I am a visual artist working in collage, assemblage sculpture and altered books. My practice explores identity, memory and the history of the African diaspora. Vintage and contemporary images collide to convey how the past informs the present.


The Bluebird of Testosterone

The Boy has begun making the occasional comment that seems to indicate the presence of a completely testosterone-driven portion of the brain.

It started one day when we were driving to the mall, and The Boy said he saw a bird where none could have been. About as elusive as the bluebird of happiness. The Husband went along with The Boy's story, saying it was a bird only guys could see; therefore, it must be the Bluebird of Testosterone.

Today I was buckling The Boy into his car seat, but I couldn't get it to click closed at first. I realized what was wrong, and said, "Oh, your shirt was in the way."

The Boy's response: "And my penis was in the way too."

Uh-huh.

My kind of physics lesson

I love them, theoretically