“Kink” Is the one womyn show that I am currently creating. It came from many conversations that I have had with conscious womyn in the Chicago community who have accepted their natural hair, bodies, and social justice responsibilities, but seem to neglect their sensual sexual side. It is so taboo to be conscious and sexually open. I do not mean promiscuous, I mean taking the stereotypes of black womyn as over sexual beings and reclaiming our right to be sexual. I want to explore this topic from a very raw controversial place, then of course I will scale back…maybe, for the actual performance. Who knows, perhaps this will be an offensive masterpiece.
So far I have my first image that I want to use for the poster/flyer/any publicity. I know that seems to be jumping the gun, but I am a visual person so pictures speak to me first and foremost. So while at my last photo shoot with the wonderfully talented Tony Smith of Lovelace photography I was given a corner of a room, two springs, a wooden chest, and some sick house music.
He got the image he needed for his series “Noir Erotique”
I was amazed by this work and wanted to see other images that we shot. That is when I came across this image…
…and this is the image that launched me into the beginnings of “Kink.” From here I began to write my first piece which may or may not make its way to the performance, but is definitely a catalyst for more writings and choreography to come.
Because we are sexualized we can not be sexual.
These chains,ropes,and sheets
we can not detach from our oppressors.
It’s gotten, quite out of control.
My barrels are full I am carrying my load,
but not yours,
you are your new master, but you only know how to lead like your master,
you’ve mastered the technique
of hiding what is yours.
What is rightfully yours?
These chores and house duties are are huge drop offs from kingdoms,
and queendoms we ruled.
They were ours, are ours,
connected to our hips,waist,thighs.
from those hands that think they own,
from our own
who subscribe to such foolishness,
that loosen our hips that were tightened by ignorant lust.
These thrust are not for deeper penetration, but for mental stimulation
outside of a weak rhyme scheme
these hips were gyrating to real beats,
thump,thump, ba bump,babahbabahbadahbabah.
We dropped low to get closer to the earth
and jumped and bounced our anatomy’s
to catch the trip-pi-lets, and syncopated boom-clats.
I am the body electric.
I am sexy, I do sexy, I be sexy,
like in that self love kind of way.
With double helix coils freeing finally
from straight shafts of chemical bondage or heated conversations of conformity.
That unruly curl.
shapely, textured, shift of consciousness springing out with bounce,
giving non linear expression to unspoken boundaries.
Uncombed knots of torturous pleasure.
A pick not a brush to get through.
I need more than a stroke because these kinky parallels are real.
From head to toe, we are kinky.
These are my truths.