One of my dearest, bestest friends, Vaal London Kane, a great voice, humanitarian, and artist in the world, died a few days ago from cancer, and I've been trying to come to peace with it. If you don't know who she is, you should, and if you do, you know why it's been hard to put into words the impact she had.
Below is what I, humbly, managed...
RED. (Clips of life experiences)
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Flavored by the sun and favored with gifts, she glides across the snowed on, icy street.
After talking for hours.
After me not understanding half of it...
...my soul was on fire.
Heated up to red for suddenly knowing what was to be important for the rest of days: Recreating this for everyone. Capturing the powerful flame that the no BS, no PC, not caring what anybody else thinks, crust on the bread kinda truth brings about.
Distilling all vapor, baby, and coming to the core of what is going on.
I was fresh off a farm and impressed by everything.
Meanwhile, busy feverishly hiding my accent, my innards, my spirit.
She'd look around, searching wherever we were, saying, "Where are the judges? Where are these people you keep looking over your shoulder and worrying about trying to please? Are they here?! Are they visible?!"
She met my group of friends. What I thought were artists and writers and actors and all. They shockingly dismissed her. They didn't like how she looked, walked, talked...who knows. But they were too late. She was already out the door.
She asked me, "Is that what you want to be?"
Huh?
"Is that, those kind of people in there what you want to be?"
They're my friends.
"No. It's vapor."
What?
"When you figure it out, it's going to be amazing, what you do. But now...you're scared, baby, and it's sad. Change your perception."
Years later, some of those same friends wanted me to introduce them to her because of who she was. We laughed about that. She had arrived.
A child once asked her what she was.
Without offense she said, "I'm a manifestation of love. And you?" The
child thought about it for a minute, smiled and said, "Me too!!!" The
mother whisked her away, but it was too late, that little girl was
already hip to things. She waved goodbye. Vaal waved back smiling.
I once shared my prediction for a coming revolution. She joined in and topped it, swearing it would be started by aliens coming down from the sky and waking us up. (Eerie that, now.) I was sure then that she was beyond global, more interested in creating art for the universe than one little speck of world. That you'd find her art millenniums later, cradled in the arms of a dead curator, struck down by whatever war, in museum rubble, along with a Salvador Dali.
I showed her my work. She asked where the real stuff was.
I showed her my real work. She asked where the realer stuff was.
I showed her my secret work. She asked where the box office was.
Her artwork was visceral. Her voice was visual. The rest is...palpable.
She glided over the ice that night when I first met her. After hanging out with a lot of them that called themselves artists, but weren't. Streetlights casting an orange glow over everything. I didn't understand half of it, but it was too late. My soul was on fire.
____________
Fly high, Vaal, and be free.
You are the manifestation of loving light now.
And Remember...
The Revolution will be Caramelized.
Peace, ya'll.
PS:
(All pics were used with permission and are reprints of a larger body of work. To know more about Vaal London Kane please check my roll or, of course, the trusty web. Her art just might inspire you.)
Original source: http://carameljones.wordpress.com/?p=59
