the reader her life in short episodic instances, each one building on the other, from early childhood to college to the present. Personally, I felt James would never become Jennifer. He seemed so content with his life as a college professor and loving husband and father that it was as if his wish to be “cured by love” had already been granted. Then, as a faithful reminder that we can never run from our true selves, the urge to become the correct gender resurfaced.

I did find Jennifer’s constant reference to transexuality as a medical condition bordering on offensive. I doubt many transgender people would refer to what they go through or have gone through as a “condition.” Calling it a medical condition seems clinical, as if it is something to be cured. And, I know they are completely different, but would she classify homosexuality as a “condition?” I felt that by using this terminology, she was not taking pride in the new person she was becoming, but instead remedying her newfound self.

However, the book is almost completely flawless in the way it’s told, except for one section where I think it just completely falls off. After her transition, she writes a letter to NASA asking to be the first transsexual in space. When I read this letter, it seemed as if she was making a mockery of everything she had been through. She made herself into a gimmick, which doesn’t provide any substance to the plot and as a result, pulls you out of the story. The humor in the rest of the book was so effortless and subtle, that it made the letter/joke obviously forced.

Jennifer shows tremendous courage by not only becoming who she needed and wanted to be, but by giving anyone who wants to pick up this book an intimate window into her personal life. Any question I had in mind was always answered in due time. Anything I didn’t understand, she clarified. This book is a bold journey down the road of self-discovery. Reading this, I now realize how flexible our gender is as human beings. I also realized how much love could withstand. Her memoir doesn’t just speak to transgender people. There are universal themes running deep through the story that we all can connect with. It is a call to arms to all of us who are not being honest with ourselves.

i avoid direct eye contact with
her,
because she always knows the contents
of my pockets,
and I understand what she means
when she blinks twice
before looking down, or once
without hesitation,
and then smiling at me.

we rattle
the walls,
cities,
and local taverns,
a chance encounter
at the redhead piano bar,
our meetings less frequent
every time.
a common misconception
between friends.

what happens when the shutters
are pulled?
what happens when
you kiss me on mouth?

a smoke screen,
an illusion.
we keep it friendly.

she avoids me,
often.

there is a certain warmth about
her,
when she wants there to be.
she tries too hard.
she never stays long.

i am wearing my favorite
smoking jacket, with the gold
trim on the collar.
she smokes.
my back facing her,
i watch her blow smoke rings
through the mirror.

she is wearing my robe
and nothing else.
the robe is open.

title is a line from Perelandra by C.S. Lewis

Aaron M. Cassara is currently attending Harper College and is the literary editor of the school’s art and literature magazine. He has a growing collection of poetic works and is in the process of writing a collaborative Chicago themed short story collection. He hosts an open mic every other Thursday in Frohman’s, a café bellow his Humboldt Park apartment.

1
I remember the lighter, clear plastic—
yellow, and the area rug, blue and green
itchy spirals, no good for sprawling over for cartoons,
only good for the redness of carpet burns,
the shaved skin not showing
the wound until later in the day.

No one was home. Maple leaf shadows etched
the side of the garage. A golden ashtray lay
filled with cigar butts like a bowl of turds. The cat
scratched my arm. The lighter was next to the ashtray.
Pretty lighter. My small thumb
rolled against the flame starter. At eight,
I had never felt such power.
The orange beckoned
like a forefinger saying, “Come here.”
I singed the carpet. Only a few black specks at first,
but synthetic fiber melts fast,
brown liquid, as dark as my parents’ black coffee.
The flame stain grew. I ran for a wet towel,
then left it there to cover the spot, rolled
a footstool over the towel.

2
Back when we still burned garbage
in the back of the garage, I loved that barrel.
A path next to the giant white hostas
led to the rusty basin of ash.
I wanted to take out that trash. Wanted to poke
papers with a stick. Wanted to smell smoke
and watch ash rise higher and higher
into sky like single wings
of the mourning dove.

3
Cigarettes, no.
Even so, at 18, I wanted
to be like my big sisters. The red
of their lipstick tattooing filter tips. The romance of brand names:
Virginia Slims, Newport Lights, Benson and Hedges 100s.
But that white cylinder
felt as foreign as a sixth pinkie.
As I bounced the Buick
over railroad tracks,
ash raked my blouse
leaving tiny bullet holes
in gauze.

4
Now, a fireplace is the centerpiece of my house.
Flames massage the dark curtain of space
as you lie on your stomach, outline of rear
clear in faded jeans, to check
the possibility of fixing
loose brick. I think about pressing
my body against your back—
strong spine fine tuning the line
that separates breasts.
But this connection
is a slow burn. A bouquet of restraint.
A building of something heavier than brick.
Flames make words
obsolete as heat kisses
each cell of our skins.

Anne Davidovicz pets cats, plants flowers, writes poetry, and teaches classes at Harper College in Palatine. She received her MFA from the University of Oregon and studied with Diane Wakoski while receiving her BA at MSU.

road rivers run parallel
to the sun
farm trees spread out
meadow hills unrolling, rolling already
packed tightly between
fences, defining melody
in the grass
dancing horses slide in the wet grass galloping
on sure footed hoofs; backs bent
arched in praise of their own life

they share themselves under that meadow tree
smiles radiate, revealing eyes
that do not hide
they gaze together, lap in hand in hand
together they dance, (and sing) hum sound–
rhythms mouthed, breathing

(uncertain how they got there)
it felt time to leave
he a roamer and she just drifting

it may be hard to remember,
how much they have here,
under the bright summer sun

when they go back to where they came from
it will be hard to remember
what just was done

time calls to leave and
separate back to different ways
and resistance to believe
country (time) over (the) city

walking over stones, making sure to
catch the other, each trip and fall

holding hands
in between

planting seeds of each
in the palm of the other

together they remember

everything

under the sun

–

Art, in any form, is alive. It communicates, and exists as a tool which can
be both passive and active. My entire life, I have been diving as deep as I
can into other people’s art expressions. Exposing myself to many styles of
art has left me more active in some fields over others. Music is my
background, but these are my words. Take them and make them as your own.

Well, unfortunately those days have substantially come to a halt, but history can have a way of repeating itself. Instead of focusing on selling out concert venues for the sake of mass appeal, the once two-girl group, Jazzyfatnastees (Tracey Moore and Mercedes Martinez) who sang of alternative self-love, decided to forge their talent philanthropically and reclaim female empowerment. The Philly-based Black Lily Film & Music festival, which has continuously blossomed since its inception in 1999, has become the place to be for female artists to deliver and cultivate their dreams to fruition by connecting at a grassroots level – independent of their male counterparts.

“This industry has always been male-dominated,” Moore said. “It’s just a mini version of the hierarchy of the world. Men are in control – they want women to look this way or sound this way. And if you don’t, you’re kind of assed out.”

“We’ve just been really blessed,” she continues. “We were connected to the Pharcyde back when they had their first album and Mercedes’ brother [Keith] was their producer. Keith started a small label called Fathouse through Tommy Boy Records, which we were on. So, we always ended up in camps. Then we met The Roots and we were in their camp – their manager was also our manager. We’ve been lucky that we’ve had men in our career who have helped us try to gain control of our talent. It didn’t sell us millions of albums, but it gave us creative control. Not too many artists can say that.”

“The situation with Fathouse was very interesting because my brother is younger than me and his colleagues were younger than us,” Martinez said. “It was interesting because we had these younger people telling us what to do and how to be artists. We would find ourselves in these arguments and it turned into, ‘You’re going to do it because we’re the label,’ etc. So it was definitely frustrating and that whole thing fell by the wayside because they were young and doing what they thought was the right thing to do.”

In 1995, the two met a little-known hip-hop group called The Roots and were guest vocalists on what became one of their best-selling albums to date, illadelphhalflife. They left L.A., saying goodbye to the now defunct Tommy Boy Records after two years and transplanted to Philadelphia, becoming intrinsically part of the neo-soul movement. In 1999, the Jazzees released their first album, The Once Now and Future on Motive Records, The Roots’ subsidiary of MCA. With more artists like Jill Scott, Floetry and Musiq Soulchild creating a genre reminiscent of ‘70s soul, Philadelphia became a hub of musical genius. Out of a city known for political and economic turmoil, there emerged a beautiful sound that was overlooked in the white-washed world of the music industry. But even with this cultural surge of a “new” Black sound, there was a sexist overtone and as Martinez reflects, the Jazzees, as well as other female artists, were being pushed to the background.

“Part of starting Black Lily was the fact that we were inspired by The Roots camp and they took us on like we were members of the family,” Martinez continues. “We really felt like a part of what they were doing. But at the same time, we felt secondary. We would have these jam sessions together and next thing you know, it’s time to go on stage and we’re relegated to only singing hooks. So we took that example as, ‘We need to start our own thing.’”

Propagation

After several attempts to record and release another album, Moore and Martinez knew their labels wouldn’t allow them enough creative control for the sake of garnering commercial appeal. And now, with the ongoing success of Black Lily over the past 10 years, they have been afforded the opportunity to decide whether to create the series as a music label or to simultaneously continue to pursue their careers as the Jazzyfatnastees.

“We created it to give ourselves, as well as other female artists, a chance to work on stage performance and songwriting,” Moore said. “We had no idea when we started that it was going to develop into this. We were a part of emerging labels and I can’t say it doesn’t cross our minds about starting Black Lily as a label, but we know how the business works. We’ve outlived those labels. And to me, that’s paramount. You have to really be involved and be in it to win it.”

She continues, “I’m always going to be a singer and songwriter, but I’m happy that I can evolve and be someone who can give back to the community.”

“So much time and energy goes into the festival and we always think that it’s going to get so much easier,” Martinez said. “But we’ve actually found that it’s been more challenging. It’s a lot more work and a lot more time because we’ve set a bar for the festival and we’re obligated to meet those expectations.”

“In terms of what we were doing originally with the Jazzees – we found ourselves in the same situation that we found ourselves in many times before,” she adds. “We had a record deal and were working on an album that was going to come out and then the VP of the label left, and we were left with the executives who wanted to decide what they wanted to do with the project and it didn’t coincide with the categories that they thought were commercially viable. So, we were faced with the question, ‘Do we want to go with another label or do this on our own?’ For now, we’re focused on the Black Lily Festival.”

Like any non-profit organization, Black Lily doesn’t come without monetary challenges. For the first year, the music series was funded with the Jazzees’ marketing budget. But the attraction became immense as artists gravitated to an all-inclusive venue where they could let their creative juices flow – even if there was no compensation involved.

“We didn’t have to find people to get up on stage,” Moore laughs. “We let people come in for free so we got an audience. Back then, it was just what was going on and the energy that happened organically.”

“I think the biggest challenge was always money,” Martinez interjects. “In order to do something that isn’t commercial or something where you want to produce your own ideas and image, you have to do it independently because the label won’t get behind that. We always wanted to have a certain amount of freedom and we always did it ourselves. There isn’t a big push to support women artists and independent music.”

Black Lily has heavily influenced and catapulted the careers of artists such as Floetry, Jill Scott – even British pop star Amy Winehouse. It is surprising, however, that most of them (with the exception of Jill Scott and a few others) do not support the festival after reaching the peak of their careers.

“It was definitely a blessing that Jill came last year and supported because we didn’t pay her fee – we couldn’t afford to,” Moore notes. “But she felt like she gained so much from the Black Lily experience and she wanted to give back. I think when you start expecting things from people, that’s when you get disappointed. I’m surprised that there aren’t more artists who performed at Black Lily that don’t want to give back. But it would be nice!”

“I happen to think that out of all the artists that are our peers, we are definitely the ones who are giving back in this particular way,” she continues. “And we’re trying to foster a relationship between the artists that are trying to get up there and the artists that are already there because we were lucky in that way. But, this is a struggle. I have a day job and trying to put on something that is accessible for these artists who might not get an opportunity to be somewhere else is an added challenge.”

Flowering

Last year, Moore and Martinez merged with independent filmmaker Maori Karmael Holmes to increase the festival’s visibility by adding a film series. Holmes approached the two with her idea after releasing Scene Not Heard, a documentary showcasing Philly’s arts and cultural scene, which also highlighted Black Lily’s past events. Holmes was encouraged to be a part of the music series and asked the Jazzees if she could bring her experience to the table to combat the same gender bias that’s also prevalent in the film industry.

“I think women have a place in mainstream Hollywood, but it’s often silent,” Holmes said. “Men are still the major players as directors, producers and executives, although on the executive side it’s changing. No woman has yet to win an Oscar for directing –only three have been nominated — and the last stats I read were that women only accounted for seven percent of all directors. This is a sad number. I think in independent film circles this number is a little bit more balanced, but when it comes to programming work at festivals it seems like work that deals with “women’s issues” often gets ghettoized and overlooked. So in this way, it’s very similar to the music business.”

“The films this year are really great,” she continues. “Especially the experimental and queer shorts blocks, the Roe vs. Wade anniversary block with Melissa Thompson’s masterful Like a Ship in the Night, and Faith Pennick’s powerful Silent Choices. Some of the fiction is really fantastic, particularly Kilka Prostych Slow from Poland and Heidi Saman’s The Maid. I am very excited about the films and am trying to make sure I can see everything.”

“We have two films that we are so lucky to present that are my favorites,” Moore adds. “One is called Trouble The Water, and it’s a documentary that just won the Grand Jury prize at Sundance. It’s going to be our opening night movie. It’s just an amazing film. You’ve never seen the Katrina story told in this fashion. It’s a narrative and follows a woman and her husband before the hurricane and after. The next movie we have is Africa Unite, which is a documentary about Bob Marley. Both of these films – coincidentally – were produced by Danny Glover’s production company.”

As the festival grows each year and people flock from surrounding states for the four-day event, the Jazzees and their board members are pressed with the decision of how to make the previous year better than the next. But as more female artists are awarded for their talent without compromising their core values, the women who support Black Lily and the Jazzees are confident that a major change is on the way and the gender inequity will shift toward other means of working collaboratively within a testosterone-driven industry.

“It was so successful our first year and so amazing that people wanted to support and come out,” Moore said. “We’ve had Janet Jackson in the house and Alicia Keys get on stage, so there are definitely moments that are special in Black Lily history. And having the film and music festival last year was just a culmination of everything we’ve worked so hard for.”

“I think Sunday, May 6, 2007 — the last night of the first festival after Jill Scott and Amy Winehouse performed — I realized here we were almost 20 women strong and we had worked, cried and stressed together for over a year and had very little drama. We’d pulled off this incredible and amazing fest and it felt really encouraging,” Holmes said.

“It’s also the power that a group of women can produce,” Martinez adds. “This is really a testament to what we can accomplish.”

The Black Lily Film & Music Festival takes place May 1 - 4. The 2008 music honorees include Bahamadia, Bernice Johnson Reagon, Jeri Lynne Johnson, Martha Diaz, Meshell N’degeocello, Pearl Bowser, Stephanie Black and Tia Lessin. For more details, visit www.blacklily.com.