As soon as the water touched it, curls began to form and multiply under the weight of lather. I did what my mother and my aunts taught me to do: combed through the strands with my fingers and, after shaking my head into a towel, I drenched each strand with oil and pink lotion, and wrapped it in a headscarf.*
This is my weekly ritual for the twenty odd years I’ve been on this Earth. Each time I interact with my hair, I have come to recognize that with my hands, I am weaving through the history of all the women who came before me whose names are k**wn and unk**wn, and who have lived hard and full lives. Wash day, with this in mind, has become more than a chore but a**ther practice in preserving my being while maintaining some semblance of love for myself, my black body, and my black hair.* Read more...
09-30-2016, 09:00 PM
Solange K**wles' new album is a meditative exploration on being black in America
العرض الشجري