After losing the first EPICsode of Infinity and Belon, which entailed my move to NY, I kind of lost all desire to continue until I had a show that matched that magic. However, dwelling on things I can’t control is pointless and I figured putting something out would be better than nothing. So I said ‘fuck it’ and threw some footage together I had lying around. It’ll leave room for improvement, time to get more comfortable in front of the camera AND give me incentive to start putting more out. Hope you all enjoy. I’ve disabled comments on my site but I would love some feedback from you all on this episode or any advice for future episodes so please comment here.

I’ve been praised for my creativity for as long as I can remember. ‘I can’t believe a 7 year old wrote this story!’, ‘This drawing is so ahead of it’s time’, ‘did you put that outfit together yourself?!’ – teachers and parents were always awestruck by my innate imagination and my ability to express it. I’m grateful for that, I really am. But for some reason, it was never enough acknowledgement for me. Especially once I noticed that I wasn’t being celebrated the same way some of my friends who were singers, athletes or some other extrovert hobby were. I, very pretentiously, believed my artistry deserved just as much, if not more, attention. Being an artist was so brave, especially considering that history has proven time and time again, that artists lives usually end tragically. It was divine. And I yearned for recognition.

But I never got it. My passions didn’t help me receive any shiny trophies to put on the shelf, compete in any games my family could attend, or put me at the center of any stage. I felt overlooked and began to develop an inferiority complex. Except I still believed my artistry deserved the same eminence. I was recently forced to psychoanalyze my desire to seek approval and be notable to many, (also known as, fame) after realizing how bothered I was by constantly being placed on the sideline. I once heard, ‘in this society, there’s a very real sense that if you’re not famous, you don’t exist’… and after being completely honest with myself, I realized that I too, have been conditioned to believe the same thing. That, paired with my eagerness to impress my family, made the life of a celebrity enticing. I figured if I had fans and was on tv, my family would have no choice but to see there was a reason that complete strangers were intrigued by me.

So sure enough, I slowly started to create my brand and build a fan base. It wasn’t anything major, but I could honestly say that I had people in nearly every continent writing to tell me how much I inspired them. Their interest in what I had to say, my growth as an artist AND person, and constant support brought me such solace. Even then, my family wasn’t impressed, nor did they even notice. But as an artist, I had come to realize that your family is the hardest to convince and for the first time, I no longer cared. I had a new family now. And though my interpersonal relationships with the readers of my blog, subscribers of my youtube and followers on twitter didn’t quite fill my void, it was enough to make me stop trying to satisfy my family. They were the ones I aimed to make proud now.

But I haven’t changed much when it comes to my pursuit of fame. I have no desire to create if I can’t show it off. Nothing scares me worse than hearing the millions of stories of artists who don’t get discovered until long after their dead. Finally understanding the depth of that quote I once heard only makes my yearning that much more concrete. I’m not ashamed to admit that I want the glory. It almost feels like the only way to obtain eternal life. Like if I die without it, then I’ll be forgotten. Like this is the only way to ensure that I don’t. In the end, I suppose I just want to be noticed… and remembered and maybe that’s wrong but… it’s honest. And instead of trying to force a profound entry about love and life out, I thought I’d do that for a change. Be candid.

Now that I remember what I came to NY for, it’s time to refocus. I’m honestly proud of the brand I built from nothing, but it’s been at a stagnant place for quite some time and I have no one to blame but myself. For starters, my bark is bigger than my bite; I don’t have enough work, (nor do I work hard enough at getting there) to match my confidence. . My vision is misconstrued because I dabble in too many arts for people to know what my ‘thing’ is. I’ve just been lazy and a change is long overdue. Witness the dream.

Afraid of being labeled a ‘hair’ blogger, I’ve always refrained from addressing the wild beast despite desperately needing advice on how to tame it. As a child, my family knew jack shit about what to do with my curls. (I mean seriously, who brushes this type of hair completely DRY? Torture.) As a result, I adopted their ways. It wasn’t until recently that I realized my biracial hair couldn’t be treated the same way my family did theirs and I would have to develop my own regime, which has proven to be an everlasting journey. I still haven’t found a product to replace mousse but still defines my curls just as well, a salon to cut the layers I want and there’s many other things I’m still learning through trial and error. Instead of seeking advice and sharing my story via my blog like I secretly wanted to, I perused curly hair forums and natural hair blogs incessantly.

Eventually, I got really attached to some of these bloggers and started following them on twitter and even talking to a few personally. The transition to natural hair within the black community seemed so regal to me and seeing it become the latest fad brought me such solace. That was until I started noticing a trend within the ‘natural hair community’. Growth. Growth. Growth. Having healthy hair seemed to be the secondary goal right next to having long hair. I even saw a few bloggers who admitted that they chopped off their hair and opted to go natural because of how fast and long other naturals hair seemed to grow.

The way natural hair girls emphasized ‘growth’ seemed to defeat the entire purpose of self acceptance. “Maybe your hair isn’t meant to be down your back. Shouldn’t you be embracing that in the same way you’re embracing your texture? Isn’t that the point?”, I’d think. Some of the same girls I found were very pretentious about accepting their ‘ethnic’  hair were also whining about it not being long enough. I also started to notice that even away from their hair blogs, all they seemed to talk about was their hair. The same girls who were reciting daily ‘I am not my hair’ mantras were, in fact, slaves to their hair. The hypocrisy in it all really puzzled me.

And quite frankly, it still does. Which is what provoked this entry. I want to hear your stories and your point of views. How important is having long hair to you and why? Does stressing the length coincide with accepting your natural hair? I don’t know… maybe I’ll even share my own hair trials and tribulations too.

This week, all of the lovely subscribers to my new weekly newsletter will be getting a sneak peak of my ‘day in the life’ webseries Infinity and Belon before anyone else so be sure to sign up to recieve personal notes from me in your email.

If a few friends and I are creating a silly short film, I’m always something mundane like the writer, producer, or director. Always the photographer to the model. The hype man to the rapper. The extra to the lead. Never the muse. The star. Don’t get me wrong, I love being a creative director but being placed on the back burner made to assist someone else’s shine whilst dimming my own is starting to weigh heavy on my sense of self worth. It often feels like all my friends and family are mere opportunists; always inviting me to hang out as a last resort when they’ve exhausted all other options, only calling me when they need an ear to confide in and never to listen, only wanting me to be a part of their “team” or “movement” for all the ways it can benefit them. I’ve always been indispensable to people. They couldn’t care less whether I was in their life or not. But I don’t want to be the girl people befriend because she has a handful of followers on twitter anymore; I want to be the girl you were so intrigued by at the pub, that you went home and immediately starting looking for her on facebook. I am so fucking tired of suppressing myself to appease others. And I am fed up.

I finally understand why these celebrities all go through a ‘stripped’, ‘uncut’ or ‘unsilenced’ phase. They’d suffocate, otherwise. But breaking free is a task that’s easier said than done when you’ve been conditioned to stifle your personality for so long. Every time I plot to let loose, I end up backing down and reclusing instead. People are introduced to me, and barely even remember me the next time we encounter each other.  I’m often referred to as ‘Jessica’ because people tend to assign that name when they can’t remember. What is wrong with me? Why do I preach all this crap about self worth and loving yourself when I don’t even attempt any of the advice about building a better relationship with yourself that I give? Am I a hypocrite? Are these illusions of grandeur? WIll I ever know who I am?

I remember during my teenage angst when I couldn’t give a shit about making friends, having a bad attitude… or…. anything really, and being so puzzled by the way people flocked to me despite it all. Ironically, people were the most drawn to me when I didn’t give a remote fuck. Then I grew up, stopped being mad at the world and started to care about maintaining healthy friendships and relationships. I became a dependable shoulder to cry on, an attentive ear to listen, and a pretty reliable (yet, docile) friend in general. It almost seems as if the more comfortable someone is with me, the less they respect me. I’m over it.

Blogs have this formula, y’know… You take the predominant problem in your daily life, turn it into a well-articulated but attention-grabbing entry, and close it with how you solved the issue while giving onlookers subtle advice on how to do the same. Just like family friendly sitcoms. Full House, Family Matters anyone? I don’t think I’m going to do that this time. Pretend to know the answers to my inner turmoil and possibly steer you all in the wrong direction. But since I happen to be taking a temporary break from NY soon, I’m going to use that hiatus to recollect, do some in depth soul searching and self-reflecting and refocus on whatever it is I really want out of life. I’ll be sure to keep my blog updated with this self discovery, not just for those of you who may be going through something similar, but because I’m curious to see what the outcome is too.

I’ve temporarily transformed my apartment into a photography studio for the week to do some portfolio building and decided to use my friend, Bretony as my first test subject so I could be a bit more experienced for the following shoots. And I’m so glad I did. I learned so much about lighting and angles from the trial and errors of this shoot. My beautiful friends always double as my muse and make my job so easy! I did very minimal editing on this batch because I wanted to show off my experimentation with lighting. As I edit more from this shoot, I’ll sporadically be posting them on my tumblr so stay tuned! Feedback is always welcome :] And I promise to start posting more!

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If you follow me on twitter, you know how obsessed I’ve become with Kreayshawn and White Girl Mob (save your white girl cultural appropriation arguments and revoke my ‘hip hop card’ if you have to… I like music that makes ME feel good). Anyway, when I heard the line ‘rockin’ in the club, catch me on a elephant’ on her first single ‘Bumpin Bumpin’, I knew I had to do something with it. I just got a kick out of it. So I decided a 24 X 18 inch oil painting would be appropriate. And yes, it took ALL of me not to change that ‘a elephant’ to ‘an elephant’ but that’s really not what she says. What do you all think?

For Sale at my art shop.