Few things light me up like witnessing a woman settling into her own mind and descending into her physical body, holding firm, feeding off of her values, nourishing her personal vision and powering the collective in small or in vast ways; no matter the scale, a woman who embraces herself triggers a ripple effect that is always of great significance to those around her, whether or not it is acknowledged and supported.

Few things light me up like witnessing a woman who honors the fullness of her being in spite of her perceived flaws - full acceptance is the cradle of liberation.

Few things light me up like seeing a woman doing her thing and doing it well. It’s especially true when it comes to a black woman thrusting herself forward. Having been boxed in, diminished, critiqued, ridiculed and exploited for so long, a black woman trusting herself to leap into expansion and unexpurgated authenticity despite the pervasive resistance she faces in an heteropatriarchal society built on eurocentrism and the perpetual denying of multidimentional blackness produces seeds of hope for many others to do the same - whatever that means for them - and it is a hallowed mission like no other. I love black women. I celebrate them when they fly high and I root for them to get back up when they get knocked down under pressure from adversity. I often ask myself what it is I could do to empower other women, black women in particular, to heal the version of themselves that holds them back from their full expression. The freedom I crave for myself is also what I wish for others, in this lifetime and beyond. At this point in time, I’m so very preoccupied with doing things that will cater to that which I just described above. I feel it is what I am meant to do and I am utterly convinced that art has a role to play in it for it has healed me. The way I see it, to exist is an art in itself -  living is an uninterrupted process of creation.