Varnette P. Honeywood
Dixie Peach, unknown date
unknown medium
This picture has been hanging in a frame on my grandmother’s wall since before I was born. She cut the picture out of a magazine. It depicts the ritualistic practice of hair straightening in a black family (I say, and mean, family, not know if they are supposed to be blood-related or not). White beauty standards have psychologically damaged us as a people, but Honeywood depicts the closeness, familiarity, and bonding of the black women in the kitchen, and I feel that. Although our African roots have been stolen from us and replaced with self- hatred, poverty, and oppression, there is a certain spiritual something that I can only describe as pure love, that makes me thank God I am black. I’m sad to say that there is not much information on Varnette Honeywood’s individual works.
n. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk.
I sonder quite a but
(Source: dictionaryofobscuresorrows)
Love is divine only and difficult always. if you think it’s easy, you are a fool. If you think it’s natural youre blind. It’s a learned application without reason or motive except that it’s God.
