Actresses that I absolutely adore - When I was younger it really sucked, because I think a lot of the other characters were fan favourites. When you’re 13 and you don’t really understand the business and your best friend is getting a lot of love and you’re getting a lot of hate… well, it was difficult. I don’t know, I just kind of make Sansa my own, and I hope people understand her. That’s what I want – I want understanding rather than whether they like her or they hate her.

Sweet potato and black bean quesadillas. #foodoverhumans

Sweet potato and black bean quesadillas. #foodoverhumans

"The rage of the oppressed is never the same as the rage of the privileged."
bell hooks 

i-shapebeauty:

Using film, visual art, dance and poetry, A Different Mirror provides a platform for Women of Colour artists to explore the conflicts about how we see ourselves versus how we are seen.

The 3 day exhibition and educational activities confront these crucial questions about the systems or structures that shape our relationship to our bodies and its connection to our identities. It holds up a mirror to see and know ourselves differently.

Exhibition Public Opening Times:

Saturday 26th April 2014 10 am – 5pm

Sunday 27th April 2014 12 pm – 5pm

 Featuring works by: Indigo WilliamsLesley AsareSanaa HamidNasreen RajaSarina Leah MantleWasma MansourUchenna Dance, Patricia Kaersenhout, and Ng’endo MukiiAowen JinJanine ‘j*9′ FrancoisClare Eluka, and Emerzy Corbin.

Reflections: Art as a Tool for Healing

Saturday 26th of April 2014

6:30pm – 8:30pm £7.50 (early bird £6.50)

This artist seminar explores the ways in which art can be used to heal and empower ourselves and others. It offers insight into different artistic mediums and how these artists have used their practices for reclamation and transformation.

Featuring a performance by writer Yrsa Daley-Ward, talks by Indigo Williams (poet) and Lesley Asare (visual and performance artist) of I Shape Beauty, and a panel discussion featuring Sharmila ChauhanAowen JinVicki Igbokwe (Uchenna Dance) and Bola Agbaje.

Book your ticket here: https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/reflections-art-as-a-tool-for-healing-tickets-11083233249?ref=ebtnebtckt 

Photos by Rowena Gordon Photography

So excited and honored to be part of alimarko's senior thesis gallery opening. ❤️

So excited and honored to be part of alimarko's senior thesis gallery opening. ❤️

lora-mathis:

lora-mathis:

Girl, an ongoing series 
by Lora Mathis 

4/14: beard & lipstick added

wespeakproject:


        I hate who I turn into when my mental health is at its worst. The compassion that’s usually at the core of who I am as a person fades to apathy. I am irritable. I’m boring. I’m unsure. I’m ugly. I’m vain, I’m overly critical, I’m unreliable. And I hate admitting that I see those things in myself more and more clearly as I grow older. Some days, I don’t like looking at myself in a mirror because I’m insecure, like so many other women, about how I look. But other days, so many days, it’s because I see those ugly qualities in myself and I can’t stand looking at the girl who has mountains of unanswered e-mails, who is tired all the time, whose attention lingers in and out of conversations with people she deeply cares about. I don’t want to see her, and I don’t want anyone else to see me as I see myself.



        Accomplishments give me a kind of high that can only come with the reassurance that no, I’m not a failure. Feeling capable and interesting and worthwhile come with their own set of fears, though; enough praise or attention, and I think to myself that it’s only a matter of time until I let someone (or everyone) down. I bounce back and forth between a frantic worry that I’m not doing enough, I’m not talented enough, I have to work harder, and a emptying apathy that leaves me unable to get a single thing done. It’s a struggle not to define my self-worth with my productivity and usefulness as a person.



        This maddening combination of indifference punctuated by panic not only makes it incredibly difficult for me to function some days, but also gives me another thing for which to berate myself. I blame myself, judge myself for those days. I wonder how on earth I will be able to graduate from college and start a career and start a life and pay my bills and feed myself. I look at my friends and I see strong, capable adults who are invaluable to the people in their lives. I see talented, driven people who are going places. I want to go places, too. People who know me expect it of me. Where am I going to go like this? The mere idea of the future as a foggy, unsure “someday” drives my heart rate up. I want to have a future, but when I try to imagine it, I can’t. I feel so anxious that I want to break out of my own brain.



        Despite all that I still manage to accomplish and the support I have from so many, I miss being able to look at myself and see a capable person because I just don’t feel that I am anymore. And I hate it. I don’t want anyone to see me that way, because somewhere I know that the capable, passionate, patient person I want to be is in here. And I’m tired of acting like none of this is going on because each time I do, I feel like she gets buried deeper. I want to be taken seriously and loved without having to pretend like I’m fine. I’m not always fine.



        Alicia, age 21

wespeakproject:

        I hate who I turn into when my mental health is at its worst. The compassion that’s usually at the core of who I am as a person fades to apathy. I am irritable. I’m boring. I’m unsure. I’m ugly. I’m vain, I’m overly critical, I’m unreliable. And I hate admitting that I see those things in myself more and more clearly as I grow older. Some days, I don’t like looking at myself in a mirror because I’m insecure, like so many other women, about how I look. But other days, so many days, it’s because I see those ugly qualities in myself and I can’t stand looking at the girl who has mountains of unanswered e-mails, who is tired all the time, whose attention lingers in and out of conversations with people she deeply cares about. I don’t want to see her, and I don’t want anyone else to see me as I see myself.
        Accomplishments give me a kind of high that can only come with the reassurance that no, I’m not a failure. Feeling capable and interesting and worthwhile come with their own set of fears, though; enough praise or attention, and I think to myself that it’s only a matter of time until I let someone (or everyone) down. I bounce back and forth between a frantic worry that I’m not doing enough, I’m not talented enough, I have to work harder, and a emptying apathy that leaves me unable to get a single thing done. It’s a struggle not to define my self-worth with my productivity and usefulness as a person.
        This maddening combination of indifference punctuated by panic not only makes it incredibly difficult for me to function some days, but also gives me another thing for which to berate myself. I blame myself, judge myself for those days. I wonder how on earth I will be able to graduate from college and start a career and start a life and pay my bills and feed myself. I look at my friends and I see strong, capable adults who are invaluable to the people in their lives. I see talented, driven people who are going places. I want to go places, too. People who know me expect it of me. Where am I going to go like this? The mere idea of the future as a foggy, unsure “someday” drives my heart rate up. I want to have a future, but when I try to imagine it, I can’t. I feel so anxious that I want to break out of my own brain.
        Despite all that I still manage to accomplish and the support I have from so many, I miss being able to look at myself and see a capable person because I just don’t feel that I am anymore. And I hate it. I don’t want anyone to see me that way, because somewhere I know that the capable, passionate, patient person I want to be is in here. And I’m tired of acting like none of this is going on because each time I do, I feel like she gets buried deeper. I want to be taken seriously and loved without having to pretend like I’m fine. I’m not always fine.

        Alicia, age 21
wespeakproject:

        I think the most important thing that I have learned about my relationship with my mental health in the last few months (since I’ve been going to therapy, really), is that most of what I was feeling was a direct result of my cognitive processes. Basically, the way I was thinking and what I was thinking would directly influence my emotions and my emotional health, and I never really conceived of the two as separate from each other before. What I realized is that a lot of the struggles I was having surrounding my emotional health came out of a tendency I had (and still have, to some level, but I’ve gotten a lot better about it) to impose really harsh self-judgments about the things i was feeling, telling myself it was irrational or pathetic or stupid to feel the way I did, and that would in turn just make me more upset for being unable to stop myself from feeling these things. So it would sort of just turn into an endless spiral. There were points at which my baseline emotional state was so just… sad, I was so sad all the time that I couldn’t remember what it was normal/socially acceptable to be sad about. Because I was just sad, all the time, about everything. I’ve noticed that my depression will attach itself to things (failed relationships, academic stress); like I use those struggles to rationalize it and in a way that helped me make myself believe that it was just me being unable to deal with emotions that all other humans have, like it was just a failure on my part. I’ve learned to be a lot kinder to myself, to allow myself to sit with my discomfort and sadness and like, validate it, to allow myself to feel whatever I’m feeling, and try and take the time to figure out why I feel that way, and to just affirm to myself that yeah, it still hurts, and yeah, it’s still hard, but that’s okay, and it’s okay for me to feel these things. Out of everything, that’s helped the most. Just learning to be kind to myself.
        Visually, I guess what it feels like most often is drowning. Like being pulled under the current of something that, when it’s shallow, is easy to swim through, but can also pull you under really swiftly and fill up your lungs until you can’t breathe. I also feel like, viscerally, like an ache in the left side of my chest, like this expanding empty space that’s pushing at the walls of my chest. And then sometimes I feel like my anxiety is this dark hungry beast that sleeps in my chest and wakes up when it can feel me starting to worry, just to edge me forward.
        Sahana, age 21

wespeakproject:

        I think the most important thing that I have learned about my relationship with my mental health in the last few months (since I’ve been going to therapy, really), is that most of what I was feeling was a direct result of my cognitive processes. Basically, the way I was thinking and what I was thinking would directly influence my emotions and my emotional health, and I never really conceived of the two as separate from each other before. What I realized is that a lot of the struggles I was having surrounding my emotional health came out of a tendency I had (and still have, to some level, but I’ve gotten a lot better about it) to impose really harsh self-judgments about the things i was feeling, telling myself it was irrational or pathetic or stupid to feel the way I did, and that would in turn just make me more upset for being unable to stop myself from feeling these things. So it would sort of just turn into an endless spiral. There were points at which my baseline emotional state was so just… sad, I was so sad all the time that I couldn’t remember what it was normal/socially acceptable to be sad about. Because I was just sad, all the time, about everything. I’ve noticed that my depression will attach itself to things (failed relationships, academic stress); like I use those struggles to rationalize it and in a way that helped me make myself believe that it was just me being unable to deal with emotions that all other humans have, like it was just a failure on my part. I’ve learned to be a lot kinder to myself, to allow myself to sit with my discomfort and sadness and like, validate it, to allow myself to feel whatever I’m feeling, and try and take the time to figure out why I feel that way, and to just affirm to myself that yeah, it still hurts, and yeah, it’s still hard, but that’s okay, and it’s okay for me to feel these things. Out of everything, that’s helped the most. Just learning to be kind to myself.
        Visually, I guess what it feels like most often is drowning. Like being pulled under the current of something that, when it’s shallow, is easy to swim through, but can also pull you under really swiftly and fill up your lungs until you can’t breathe. I also feel like, viscerally, like an ache in the left side of my chest, like this expanding empty space that’s pushing at the walls of my chest. And then sometimes I feel like my anxiety is this dark hungry beast that sleeps in my chest and wakes up when it can feel me starting to worry, just to edge me forward.
        Sahana, age 21