"Take the Ossington bus north - say at Dundas. Ride north on it to Eglinton. Observe how the bus goes through a chromatic shift from light to dark as you enter the space of Blackness. That “exotic” space of Blackness as rendered by Atom Egoyan. Up on Eglinton. Heartland of exotica. Exotic from whose perspective? (No review or critique of this film challenges the use of Blackness as nothing more than a signifier. For the exotic.) Then take a walk down Bay. Not so much heartland as engine of the capitalist machine. Observe how monochromatic that space is. It’s beat that of metronome. rhythm is simply space divided by time. “Up on Eglinton” at Oakwood is rhythmed in the same time as a Port of Spain, Trinidad; as Accra, Ghana; as Scarborough, Tobago; as Kingston, Jamaica; as Harlem, New York."

M. Nourbese Philip, “Black W/ Holes”, FUSE Magazine, Vol 21 No 4, Fall 1998
@22 hours ago

"Drawings are about connecting surface, touch, gesture, contact. The eye sensitized into line. In what ways do you use the drawings to connect? How could you push it further? Your drawings are black on white and yet there is so much white. White predominates in this work. So does that make you black or white? Or the show black or white? Or is it just that we take the white walls for granted like they are invisible but still there without question? With this work the work you have been working on have you ever got lost in it? Lost your way? I am not just speaking of a crisis of faith but of literally not knowing what you are doing. Have you considered all the elements? Not just visual ones but smell, touch, hearing. Are there different ways you could destabilize the viewer? Art is an experience first and always and that part of this experience where it begins (but always haunts you still, and differently) is loss, and lost ness. Loss is grace. I think this is what makes art so profoundly disquieting to some. Because they must face what they do not know and the only way to face it (literally) is to admit to limitation and confusion. Desire is confusing. Another question I think you should ask now is have you loved the experiencer enough? Have you been kind? Have you shown respect for the process of their experience, their confusion and confused desire? And if not, how to make space for this? And if so, does this make them or you more free?"

- a love letter from a long lost mentor

@1 day ago with 1 note

Jodie Smithwww.abbyross.com


Jodie Smith

(Source: abbywross, via lostinurbanism)

@1 day ago with 992 notes

As if the air in our mouths is enough
Let us crush stones
With teeth
Until they fall into the rhythm of sand
as wind
caressing shorelines

@2 days ago with 1 note

Tyrannies We Swallow, 2012 - Present

@2 days ago with 1 note

"What is the space - the negative space - that is Canada, around which I grow? around which African people - Black people - grow. How does that negative space shape us? and do we, in turn, shape that space - moulding it to fit our specificities? in this space we call Canada, blackness serves as a cypher. a tool. The means by which the larger, white space shapes and ritually purifies itself. blackness becomes the most effective way in which the essence of canadianess - is there such a thing? - is articulated and the purity of Canadian space ensured"

M. Nourbese Philip, “Black W/ Holes”, FUSE Magazine, Vol. 21 No. 4, Fall 1998
@23 hours ago

Black Like Her by Constance Strickland

Love the sweeping movements, the stunning visual reference to Billie Holiday’s “Live at the Philharmonic” and the dancing in dust to Miles Davis half way through….

@1 day ago


Ronyca - Williamsburg, NY.

by Emmanuel Afolabi

(via lostinurbanism)

@1 day ago with 6613 notes


To my (one day) beloved,

Our bodies are folding in and around each other. In the love making and embraces we will always be borders to each other. But, I will still listen to the ripples of your tossed stones. Rest your ear on my back. In fleeting brushes blood shall transfer between you and I. My lines transitioning into your lines. Within our gripping hands, tracks, and shivering arm hairs. I am (envisioning, and dreaming of) drawing circles on your belly, your wrists, and the inner bends of limbs with lips…

@2 days ago


Danica Phelps’ series, “The Book of Ds”, diaristic drawings of she and her former partner, are some of my favourite drawings, ever. Stunning flashes of unadulterated, radiant eroticism mirrored upon endless leaves. Something elegiac too. I remember an ex-lover introducing this series to me when I was searching for material during my brief time as a sessional professor on Vancouver Island. The sway of lines, movement, uhgg. I sometimes think of drawing processes or it’s enactment/coming into being as an unraveling, a trace, or loss…

Image 1: November 4th 2004, Image 2: October 5th 2004, Image 3: October 20th 2004, Image 4: October 19th 2004 
Link to source and more images below:

@2 days ago with 1 note