On letters to Marcue.

It has been a long year, a busy year and quite eventful I must confess. From applying to MA and MFA programs, excelling at each individual interview to then realising that scholarships are not just handed over. From dreamily applying to the prestigious Rijksakademie residency to being invited to the interviews, acing them (still in dream mode) and now trying to get there. From creating ghosts of the man I once called my fiancé to getting married to him on two different occasions. It seems to be the Ugandan trend and not exclusive to the Late President Idi Amin Dada. It’s my third month being married though it seems like the festivities happened edges ago.

Now I’m writing, I guess having my art on a writer’s blog wasn’t a mistake after all. I find myself trying to unpack memory. Writing to a 5 to 12year old child (my younger self) about the 27year old being that I am. I hope she will comprehend that which I am making an attempt to comprehend. Telling her of events that I believe she is better placed to understand and that I only seem to pick inspiration from. Letters to my childhood is the most brilliant title I could concoct for this sort of madness. A madness that seeks to comb a mind and find the truth in fictions that memory can be. The findings of this madness may be further fiction but who knows may be the ink on paper will be kind enough to tell what the imagination is shy to. Daddy Can I Play?! and SAFE HERE have been fuelled into beautiful fictions that memory has inspired. There surely must be more that’s beneath these tales. More that I am convinced writing to my childhood will tell. It’s only a conviction … there’s not much I can do about it.letters

to be a being

I want to be a wealthy being. wealth in terms of concepts and execution of these concepts but money matters! I am done being shy about it. I want to live and live comfortably.to have my brain paying the bills and taking me places. to label my work “Let me kiss your butt cheek …” and be awarded for it. To be a being who remembers that granaries exist at home amidst grass thatched mud houses. …that the millet I eat is a source of strength and the silent prayer I say before any art work is carefully answered by God. To be a being, sharing wisdom by expression with out wavering to societies expectations. to be honest making sense and non-sense. knowing that contradiction is a part of being existent. living in my crafty creations.   This experiment that I am will one day be an artist with oblivion being a mere memory and not a reality.

Work in progress
Immy Mali, Seared Archive 2016 Afri Art Gallery,Kampala Uganda Courtesy of the artist Photo credit. Rosalie van Deursen

Thoughts of being

Being among human beings of like mind in different situations is a boost to my way of thinking, making and looking at life . Being among others of different ancestry is perhaps an even more binding factor. The universe has a way of putting those you need around you. could it be that we just attract who we are? The company of Fanni Baudo, Kumar Prashant, Vrushali Dhage, Katarzyna Krakowiak, Shweta Bhattad, Kelvin Hazel, Euridice Kala was all a source of wealth. Wealth that can be tapped once in contact with the source…all young minds and yet very eager to share and to learn. Counting My blessings…one by one.

photo by Alison Wynn
photo by Alison Wynn

Something happened

There’s a time in life when you get to live. This for me is the time I have started to live, to take decisions and be sure to carry the repercussions. After 25yrs of existence now the misty and hazey view of my expression has started to get clearer. It is frightening to know how vulnerable one can be after the honesty of expression. The strength however lies in the taking charge for ones life. Let this week be one of those where you live for you without wondering what the other thinks.

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