N a s h v i l l e A r t & K u l c h a

ONE.DROP Between Stayin’ and Leavin’

p u b l i s h e d b y

E V O L U T I O N X P R E S S

kul-cha \kǝl-chǝ\ n 1 a : the collective creative and intellectual works of peoples of African descent. (See also agriculture, masonry, electricity, literature, architecture, medicine) 1 b : reggae, blues, bluegrass, gospel, jazz, rock & roll, soul, samba, bossa nova, rhythm & blues, capoeira, hip hop, gogo, gumbo, and other indigenous Amerikan arts and cuisines. 2 : swag

During a recent conversation about creativity, a friend said, “I ’m not always t ry ing to deliberately be creative, I’m just trying to heal myself.” Her statement resonated within me. powerfully. Death happens long before the body gives out. When the spirit

withers with doubt, anxiety, and fear, Death has appeared. Creative acts stand as life in a macabre landscape. They are Light and Faith when it seems pointless or silly. Creativity is entering into the pain of your experience and massaging through the wound to find the medicine. There is Sacred Medicine within each of our “shameful,” “ugly” “secrets.” And making art is where true healing happens. This issue’s theme is “Between Stayin’ and Leavin’” because that’s often where we find ourselves. Afraid to let go, unsure of what’s next. It’s the perfect place to pick up a pen, or a camera, or a paintbrush, or play that song and dance, or….

Press on,

Kana GainesEditor-in-Chief

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Being the birthplace of the Sit In Protests of the Civil Rights Movement, Nashville carries a legacy of revolution that cannot be denied. Walter Hood, is working with the Metro Nashville Arts Commission to ensure that this legacy is never forgotten. Hood is desiging “Witness Walls,” a Public Artwork of fragmented, sculptural walls depicting the sitting and marching protests that occurred in Nashville. Hood’s committment transcends aesthetic and storytelling by making sure that the community is thoroughly involved and invested in the the project’s development. During his recent reception at Hadley Park Community Center, Hood explained that his aim is to create a art that provides an experience, while leaving space for the observer to interpret something unique and personal. The Witness Walls are scheduled to be completed in 2015 and will be located at James Roberston Parkway and 3rd Ave. You can share ideas, remarks, images, or music pertaining to the project or era with the artist at h t t p s : / / a p p . s m a r t s h e e t . c o m / b / f o r m ?EQBCT=dbf7833f9b8a41fda4e06591cf501ed6Read more about the project and see design images at http://www.nashville.gov/Arts-Commission/Public-Art/Find-An-Artwork/Projects-in-Progress/Civil-Rights-Public-Art-Project.aspx

Walter Hood and Metro Arts Commission Chair, Paula Robertson, converse with the crowd about the inspirations and intentions of the project.

Metro Arts Commissioner, Don Hardin, and Civil Rights Veteran, Carrie Gentry, talk with Hood about the impact and importance of the project.

Civil Rights Veterans (L-R) Kwame Lillard, Gloria McKissack, Matthew Walker Jr., Kings Hollands, and Councilwoman Karen Johnson, gather proudly around the artist.

sierra faye campbell

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We met over lunch at Rosepepper, an eclectically Mexican restaurant in East Nashville, to talk about art. Food and art have been bringing Sierra Faye Campbell and I together since we met at a Poems & Pancakes event last year. Here are a few snippets of our most recent creative conversation a la cuisine.

OD: The idea of lessons and learning experiences runs throughout your work. What is a “lesson”?SFC: I’m telling the viewer what I learned from an experience. This could mean that I’m realizing that it’s not so bad to be dark skinned, or black, to have natural hair, or to be a woman. That it’s not good to hold in years of frustration. I realize through a lot of my work, that I’m not as bad as my mind thinks I am. The overall lesson that I’m realizing is the lesson of self-acceptance.

OD: How do you know when you have learned a lesson? SFC: Once I fully learn it is when I can move past it. When I’m realizing it NOW, I haven’t moved past it yet. I’m still working through issues. I’ve had a lot of hang ups about how I think that I should present my body as a woman, as a black woman, as someone who’s just black. I feel like there are so many labels I’ve been trying to sit under. But I don’t care to be a representative - even though I am - for a particular group. I’m still trying to figure it out for myself.

OD: Speaking of labels, the black woman’s body is throughout your work. Is that a statement? SFC: The times that I have worked with the black female form, I’ve freaked out because I don’t want to create a stereotype. I don’t want to make it a sexual thing. Through history, that’s how we’ve been portrayed for so long.

Comfort in the Undiscovered

Defending What I Have Lost

Succumbed to Your Presence

Taking Hold of Me

“I realize through a lot of my work that I’m not as bad as my mind

thinks I am.“

OD: Who would you like to collaborate with? SFC: I want to continue working with writers because I have a hard time talking about my work. I eventually find words, but writers start with words, with something literal. I want to find a voice, finding something to say about my work.

OD: I’m particuarly interested in sexuality and sensuality. I don’t focus so much on the actual body, but that’s a major part of it because that’s how we perceive one another on a visual level. And from culture to culture, perception is different. To show a photo of a black female body here will be perceived differently than in Europe, Asia, or Africa. What do you think are universal truths about artmaking? SFC: When you’re portraying a person who is not from middle to upper class Western society, they get perceieved as “other.” Because they don’t fit into a bubble, they’re “exotic.” That’s why I’m so hung up on how I represent people. For my viewer, this might be the only chance they’ll see the black female form today and I don’t want them to get the wrong impression. I think that exposing “other” cultures and communities is enough to actually change the people who are viewing.

OD: What is your fascination with applying substances onto your subjects? SFC: All of what I’m dealing with is about layers. The different substances reflect the layers. It can flake off, it can peel off, it can wash off…When I think about how something has affected me, I think about the substances that I can apply. I use the substances as a metaphor for the layers I’m dealing with within myself. It’s all about a process.

A Realization of Truth

A Conversation

Mistaken for Your Possession

“You have so much more potential with anything when you

break it down.”

OD: Is there a particular location that you’ve never shot that you’d like to? SFC: I’m trying to think of a place that’s gritty. I love grit. Grit is probably my favorite word when it comes to art—making it and seeing it. Even a slight unsafety. You have so much more potential with anything when you break it down. I love looking at things that are dying more than a pretty picture. I’ve been told that a lot of my work is borderline scary. I like when things are a little offbeat. In my art, I like to show the darkside side of my thoughts.

OD: What is your One Drop? SFC: My one drop is finding a voice so that I can literally and metaphorically start a conversation for someone else.

http://www.sierrafayephotography.com/

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On my birthday this year, I settled into a mini van heading to Summertown, Tennessee, beginning my journey to the 2014 Herb Workshop hosted on The Farm. Two of the other workshop participants welcomed me into our hostess’ home when we pulled into the driveway after dark that night. We chatted for a while, as I gleaned their stories about being midwives and their unique woman warrior tales. Then they pointed me to my room upstairs.A small bookshelf next to a large, very enticing bed were the first things I noticed. I entered the room, gasping when I rounded the corner to a wide shelf with percussive instruments from around the world—kalimbas, djembes, tablas, and others I’d never seen. The space vibrated in a silent, sacred dance. I asked permission from the music spirits to play a

Workshop participant, Ana Maria, does Field Work

bit. Feeling welcomed, I tinkered on the kalimba and a round, metal instrument that rang melodically when I tapped its tongue shaped parts (I later discovered that this was a steel tongue drum). I simply didn’t have the energy to get lost in the books by the bed, so I bathed, lit an incense as a peace offering to my temporary home, and crept into bed. The moist air from the wooded night sang cedar and catydids, lulling me to sleep. Morning came quickly. I dressed and headed to the Community Center with my two housemates, after a sip of tea with Anna, the woman of the house. She explained that I was staying in her son’s room. “He’s a drummer,” she explained, “with the band called Rising Appalachia.” She played their album, Filthy Dirty South on the CD player in her kitchen. Love at first listen.The first day of class, everyone entered the

Finding Peace inside the colorful Farm Schoolhouse.

Community Center to tables filled with paper plates labeled and filled with dried herbs. There were three window sills stacked with all kinds of essential herbs and five work stations complete with measuring spoons, sieves, funnels, graters, sauce pans, thermometers, and single electic burners. After breakfast, the class, which happened to be all women, settled down. Dr. Wendell Combest, who asked us to call him “Dell,” began with an overview of different paths of herbal medicine. He explained the distinctions of homeopathic, naturopathic, Traditional Chinese Medicine, and others. His course, called “Medicinal Herbs: Exploring the Science behind the Folklore,” lives up to its name, garnering a deeper appreciation of the potency of plants and the human mind to heal. While touching a broad array of illness-specific

herbal treatments, Dell kept a focus on herbs specific to women’s health. The energy of the class was strong; it felt like I’d known most of the women for many years. We learned collectively in an environment of attentive questioning and experience sharing. Many of the women were midwives, nurses, and doulas. Naturally, we absobed one another’s empowered sister vibes.We spent three days flowing between information packed lectures, herb walks, and rolling up our sleeves to create medicinal compounds like lip balms, body powders, salves, pastes, and creams to treat everything from bug bites and nail fungus to poison ivy rashes.

Part of Dr. Combest’s extensive collection of vintage herbal compounds.

An amateur herbalist’s heaven!!!

On the morning of our departure, a surge of calm electricity moved along my skin. Not only had I built the beginning of a healthy and solid foundation in herbal chemistry and compounding, I’d entered into a sacred circle of she-healers, women seeking wholeness and equipped to invoke it.

—Kana Kavon

For more information on the Herb Workshop and others offered at The Farm Community,

visit http://www.thefarmmidwives.org/

Pamela, a Farm Midwife, shows us around her ample herb garden.

Guest Lecturer, John Inman. Dr. Combest, aka Dell & dandelion

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Broadleaf Plantain (Plantago Major) You might be surprised at the pharmacy growing along the sidewalks in your city. Take a walk in Nashville and you’ll find abundant Milk Thistle (liver cleanser), Wild Yarrow (treats menstrual pain), Red Clover (blood cleanser), and plantain. Broadleaf plantain isn’t the kind you cut up and fry. It’s a green “weed” that grows rampantly around the south. It’s probably in your front yard. Several indigenous peoples of the Southeastern U.S. would use this plant to treat fresh injuries. One of its nicknames is “Indian’s Bandaid.”

Apply a simple plantain poultice to fresh bumps, bruises, cuts, bites, or stings and you’ll be amazed at its ability to help your body recover very quickly.

How to make a Plantain Poultice

1. Select a handful of fresh plantain leaves.

2. Rinse them with water.

3. Crush or chop the leaves finely.

4. Apply to cut, bite or sting.

5. Leave for 5-10 minutes. Repeat as necessary,

but once will probably do the trick!

**If you’re looking for an excellent herbal reference book, I suggest Rodale’s Illustrated Encyclopedia of Herbs.

Know What to Youtube

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5mxCBWCarQE&index=3&list=PL0508545E9DCC3E1D

http://www.risingappalachia.com/

Rising Appalachia brings to the world new sounds,

stories, and songs collected across oceans and

originally sculpted to embody our human journey, our

global community, and the treasures and troves of

soul harmony.  Led by sisters Leah and Chloe, the

band tears into sound with sensual prowess as stages

ignite revolutions and words light up soul fires. Listen

to their beautiful sound for poetic harmonies, soul

singing, spoken word rallies, banjos, fiddles, organic

bass and groove rhythms, and community building

through SOUND. With an array of incredible

collaborators, they are joined by everything from jazz

trumpet to beat boxing, Afro-cuban percussion to

Appalachian fiddlers, poets to burlesque and circus art

as their style redefines performance using sound as a

tool to spark a cultural revolution and birth a new

movement of unity and healing. —

“Drink me down in one long drop, and then taste me the whole way down…” � � � � � � � � � � � � � � �

Goin’ to see a man about

a dog

tall tale & snapshots by Kana Kavon

Last thing Junie could take was a man with too much nerve. If he hadn’t ate that last plate of collards, cornbread, and neckbones, wiped his mouth real gentleman like and lit a Black & Mild as he let the screen door slam behind him, she probably wouldn’t have…

Put on her warpaint:Great Granny’s pearls, Mary Kay lipstick, and her only pair of panty hose. Straw hat huggin’ her fresh-washed plaits and the gunstrap settled snug across her back. Leavin’ out the house, she let the screen door slam behind her. Damn, That does feel good.

Cousin’ Earl seen her clouding through the field like a July lightening storm carryin’ thunder on shoulder and he hollered Junie! Where you goin?

She whipped back Goin’ to see a man about

a dog. Which has always been Country for No need meddlin’ with me, which is Southern for Mind yo’ bizness.

Don’t kill ‘em, Junie! Cousin Earl shouted (so he could shake his gray head at the funeral and hum, I tried to stop her.)

You ain’t got to live with him, Earl, she cracked back at her cousin, not slowin’ down a step.

So he started up his weedeater so he wouldn’t have to hear nothing, run nowhere, or call no police.

Junie whipped through Aunt Betty’s

yard and right through Mama Nelly’s

rosebush. (Them thorns figured they

better not snag her hose or they were

liable to catch a blast

meant for that ol’ no count man of

hers.)

When she got to the creek, the

blackberries and briars stepped aside

and an old maple tree fell plum across

the water so she didn’t have to get her

favorite heels wet or walk a quarter

mile to the bridge.

She knew she’d find him playin’

dominoes under Jim-Bone’s pecan tree

with Mareen’s hot-tailed teenage

daughter close enough to be smelled.

Sure ‘nough, he was sittin’ in a chair

finishin’ off a brown bag

that girl standin’ there with her little

narrow hips right by his ears.

Jim-Bone saw Junie first, but couldn’t

say nothin’ fast enough.

Barrel aimed at the feather in her man’s

hat, Junie whispered real soft under her

steady breath,

You didn’t wash yo’ plate. She turned around and headed home. Somehow he got to the house before she did. By the time Junie came through the front door, lookin’ like she just come from Revival, he’d fried chicken, looked and cooked greens, soaked and simmered pintos and built some new kitchen cabinets.

Junie figured she was hungry after all. While she cleaned her plate, she let him rub her feet.

Tired, Junie closed her eyes. He must’ve mistook it for pleasure and slid his hand up her thigh, tuggin’ on her good panty hose.

That was the last straw!

Junie sat straight up and cut cold eyes all over him,

I done spent too much time bein’ yoMama, yo Woman, and yo baby doll. I’m tired. And it’s high time I get to workin’ my magic for ME. Get all your britches out of the drawers and get out. And don’t make me get my….

Before Junie could say shotgun, he was out the door, down the street, and hidin’ under Jim-Bone’s front porch.

Junie laughed hard at her own foolish self for havin’ put up with nonsense, thinkin’ it was her duty! Then she hollered for her faithful, four-legged friend.

Birthdays* roll* around* like* you* ought* to* have*been*expecting* them*all*along.*Like*you*should*have*thought*to*plan*your*life*better,*you*know.*So*you’d*have*it*together*by*now.But*you*don’t.*And*you*thought,*back*then,*that*by*now*you’d*know*exactly*what*you*want*out*of*life.*Hell,*you*thought*you’d*have*It*by*now—be* married* to* It,* live* in* It,* change* Its* little*diapers,* and* get* a* fat* direct* deposit* from* It*every* two* weeks.* But* what* you* got* instead*looks*real*different.*Are* you* content?*That’s* the* only* question* that*matters* in* life.* Not,* “How* much* did* it* cost?*Where* you* get* it?*When* will* you…?”* But* ARE*YOU* CONTENT?* If* not,* what* are* you* doing* to*change* It?* If* so,* are* you* thankfully* content* or*complacently*content?*‘Cause*one*breeds*peace*and*the*other,*stagnation.*You*don’t*know*where*the*next*foothold*will*be.*Dreams* sing* color* and* sensation* through*night’s* eyelids,* but* when* dawn* enters* you*forget*this*magical*reality*and*fall*back*into*the*routines*you’ve*scratched*into*your*days.** You’ve* been* hoping* for* some* big* change* to*happen—a* child,* a* job* overseas,* or* a* tornado.*But* the*drastic* is* taking* its* precious* time.* You*should* be* thankful,* but* the*muck* of*workdays*keeps* you* recovering.* And* questioning* power*play*is*a*asking*for*a*headache.*Maybe*your*life*is* small* and* amazing* as* in* larvae,* caterpillar,*and*butterVly.Experience*death*in*a*natural,*native*way.*Bow*down* humbly,* feel* the* rip,* and* wash* the*wounds* with* prayers* and* memories.* Respect*the* need* to* stand* through* pain.* To* bite* down*

and* be* still* while* the* scar* is* formed* to* mark*time* and* render* wisdom.* * The* folds* of* your*body*bending*and*peeling*back*to*The*Force.*The* timeline* you* were* imposing* upon* your*years*here*is*a*false*reckoning*of*what*you*had*imagined* God* to* be—strict,* rigid,* automatic,*and*predictable.*Anything*but*natural.*Folks* and* God* got* more* ways* than* a* tree* got*leaves* and* a* lizard* got* tails.* When* one* gets*gone,* a*new*one* takes* its*place.*And* in* all* this*hard*knock* learning,*You’ve*come*to*know*one*lesson:*Most*important*folk*you*need*to*know*is*your*Self.*The*other* important*question) is* “When* is* your*birthday?”* Course,* that* just* determines* what*time*of*the*year*you’re*likely*to*be*doing*all*this*reVlecting* and* what* the* stars* are* doing* in* the*sky.*

The Ways of Folk and Godby Kana Kavon

One.Drop is passion and ancestors peeking through a picture frame, your eyes. Smiling because, yes, it’s not perfect, but better than before. Tough and green and defying concrete. Nothing can stop this cosmic spiral into light. Not even the stuckness of IDONTKNOW or addiction or doubt. Always strutting with your great grand’s swagger, carrying the moon in your round back pocket. Too cool to bow down to indignities. Even defeat is a graceful backstep in the dance of your life. Shimmy them shoulders while you wait or stalk your prey or leap into vivid faith. Gratitude is a battle cry, sound them horns! O N E . D R O P I S

A L L I T T A K E S