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BIRDS IN FLIGHT
Is it true that all men are born equal?
No.
We are born with different talents and handicaps.
But we may agree that “All men SHOULD be born equal, but the circumstances of each birth vary.”
Some people are born close to the finishing line, and many are born right at the beginning of the starting point in this race of life.
Others are placed even behind the official starting line, and they must also race with those placed only a few feet from the finishing line where all the goodies of life are stored.
Another painting that I just extracted from my garage is this dark work.
Another painting that I just extracted from my garage is this dark work.
There is an interesting story behind it.
In the year 2000 or 2001, the British Museum invited me to give a lecture as part of the ceremonies held in commemoration of the 50th anniversary of the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II, and also to mark the completion of the Great Court built as an extension of the main museum building. They wanted me to address the body as my topic.
Ọ̀yẹ̀kú Méjì Dome
Architect-artist: Moyo Okediji Curator: Bisola Oladunjoye Builders: The Àkòdì Òrìṣà artists Title: Ọ̀yẹ̀kú Méjì Dome Date: 2018 Location: Ile Ife, NigeriaIn this building, called Ọ̀yẹ̀kú Méjì, I designed a structure serving as a home of sacred art, using innovative designs and materials that explore indigenous African traditions. I will post details of the building below.
A bunch of French neocolons
Why would a bunch of French neocolons sit in broad daylight and discuss strategies to come to Africa to experiment with the Coronavirus vaccines on African bodies? (Many of you have seen the viral video, I believe, of these two French humanists dialoguing about going to Africa to experiment with the Coronavirus vaccine on Africans). They can do that dialogue on television with such unimaginable confidence because they know fully well that Africans and especially their leaders have lost the necessary spiritual rigor to resist invasion and abuse.
Becoming an Olorisa is no longer an option for the African: it is the most effective form of intellectual and spiritual resistance against neocolonial aggression.
José, my gardener.
I looked out through the window. The grass was not yet tall enough to mow. It had rained, and green life was returning to Austin after the long winter, and spring was almost fully here.
But the snowstorm of a month ago in Texas dealt Austin a cruel hand and plant life has not really recovered.
“José,” I said, “The lawn doesn’t need you yet. Maybe in a week, two?”
“I need the money, Mr. Moyo,” José pleaded.
We are home alone
We are home alone dying to be alive at this silent hour when the trees are…