Mc angel

It’s always a pleasure making art for fellow artists. This was commissioned by a friend of the very talented MC Angel. I used symbolic representation of her values and her own lyrics to make this portrait.

Check out her spoken word poetry here:

Paper tigers 

Paper tigers on the paper trail, earning their stripes without fail.

The Hunter talks of taking the beast by its tail, while the shepherd tells comforting wife’s tales, to the rest of the villagers praying not to fall prey.
Those from the west begin to flee east, from the heardless beast, that didn’t roar to be heard. The eye of the Tiger speaks a thousand words, all of which are echos of death.
Prowling quietly, growling silently, crouching low before it pounces violently…

Shades of black and bright vermillion, like a frightening fire that freezes millions… The Hunter tries to ride the Tiger wild, the shepherd would rather see it tamed.
They all fail to understand. To the beast, everyone is game… regardless of where they may stand.
Paper tigers lead us to the paper trial…

Obbatala and Sango

Sango and his wife Obba (the original zues and Metis) Two of the yoruba Orishas. I wanted to depict them not as gods, but as a yoruba man and woman that had awoken the God inside them.

Obatala is the mother/father of all Orishas and of human beings. She/He is also the owner of all heads and minds. Through Olorun, who created the universe.

IMG_0631Sango (shango) may be the most well known of the Orishas. He governs lightning, thunder, fire, drums and dance. Shango, a warrior Orisha of intelligence and wit, has irascible temperament and is the embodiment of manhood.

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(you can find out more on http://www.africanmagick.com/orisha-info.html)

shelter

All the pitter-patter prints different patterns in the back of my mind. I try to be shelter in turbid times.

All the chitter-chatter puts new coats on old characters, at the forefront of your thoughts. I pray we make the most of these rainy days.

You storm in, I storm out. Its almost always windy in our city, scatter-scatter, raining pain again… We try to drip dry under damaged umbrellas.

All the helter skelter, yet you are still, and I am still your shelter