REALITY SHAPED
Interested in some of my published works?
Follow Me
Captive No More (III)
7.
Music is the language of tragedy,
and dance, the vocabulary of trauma.
Silence, the death of feelings,
marks the beginning of madness.
After my great grandmother in vain
yelled the name of her son, Akin,
several times, and got no response,
she stepped outside and scanned
where he was playing,
and yelled his name again,
when she did not see him there
her stomach sank
because down in the pit of her womb
she knew he was gone.
The Last Dance.
Adetola Wewe is working in my studio gallery on his last painting as the first resident fellow of the University of African Art at Austin.
He is concluding a one-month stay, and has produced an incredible number of paintings during this short period.
He will leave for Houston during the week, from where he plans to fly back home.
Today, he will share his residency experience with the students of the University of Texas at Austin, in a course titled “Introduction to African Art,” taught by Moyo Okediji.
The presidential election in Nigeria is postponed for another week.
Who will win between Buhari and Atiku?
(In all seriousness, all other names are not on the ballot).
The question is not whether Buhari will be reelected into office as the president of Nigeria.
Ifa says Buhari will be reelected, whether you like it or not.
Gradually the African art gallery is falling into proper shape.
The art is also ready to go.
But I’m not in a hurry to open the gallery.
I will wait till it’s safe.
Do you know this song?
Ẹ fà á nírungbọn tu!
Ẹ fà á nírungbọn tu ò
Àgbàlagbà tí ò lówó lọ́wọ́
Tó ń dá irungbọ̀n sí
Ẹ fà á nírungbọn tu.
Àkòdì Òrìṣà:
a dream is gradually taking shape.