Dreams

There is a spark in each of us, a glimmer of hope that began life as we did, much larger in scope; before we learned to doubt the quiet belief that we can be - can do - anything.

It is sad that we lose this spark over time, with the proud assistance of our educators and parents; only trying to help us to conform, to fit in.... to meet the expectations that everyone else has of us.

When I had the luxury of time with my children I had nothing in a material sense, but I had a precious gift - the gift that many women nowadays have given up in exchange for a business suit and salary.

I was able to read to my children, gaze in wonder at a waterfall, play by the riverside and suck on cacao seeds; take a long walk without worry about how long we took. Those very short years, so long ago, (while filled with other stresses), were times that I was able to see the spirit of my children most clearly, and they could still see mine.

I wonder now- if, in racing to leave the world of poverty, did I break something important in the process...

At some point I stopped trying to nurture what each of my kids had inside, stopped caring about my own talents, given to me by God, and surrendered it all in the name of having enough to eat and financial security.

I have fought and cried, battled and prayed - for my beautiful kids to behave - to surrender to society's rules and norms, and lost many opportunities to see them in their own light- from their own eyes- from God's.

If my fervent prayer had been answered many years ago, perhaps my living would have been made from my art, instead of the many careers I have ventured into solely to earn a living. But my parents started the cycle, creating a belief in me that artists could not make a living.... that my talent was not worthy of investing money in an education to better.

In pushing my own kids in the same manner- towards careers with potential to earn money for them in the future, I have unwittingly joined the conspiracy.

But! There is still hope. 

A son who prays now - a daughter who begins to believe that she is not too short. If I can still communicate to them to have a bit of trust in God, to believe in themselves and the gifts they have inside... well then I would have given them a far greater gift than an inheritance after death- as they would be able to reach their heights, with no need for anyone else - other than God, and who they choose to have in their lives, without having to take jobs which make them exchange what they love for what they need one day.

I hope there is still time, time in which they are still willing to believe in me- the inadvertent dimmer of those once great and wonderful sparks.

Never put out the lights of another's dreams.

I have honestly always tried to encourage every dream my children, friends.(...even

strangers) have had in life, since my own were circumvented early and only now, in my late

40's, beginning to come back to me again as possibilities.

Life is so much more than we acknowledge it to be, then when we merely work to

succeed financially.   We stop seeing the gifts that are all around us, and those

moments are lost to us as a result.

I hope that the next generation will learn from our mistakes, with careful mentoring from

 those of us who have finally figured it out, and that our grandchildren will be raised

differently, with reverence for their unique talents, and their dreams given nourishment,

And given a place in society to flourish, not just to scrape by if they are not geared  

toward the mainstream academic career paths that we so love to embrace, in the honor of stability, security and conformity. 

We owe the artists, writers, musicians, poets, designers, dancers…..a respectful and

independent place in the future, if it is to have the beauty and wonder it deserves.

Katherine Felix

This piece won a Silver award for Prose in the Literary Arts section of NIFCA in November 2011.

Unpalatable Brew

I am a poet.  

As such, I consider words to be sacred; understanding fully that they have the power to influence those who read them and touch others’ lives; in a positive or a negative manner. When I compose lyrics for a spoken word piece, the lines of a poem or short story meant to be read; I am mindful of my words and chose them with care; as do the best of the many poets and spoken word artists whom I am honoured to know personally.

It is my belief that journalists have every bit as much responsibility, if not more; to be careful to research and thoroughly understand the subjects that they write about and that they should consider the impact of their words, since, not only do the members of the general public believe fully what they read in these articles; since what is published in a newspaper is considered to have the weight of truth; but they should also consider the impact of those words on the persons about whom they are writing.

Appearing in the Nation’s Sunday Sun, the weekend after the NIFCA Drama/Speech Finals, an article written by Ricky Jordan, entitled “Tasty brew” may have seemed, on the surface, to be complimentary to the art form of spoken word.  However, if you were to ask those artists who were singled out in that article as mere clones of Adrian Green; or ask Adrian Green himself, you would get a much different picture than the one painted in that article where Mr Jordan singled out several artists as clones of Adrian Green, and accused him of imposing his personality on the spoken word artists that he mentors.

It has been my experience that Adrian Green is extremely mindfully and deliberate in the amount and type of guidance that he gives fellow artistes to ensure that whatever they create; whether in written or spoken word format; comes from their perspective, their souls.  To suggest otherwise points to a lack of appreciation of the dynamics of the Spoken word community here in Barbados, and that none of the artists being written about were interviewed and I doubt that their pieces were listened to; with a critical; informed ear.

Perhaps what confused Mr Jordan was the fact that the people that he singled out as being clones of Adrian Green wore the same T-shirt that he did that night, a shirt with a message related to the years that Spoken Word has struggled to become recognized in the NIFCA process as a separate art form from Drama or Speech, where the judging criteria and the lack of a microphone has kept many Poets from entering in previous years, and some from entering again this year as well.

 

Perhaps if Mr Jordan had done some research into the meaning behind these shirts, his story would have been a well written article focused on the triumph of this growing art form in finally being able to gain the optional use of a microphone. His article could have been filled with stories from this year’s NIFCA Drama/Speech competition, would have explained why there were so many artists who entered spoken word pieces this year, and a bit more about the poetic families of “Iron Sharpen Iron”, and the “League of Extraordinary Poets” referred to in DJ Simmons piece “DIRTY”.

There were many persons present who wore the same shirts that Adrian Green, DJ Simmons, Robert Gibson and Oswald Joe donned for their performances at finals and there were several poets who are also members of the same poetic “family” who did not wear that shirt for their performances.  Those not wearing a WARNING T-Shirt were not labelled by Mr Jordan as 

“clones”, yet they were just as influenced; or not; by Adrian Green as those who wore the group's shirts on stage.

The morning this article came out, I heard, one by one, the crushing of the spirits of poets who worked diligently to craft unique pieces which carried messages, themes to entertain, or were written and delivered to evoke an emotional response from an audience….each one a talented writer; each who attended workshops and subjected their pieces to the review of their peers, week after week in preparation for NIFCA prelims, semi-finals, and then finals.

 

Robert Gibson grew from a nervous reader into a crowd-pleasing spoken word artist with his piece ‘Luscious’.  DJ Simmons carefully and artfully crafted a social commentary piece ‘Dirty’ that was deliberate and entertaining in content, wordplay, microphone use and delivery.  Oswald Joe came out of his comfort zone, moving deliberately away from dramatic arts and stepping out on stage for the first time as a spoken word artist with ‘Tingling Feeling’.

These artists, including Adrian Green himself, are influenced by the best in their craft.  They have studied other performances; they have looked critically at their own words, performances and delivery.  They each consciously thought about how best to use the microphones reluctantly granted to them.  They worked hard, and their individual talents are worthy of a balanced and educated critique, rather than an article without substantive background on the genre being reported on and which dismissed their efforts in a single fell swoop of the pen, condemning their talent as nothing more than an extension of another artist.  Although Adrian Green has assuredly inspired, influenced and encouraged each of them, as he has done for many others; he has not been guilty of the type of “cloning” that Mr Jordan infers in his article.

These artists had the support of all their peers, went through many hurdles in the NIFCA entry and judging process for their chosen art form, and the words published in this article stole something important from them.

   

Perhaps it is a matter of exposure.  If so, I would like to offer to be Mr Jordan’s personal guide on a poetic journey though YouTube, and the local Spoken word venues, in order to allow him to see the differences between a piece like “Luscious”, and ‘Big Rock Lyrics’.  I know the writers, as well as many other artists here in Barbados would welcome the opportunity to sit with any of the members of the press to give them an insight into the creative sector, and to help them become familiar with the various genres’ as well as to discuss the future and the challenges faced by artists

.

There is so much going on, worthy of being spoken about; of being reported on; in the Arts these days.  Artists are coming together, and doing what needs to be done, lifting ourselves and each other up; instead of waiting for government assistance.  These should be the articles being written, rather than pieces which minimize the efforts of artists who strive to be professional and who work hard to always be improving.

If you are interested, the message on our T-Shirts is:      WARNING…..I AM A POET….I Speak My Mind and they prominently feature a microphone to represent the Spoken Word artists’ victory in finally having been given the option to use mics while performing this year.  

  

For all the journalists out there, who report on the arts, artists realize that we need your reviews and we appreciate critical feedback which will help us improve aspects of our craft, but please, interview the persons being written about; know the background of the process that put the artists or their works on the stage in the first place.  Write about what you know, have gained experience in covering, or do the research.   Every Spoken word artist that entered this year made an effort to be there, pushed themselves to perform professionally, and to be the best they were capable of.  

It should not be too much to ask that the journalists who cover the event hold themselves to the same standards. 

                      

Katherine Felix

The Talents

by KatherineFelix on Sunday, October 24, 2010 at 10:00pm

I believe we all have
God given gifts
for me, it is writing, and painting
when I am able to lose myself
when “I am”
becomes one
with the great I AM

When there is no longer a distinction
between where my soul ends
and God’s Hand begins
a connectionis forged
and word or images flow
like water from the Source.

In these instants I am at peace
Happiness too small a word
A change in consciousness occurs
And I am what I was born....
To Be,
To Do,
To See,
To Share
It flows forth with ease….
all is right in my world.

What would the world be like,
If we all
had the ability
to live
By doing
what we love
What we were designed to do
Being in that zone
All the days of our lives?

In my childhood I was separated
as a child ripped from her mother’s breast
made to travel a “safe” and “normal” path
to ensure I would be able to “earn a living….”
and in earning this living I suffer
yearning always,
just to be me.

In the end I have learned
to encourage and support
the dreams of others
whenever I have the chance,
to counsel others to listen
to the voice inside
whispering The Way.

To steal God’s path from another
should be ranked among the most heinous sins
akin to murder…
murder of the soul
yet well meaning parents the world over
stifle the unique talents of their children
in an attempt to make them “fit in”.

Managers and people in positions of power
hold knowledge from others
in an attempt to secure their own positions
rather than enjoying the Gift
of setting people on their own course
allowing them to reach their true potential

Never realizing the real losers
are them selves,
as Karma is as real as gravity
and that what goes around comes around
and that the opposite is also true...
that in giving others possibilities
you open up more for yourself.

At the ripe old age of now,
I am finally beginning to see
That what I really want to do
Is to start to live my Dream
To fulfill the promise God had in me
With the gifts he bestowed on me

Maybe par tof those gifts
Is the ability to recognize in others
And encourage to grow
The spark put there by God
Fanning dead embers
Until they once again glow with potential.

Who I am....

by Katherine Felix on Thursday, July 29, 2010 at 4:27pm

The colour of my skin,
an accident of birth
a circumstance
over which I had
absolutely no control.


Yet I am often held to randsome
accountable for actions of others
with whom I only hold in common
the same pigmentation (or lack thereof)
a similar genetic makeup.

As if by this circumstantial
exterior presentation
which my genes, my ancestry
has locked me into
somehow describes Me.....

The woman, the soul,
the personality created by God
trapped within the shell
that the world sees
and uses to define me.

Periodically I examine
this body,
often surprised at how it keeps changing
so I eat right, excercise, lose weight
but this just affects the body.

The core inside
is still me
and the most important changes
are the ones that no one ever sees
the ones only I can feel.

The changes in my heart
each time it has been broken
The maturity that let me walk away
stop trying to fix
what was outside of myself.

The strength
that made me rise each day
when my last child was laid to rest
so that I would be there
for the other two.

The humility
that allowed me to ask for forgiveness
admit my past mistakes
and face the consequences
head on.

The acknowledgement
that I dont have all the answers
and often neither do my friends
but that I can submit to God
who does.

I have been molded
changed, guided....
forged like steel through fyah
made into the person
who you do not see.

When you look
at my skin colour,
greying hair,
amber eyes, size,
my.....whatever.

Whatever it is
that you see
when you look at me
unless you can get beyond the surface
delve deep and truly feel who I am.

Who I am
is not described
by a skin colour
the size or shape of my behind
my weight or even my career.

Who I am
is in my heart, my soul
my intentions and actions
not how i say it,
but what i mean.

What I give
the touch, the mark i leave
The hug, caress, the laughter
the smile, wink and shoulder to cry on
Loyal friend, mentor, mom.

So when you look at me
consider carefully what you really see
Who I really am,
or who you
expect me to be.

· · Share · Delete

Culture Shock

Art and culture…

Intellectually, emotionally, we realize

they have value

What would our

lives be like

Without music,

rhythm and lyrics

dance,

La Margarite’, Jounen Kwéyòl, 

Where is Ananse’ these days?

Land Ship, Tuk Bands…

Spoken Word, Calypso

Both social commentaries- mirrors using words.

Paintings, graphic arts,

Architecture,  design and crafts,

Jewelry, clothing…food

Pencil, pen, charcoal…

I could go on and on.

The medium and genre do not matter

They are expressions of our heritage,

The outward manifestations

of human souls

A one way communication

between the artist/performer/author

And their viewer, audience, customer.

Expression of the spirit

Which can carry a myriad of multiple meanings

Depending on the recipient’s soul and the time in which they reside.

It is metaphor.

It is passion.

It is love, loss, and society’s ills.

It is the voice raised against an injustice

The appreciation for a glimpse of God’s work

It is movement and emotion and all those intangible things

Which make a society

Free.

To an artist, there are two roads

To allow these visions to take shape

Since what we see, hear, conceive of….

Perform

Will only be exactly this way, once.

Art is static and influenced by everything around us, within us

And the first and best road is to give our pieces birth….

To express them and create them,

To let them flow forth.

The other option

To ignore them, see them in our minds

yet let them die there

is often one of economic choice,

a sad reality

more akin to abortion than

any one else may understand

and in the Caribbean,

where there is so much talent –

not just sun and sand…

these economic hardships are too often

the message sent.

We have waited for recognition

Private sector or Government support

Without the will to fund it,

programmes have to cut short

Or the message is influenced

For a sponsor or a theme…

to please the pocket

Which has paid, instead of getting

The artists’ true intent.

So the arts are “supported”

Through annual showcases and awards,

But these don’t pay for our daily bread

so often we have “day jobs”

And when artists are supported to be creating,

they are somewhere working

Or too tired to do it today….

Art is not just one a year,

When it is festival time again

Culture doesn’t coincide

With the calendar my dears.

We need to pay our bills too,

every day, just like you.

Artists want to live

with the gifts that God has blessed them

The struggling artist is a myth

We are better when well paid. 

Aren’t you?

So, if artists cannot depend

On government subsidies…….

Grants are non-existent for us,

since we have no factories;

then I conceive of Creative Support

Generated

Perpetuated

And propagated

by the artists themselves.

In each of the islands the problem is the same…

The local population

Treats the artists there with shame

Whether through ignorance

Or the fact

That

familiarity breeds contempt

The local art and cultural forms

Are struggling at best

So let us come together

Regional integration in the arts

Reach out our hands to others

Send our artists to the other islands.

Why not use the internet

Collaborate on Skype

Develop a programme

where we all come together online

work together in each country

Exhibit, promote, perform

Together

Let the Bajans introduce the Trini’s work

The Jamaicans big up the Lucians….

Create a vibrant something new

Where all ah we can thrive

A regional development group

We can do it for ourselves

Work with tourism

Teach them too

people don’t come from foreign

to the Caribbean Isles

Because they want to hear

Country and Western

Played at their hotel on Friday nights

The want to experience our culture

And not just the wuk up kind

As long as we are professional

World Class being the key

(Nothing in our cultures

Should be about mediocrity).

All around the globe

Culture is recognized

As a building block

Of society

And a growing potential

For economic development.

Cultures are cherished

Protected and shared

People travel from all over

To partake of special fares

Instead of our looking to replicate

what we see and hear

being main stream importers

of another country’s

culture and values

Obsessions with the material,

And the chemically processed

Instead of being

Natural, like some of your’s hair….

We will be focused

On exporting our own

 bands, styles, wears….

Cultural innovators

Building on our own histories.

It’s time to change

Adopt a new paradigm

Close ranks

Support each other

Use the available technology,

Methods of success

For our own reward

Brainstorm, lift up

Transfer stories of what works

Sell shares

And Franchise it in each country.

Become evolutionary

Cultural practitioners and

train the youth from young

To appreciate

The region’s creations

See the value in each other’s cultures

And what to cherish in our own

Before the radios over whelm them

With the sounds from far afield.

Bridge the gaps

Left by politicians

Whose chief concerns

Are re-election.

CSME won’t happen for the arts

on the Government Hills

If we de people

Don’t have de will,

Don’t believe that

We as a region

Have enough talent to be a force….

To have a voice

and contribute to our GDP’s

earn that foreign exchange;

which is, at the end of the day,

How the sector’s value will be measured

When elected officials

Have their say

So in order to get a budget line

Let’s shake them up, wake dem up

And get them to notice

Starving artists we won’t be

And that doesn’t mean that we agree

To sell out

To the bright lights in the North

Cable TV and consumerism.

Let’s create our own programming

And export we own

Culture – Professionally.

If Fox News can play here,

Surely our Cable shows can be played there.

New paradigms are improvements

Quantum leaps from the old

It doesn’t require

Transforming into

What we are not

Just breaking

The existing mold.

KF

2011-06-18

Exibiting my paintings for the first time

For the first time, I have taken a chance, hung my paintings with those of other artists, and have them actually listed for sale.

I dont know, but they look pretty good to me next to the others in this exhibition....so perhaps I can make this work :)

What do you think?

Follow the link and take a look- there are some other really beautiful peices from artists here in Barbados in this exhibit, along with mine.

Enjoy!

KF