FlashBackFriday: The Prequel

Hey All!

So if you read my TBT post yesterday, you were directed to this #FlashBackFriday “Prequel” for a more in-depth-stream-of-consciousness accounting of how I came up with my new CultSTATUS logo. If you just happened to check out this post – and you’re wondering what the heck I’m talking about when I mention yesterday’s TBT post – don’t worry, I give a full accounting of the original story below. Check it out!

When I started this blog, three years ago, one of my first thoughts was that I needed to find an image to best represent my core message for CultSTATUS. I quickly fell in love with Veer and several other websites for their endless array of stock art, designs, and fonts. I spent hours, days, and weeks searching for the perfect logo to introduce CultSTATUS to the world. I was like Jason on his quest for the Golden Fleece. There’s still a folder, somewhere on my computer, filled with several hundred brave soldiers, er … pictures that didn’t survive the battle. I found rabbits to go along with the ones scampering around in my head. I considered sketches of music, music notes, and musicians. I even toyed with the idea of using Hieroglyphics or Sanskrit lettering to add the ‘Culture’ in CultSTATUS. There was inspiration, in vibrant living color, as far as the eye could see – or my mind could dream.

In the end, I chose the picture of a dancer in mid-leap which has been our official profile picture on Facebook ever since. I love this picture. It spans just a moment in time, but offers up so much potential for all the moments that come before and after The Dancer’s leap. It is that potential which grabbed me the most. I wanted to express, with CultSTATUS, all the possibilities that are out there for committed artists. The Dancer has shared that message perfectly for the past three years. And yet. I’m sure you know where this is going. I’m thinking it might be time to let Her die in favor of a new Heroine. Why? Well, now would be a good time to take that ThrowBack trip down memory lane. Not just  a three year trip, though. More like thirteen years.

I was seventeen and a Senior in High School. It was late Fall or early Winter in New York and my dreamers heart was gearing up for the makings of one of my favorite memories. I was walking to the front of my apartment building with my parents and two sisters. It was after ten o’clock at night and bitter cold. For some reason, the thought occurred to me that I should stop in the middle of the street and look up at the clear night sky. I don’t know why I felt this urge. I despise the cold. I’ve always dreaded Winter weather; and I never, under any circumstances, stop walking to check out the scenery while I’m in the cold. Maybe it was because my father had recently bought a small telescope as a hobby? I guess that’s possible, but it sounds like a weak explanation to my own ears.

What I saw in that night sky isn’t very surprising. I saw stars. But what caught me off guard was that I could see lots of them. And I could see them clearly. Living in the smog infested city, I wasn’t used to seeing so many stars all at once. I paused a few seconds longer so my eyes could really focus. I wondered if I might be able to decipher any patterns up there. The big dipper and little dipper constellations were supposed to be pretty easy to find, right? Sure enough, when I took my time, I could see order in the glittering chaos. There were three stars in close succession to each other, angled on a slant, and they were anchored above and below by two more stars at each end.

Now like I said – at seventeen years old, I wasn’t very familiar with the night sky or astronomy, but I was one heck of a Pop culture aficionado! The three stars angled on a slant immediately made me think of the popular Will Smith movie, Men In Black, and all of its’ references to Orion’s Belt. I took one last glance and then rushed to catch up with my family who were inside the building already. When we got upstairs, I told my dad what I thought I’d found. He agreed with my first thought that it was probably just the big dipper. That was the only constellation either of us had ever heard anyone talk about as being so easy to spot in the city sky. We decided to use his telescope software to check our theory, just in case. When my father typed our location into the computer and brought up an image of what should be visible in the sky that night, I got a big surprise. It really was Orion and his Belt. I had found and accurately identified a constellation all on my own!

The rush of excitement I felt in that moment was addictive. I was hooked. Every chance I got, after that night, I could be found standing in the middle of the street looking up at the sky searching for Orion. My parents noticed the habit and decided it would be the perfect graduation present. They researched one of those National Star Registry services and placed an order to have one of the stars in the Orion constellation registered in my name. That’s right, there’s a star in the upper section of Orion’s humerus bone that belongs to Yours Truly – Constance Sherese!

I’ve loved stars ever since.

Flash forward three years and I was a Junior in college… well, more like a Lower Sophomore. I was struggling with my Business Management degree because I spent all my time drawing sketches in the campus radio station instead of going to class. But, I digress. Tattoos were quickly becoming all the rage for me and my friends and, although I was a total chicken, I was completely obsessed with the idea of getting one. But it had to be something cool. Something original. And something meaningful for me on a personal level (if only so I wouldn’t have to hear my mother say ‘I told you so’ ten years later when I hated it). Side note: Are these criteria starting to sound a little familiar to you? Hmmm.

Right away, I thought of getting a star tattooed discreetly on my neck. But all the people I saw with star tattoos seemed to have those tacky “triangle-cut-out-kindergarten-stencil-star-of-david” stars. No offense to all the deep spiritual meaning behind the Star of David, but I had been picturing something more realistic like the stars I had seen in the night sky when I spotted Orion. Think: “glittery-thin-pointed-light-radiating-star-of-bethlehem” stars. I asked around and “They” all said that what I wanted wasn’t possible. They claimed the cut-out stars were the only thing a tattoo artist could draw on my skin and I needed to stop being so picky. It was 2004 and apparently tattoo “artists” hadn’t fully honed their craft yet? I decided to let some time pass before I made such a big commitment. Yes, I chickened out.

Well, a few years passed and I had flunked out of college. I was lacking direction and looking for something or someone to occupy my time. Falling “in-love” with an old flame from High School seemed to fit the bill. Once again, my mother warned that I would regret it. But this time I refused to let any time pass. Where had playing it safe gotten me? No degree in the “safe” Business field. No career in the “unreliable” Artistic field. This guy was The One and I wasn’t about to let another golden moment pass me by. I packed my bags and moved to Atlanta to be with the man I loved. Yes, I moved to a new city for a boy.

I got to this great city and, as you can probably guess, he changed his mind. Decided I wasn’t what he wanted. And stopped returning my phone calls. I was devastated. I had finally taken a risk – stepped out on a limb… no, jumped off a freaking cliff – and the bastard had changed his mind! I could only imagine what my mother would say. But I’m very much like my mother. Especially when it comes to her stubborn streak. I cried, listened to sad love songs a la Jill Scott, Sara Bareilles, Corinne Bailey Rae, and Sinead O’connor, and wallowed in self pity for months. But I didn’t leave. I refused to leave. Getting on a plane and going home with my tail between my legs just wasn’t an option. In part, because I’m stubborn, but more so because I couldn’t quite convince myself that jumping off a cliff had been the wrong decision.

Jumping off that cliff had been the most free I’d felt in a long time. The boy was a jerk, yes. But maybe that jerk was supposed to play a role in something bigger for me. Maybe he wasn’t the something to occupy my time, but the someone to lead me to The Something that would define my time. I couldn’t explain it, but my head was buzzing with images and ideas – they hadn’t introduced themselves yet as The Rabbits – reminiscent of the classic struggle between Right and Wrong, Good and Bad. I thought of the biblical story of the fallen angels who gave up heaven to pursue Love – or Lust, depending on how you look at it. I thought of the Dr. Faustus play I had acted in during one of my last semesters at college. Why did there always have to be a choice? Why were things always so black and white? Where was the “vibrant living” color?

But that’s when my Pop culture trivia skills kicked in again and I thought of the 1998 movie City of Angels. The acting was terrible, Nicholas Cage was worse, and the ending made me want to throw my shoe at the television screen. But I addoooorrree all things Meg Ryan and you already know what a sucker I am for cheesy romances. So the movie was easy to pluck from my mental reserves. I thought about the concept that there was still a purpose to Nicholas Cage’s “falling”, even if Meg Ryan didn’t live to be that purpose. Then I remembered that the story of Dr. Faustus has many versions also. We performed an adaptation of Christopher Marlowe’s play, but my professor had talked about another version that actually provided a happy ending for the deal-making-doctor. The Wolfgang von Goethe play imagined more than just a Yes or No choice. It imagined a deeply layered and human story line that gave Faustus the freedom to explore his loves and passions without fear of punishment.

Suddenly I knew what my meaningful tattoo would be. It had been at least three years since I seriously thought about it, but I knew without a doubt what I wanted. I pictured an angel. At once, both falling and rising from heaven. She was stretching out one arm. Reaching upward. There were undertones of the Michelangelo masterpiece “The Birth of Adam”. But she wasn’t reaching towards God. She was reaching out for… Love. I decided to “personify” Love as love-birds. Tons of them. Fluttering in disarray all around My Angel. She would be giving up heaven to chase after love. It would be painful. Her wings would be burned off as she entered the earth’s atmosphere. It would be her punishment. How would I depict heaven? A massive star above/below her feet. But it couldn’t just be about the lost Love. Not the loss of some boy as my love, anyway. It had to be about the loss of so many of my True Loves. My passion for art and music and dance and creativity. It had to be about the joy in jumping off a cliff to win back those Loves. And now… love-birds seemed too easy also. Too one dimensional. I’d make them tiny hearts with golden wings. And I’d have My Angel wearing a ballerina skirt. She would be en pointe and in the middle of a classic pirouette. There would be Dance in this love story. There would be a happy ending too. Those winged-heart love-birds would still be in disarray all around My Angel. But like the night I first saw Orion, there would be order in the chaos for anyone who took the time to let their eyes focus. When looked at from just the right angle, the heavenly star and love birds would be connected to form a crucifix and rosary beads that were wrapped around My Angel. She wouldn’t be choosing Love instead of God. She would be reborn through God because of her Love!

Can’t you just picture it? Don’t worry, no one else could either. I discovered this a few months later when I went back to New York for a visit. It was late 2007, I’d noticed that people were starting to get more detailed tattoos, and I thought my problems were solved. I could definitely find someone to draw my Star of Bethlehem now! I spent an afternoon hanging out with one of my BFF’s, Lourdes, and decided to share my design. Her first question was: “So, what are you Catholic now?” Her second question was: “And where exactly are you getting this tattoo on your body? That’s a lot of detail to fit into a single drawing!”

In New York, I like to say that everyone is Catholic and no one is Catholic. There are rosary beads, statues of Mary, and ‘Bless This House’ stickers as far as the eye can see, but very few people are the truly in-your-face Catholics depicted on T.V. So, it really hadn’t occurred to me that my design would come across as deeply “religious.” I was not Catholic. And my intent with the rosary beads and references to God had simply been to create a general hint at the concept of two distinct choices in life. The Good, Right, “Expected” choice versus the Bad, Wrong, “Self-Satisfying” choice. A struggle that seemed to be at the root of all my commitment issues.

As for her question about where I would put the tattoo, that did give me pause. But only for a moment. I quickly decided it would look best on the inside of my left wrist. Still somewhat discreet, but perfect to add the illusion of rosary beads wrapped – not just around My Angel – but also around my wrist. I brushed off my friends’ concerns and continued with my plan. I would find a tattoo artist, tell him my idea, and have my permanent testament to this growing-up experience.

A little over a year later, I was back in the Tri-State area to visit my other bestie, Reisa. She was looking for her first apartment and we decided to commemorate the weekend by getting tattoos together. She got a scorpion on her shoulder and I thought I would finally get My Angel. But, once again, I was deemed ahead of my time. Drawing a heavily stylized star was no problem these days, but no way could my artist get so much detail on the tiny space that was my inner wrist. Especially without so much as a sketch to guide him. I still thought I could just walk in, tell him what I wanted, and receive an immediate spark of recognition in his eyes as my reward.

I settled on an equally meaningful script phrase tattooed on my front right hip bone. Inspired by the Ziggy Marley album of the same name, I still love my ‘Love Is My Religion’ tattoo to this day. But I hadn’t given up on My Angel just yet. I went back to Atlanta and recruited the help of one of my girlfriends with a background in Graphic Design. I thought she would be just the right person to sketch my idea. Within a few days, this too had flopped.

Her sketches were beautiful, but she had drawn an angel with faerie wings when I’d imagined a more gothic style. Her angel was in profile, while I had envisioned My Angel either facing forward or away from the viewer all together. Her angel was flat-footed where My Angel was supposed to be en pointe. And all this, before we’d even begun to discuss the more intricate details like references to The Birth of Adam or the winged-heart love-birds that did/didn’t look like rosary beads. I thought maybe I could save the endeavor if I drew a small rough draft of what I had in mind and then let her take over from there.

What I discovered was something that’s probably been screaming at all of you throughout this entire post. I discovered that my “rough draft” sketch was good. Really good, in fact. But, of course, it would be. I spent all my time in college drawing sketches and wishing I’d followed my dream to pursue a career in the Arts. I didn’t have a degree in Graphic Design, but I had the same natural talent and an advantage in that the Angel was my personal vision. How did I expect anyone to draw something that only I could truly see?

I spent the next six months perfecting My Angel with revision after revision. Once again, I was Jason on his noble quest. When I finally had something I felt was worthy of turning over to a tattoo artist, it had been over two years since the idea first came to me. It was late 2009 – early 2010, the economy was sinking lower with each day, I was out of a job, and sadly I didn’t have a spare three hundred bucks lying around to pay for my finished concept. I thought I would just put it off until I could “catch my breath” financially. But catching my breath would take another few years. Somehow, more important responsibilities just kept popping up and I never found my way back to it.

Of course, my highly original concept became not-so-original with the passing of time; and suddenly several of the very same friends that I had approached for help with my drawing, were now getting self-designed tattoos on the inside of their own wrists. I had let the moment slip past me all over again and I didn’t know what I should have done differently, but clearly I was falling back into old habits. Worst of all, was the feeling that even if I got my tattoo at this point, I would just come off as a band-wagon follower of the trend now that everyone was doing it. I let some more time pass to decide if I even wanted Her anymore.

Flash forward to the present, and I’ve been in the midst of my own personal quarter-life-crisis part deux (I had the first melt down, right on schedule, as I approached my 25th birthday). Now, leading up to my 30th birthday, many of the same recriminations and self doubts have been resurfacing. But this time around I’d like to think I’ve learned a few things, albeit a slow learning. For one thing, there’s all that talk I did earlier about the possibilities waiting out there for committed artists. It would seem that I need to follow my own advice. Instead of worrying about what other people will think, or measuring my accomplishments by some precise timeline, I just need to be committed to the process and open to the potential for what might be.

With that in mind, I’ve begun to re-imagine My Angel as more than just a tattoo. Maybe it’s not that I have commitment issues. Maybe I don’t need to be worried that I did something wrong or somehow let the moment pass me by. Maybe there was just more to the process and I couldn’t fully see Her true potential yet. She was never meant to be a tattoo for me alone. She needed to be more than just My Angel. She needed to be shared with the world.

So it is my honor to unveil the new and permanent CultSTATUS logo: The cS Angel. The thought has occurred to me to turn Her into a full “Welcome to Your World” mural with even more layers and dimensions (I could really have some fun toying with all the possibilities for a mural!) So yes, I may engage in some artistic “tweaking” down the road, but for the most part this is it. And is it just me, or is she not that far off in her looks from our first logo, The Dancer? Maybe that Heroine didn’t have to die after all. Maybe she’s just been reborn in a better, fuller form! ~ cScS Angel With Signature

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ThrowBackThursday: A Logo of ‘Golden-Fleece’ Proportions

The wait is over! It’s that time again, folks! Time to go digging in the vaults for some not-so-new material that’s worthy of a second glance. This weeks’ #ThrowBackThursday inspiration comes from all my talk of branding CultSTATUS – and by extension, myself – as a visual presence in the minds of our followers. It’s definitely NOT a new topic for me.

When I started this blog, three years ago, one of my first thoughts was that I needed to find an image to best represent my core message. I quickly fell in love with Veer and several other websites for their endless array of stock art, designs, and fonts. I spent hours, days, and weeks searching for the perfect logo to introduce CultSTATUS to the world. I was like Jason on his quest for the Golden Fleece. There’s still a folder, somewhere on my computer, filled with several hundred brave soldiers, er … pictures that didn’t survive the battle. I found rabbits to go along with the ones scampering around in my head. I considered sketches of music, music notes, and musicians. I even toyed with the idea of using Hieroglyphics or Sanskrit lettering to add the ‘Culture’ in CultSTATUS. There was inspiration, in vibrant living color, as far as the eye could see – or my mind could dream.

In the end, I chose the picture of a dancer in mid-leap which has been our official profile picture on Facebook ever since. I love this picture. It spans just a moment in time, but offers up so much potential for all the moments that come before and after The Dancer’s leap. It is that potential which grabbed me the most. I wanted to express, with CultSTATUS, all the possibilities that are out there for committed artists. The Dancer has shared that message perfectly for the past three years. And yet. I’m sure you know where this is going. I’m thinking it might be time to let Her die in favor of a new Heroine. Why? Well, now would be a good time to take that ThrowBack trip down memory lane. Not just  a three year trip, though. More like thirteen years.

*Editor’s Note* – I planned to write this post as one cohesive ThrowBack. I knew it would be a long one, but that wasn’t too big a deal for me because, as you know, I’m a writer and a word person at heart. I’ve written plenty of posts that topped 2,000+ words with no problem. I figured those of you, my followers, who chose to read it would appreciate the effort that went into the process. Basically, I chalked it up to physical training in my fingers to build up to my novel.

But the more I wrote, the more I realized this really was turning into two separate stories. A FlashBack within a ThrowBack, if you will? I decided I wouldn’t be doing justice to this post about my Logo, if I didn’t break out some of the pre-story details that filled in every.single.moment. leading up to my “eureka!” It’s still a #ThrowBackThursday post, but I’m taking that trip back seven years, as a happy medium, instead of thirteen. If you want the full stream-of-consciousness FlashBack, you’ll have to check out tomorrow’s post – #FlashBackFriday: The Prequel. If you’re continuing to read from this point, just pretend the last line up above says: ‘Well, now would be a good time to take that ThrowBack trip down memory lane. Not just  a three year trip, though. More like seven years.

I was 23 years old, a college dropout, and living in a new city that I’d moved to on a whim. Okay, not just a whim. I was chasing after a boy who decided, after I got here, that he didn’t love me like I loved him. On the bright side, I was discovering that I didn’t love him like I loved me! I was trying to find myself  and find the silver lining in all this heartache. The one thing that kept coming back to me was the idea of getting a tattoo to document the realness of this experience, these feelings, and this moment. Not a tattoo of him, for him, or about him. God, no! But a tattoo about me and what this experience with him had done for me. I’d considered getting a tattoo in the past, but I always chickened out. I could never decide what I wanted. It had to be something I could commit to for life.  But I have commitment issues. I’ve always struggled to pursue what I truly want versus what everyone else thinks is right for me. In this moment of failure – when I had finally been ready to commit to something against everyone else’ advice, no less – I gained a rare moment of clarity into all the other things I wanted. For me.

Suddenly I knew what my meaningful tattoo would be. It had been at least three years since I seriously thought about it, but I knew without a doubt what I wanted. I pictured an angel. At once, both falling and rising from heaven. She was stretching out one arm. Reaching upward. There were undertones of the Michelangelo masterpiece “The Birth of Adam”. But she wasn’t reaching towards God. She was reaching out for… Love. I decided to “personify” Love as love-birds. Tons of them. Fluttering in disarray all around My Angel. She would be giving up heaven to chase after love. It would be painful. Her wings would be burned off as she entered the earth’s atmosphere. It would be her punishment. How would I depict heaven? A massive star above/below her feet. But it couldn’t just be about the lost Love. Not the loss of some boy as my love, anyway. It had to be about the loss of so many of my True Loves. My passion for art and music and dance and creativity. It had to be about the joy in jumping off a cliff to win back those Loves. And now… love-birds seemed too easy also. Too one dimensional. I’d make them tiny hearts with golden wings. And I’d have My Angel wearing a ballerina skirt. She would be en pointe and in the middle of a classic pirouette. There would be Dance in this love story. There would be a happy ending too. Those winged-heart love-birds would still be in disarray all around My Angel. But like the night I first saw Orion, there would be order in the chaos for anyone who took the time to let their eyes focus. When looked at from just the right angle, the heavenly star and love birds would be connected to form a crucifix and rosary beads that were wrapped around My Angel. She wouldn’t be choosing Love instead of God. She would be reborn through God because of her Love!

Can’t you just picture it? Don’t worry, no one else could either. I discovered this a few months later when I went back to New York for a visit. It was late 2007, I’d noticed that people were starting to get more detailed tattoos, and I thought my problems were solved. I could definitely find someone to draw my Star of Bethlehem now! I spent an afternoon hanging out with one of my BFF’s, Lourdes, and decided to share my design. Her first question was: “So, what are you Catholic now?” Her second question was: “And where exactly are you getting this tattoo on your body? That’s a lot of detail to fit into a single drawing!”

In New York, I like to say that everyone is Catholic and no one is Catholic. There are rosary beads, statues of Mary, and ‘Bless This House’ stickers as far as the eye can see, but very few people are the truly in-your-face Catholics depicted on T.V. So, it really hadn’t occurred to me that my design would come across as deeply “religious.” I was not Catholic. And my intent with the rosary beads and references to God had simply been to create a general hint at the concept of two distinct choices in life. The Good, Right, “Expected” choice versus the Bad, Wrong, “Self-Satisfying” choice. A struggle that seemed to be at the root of all my commitment issues.

As for her question about where I would put the tattoo, that did give me pause. But only for a moment. I quickly decided it would look best on the inside of my left wrist. Still somewhat discreet, but perfect to add the illusion of rosary beads wrapped – not just around My Angel – but also around my wrist. I brushed off my friends’ concerns and continued with my plan. I would find a tattoo artist, tell him my idea, and have my permanent testament to this growing-up experience.

A little over a year later, I was back in the Tri-State area to visit my other bestie, Reisa. She was looking for her first apartment and we decided to commemorate the weekend by getting tattoos together. She got a scorpion on her shoulder and I thought I would finally get My Angel. But, once again, I was deemed ahead of my time. Drawing a heavily stylized star was no problem these days, but no way could my artist get so much detail on the tiny space that was my inner wrist. Especially without so much as a sketch to guide him. I still thought I could just walk in, tell him what I wanted, and receive an immediate spark of recognition in his eyes as my reward.

I settled on an equally meaningful script phrase tattooed on my front right hip bone. Inspired by the Ziggy Marley album of the same name, I still love my ‘Love Is My Religion’ tattoo to this day. But I hadn’t given up on My Angel just yet. I went back to Atlanta and recruited the help of one of my girlfriends with a background in Graphic Design. I thought she would be just the right person to sketch my idea. Within a few days, this too had flopped.

Her sketches were beautiful, but she had drawn an angel with faerie wings when I’d imagined a more gothic style. Her angel was in profile, while I had envisioned My Angel either facing forward or away from the viewer all together. Her angel was flat-footed where My Angel was supposed to be en pointe. And all this, before we’d even begun to discuss the more intricate details like references to The Birth of Adam or the winged-heart love-birds that did/didn’t look like rosary beads. I thought maybe I could save the endeavor if I drew a small rough draft of what I had in mind and then let her take over from there.

What I discovered was something that’s probably been screaming at all of you throughout this entire post. I discovered that my “rough draft” sketch was good. Really good, in fact. But, of course, it would be. I spent all my time in college drawing sketches and wishing I’d followed my dream to pursue a career in the Arts. I didn’t have a degree in Graphic Design, but I had the same natural talent and an advantage in that the Angel was my personal vision. How did I expect anyone to draw something that only I could truly see?

I spent the next six months perfecting My Angel with revision after revision. Once again, I was Jason on his noble quest. When I finally had something I felt was worthy of turning over to a tattoo artist, it had been over two years since the idea first came to me. It was late 2009 – early 2010, the economy was sinking lower with each day, I was out of a job, and sadly I didn’t have a spare three hundred bucks lying around to pay for my finished concept. I thought I would just put it off until I could “catch my breath” financially. But catching my breath would take another few years. Somehow, more important responsibilities just kept popping up and I never found my way back to it.

Of course, my highly original concept became not-so-original with the passing of time; and suddenly several of the very same friends that I had approached for help with my drawing, were now getting self-designed tattoos on the inside of their own wrists. I had let the moment slip past me all over again and I didn’t know what I should have done differently, but clearly I was falling back into old habits. Worst of all, was the feeling that even if I got my tattoo at this point, I would just come off as a band-wagon follower of the trend now that everyone was doing it. I let some more time pass to decide if I even wanted Her anymore.

Flash forward to the present, and I’ve been in the midst of my own personal quarter-life-crisis part deux (I had the first melt down, right on schedule, as I approached my 25th birthday). Now, leading up to my 30th birthday, many of the same recriminations and self doubts have been resurfacing. But this time around I’d like to think I’ve learned a few things, albeit a slow learning. For one thing, there’s all that talk I did earlier about the possibilities waiting out there for committed artists. It would seem that I need to follow my own advice. Instead of worrying about what other people will think, or measuring my accomplishments by some precise timeline, I just need to be committed to the process and open to the potential for what might be.

With that in mind, I’ve begun to re-imagine My Angel as more than just a tattoo. Maybe it’s not that I have commitment issues. Maybe I don’t need to be worried that I did something wrong or somehow let the moment pass me by. Maybe there was just more to the process and I couldn’t fully see Her true potential yet. She was never meant to be a tattoo for me alone. She needed to be more than just My Angel. She needed to be shared with the world.

So it is my honor to unveil the new and permanent CultSTATUS logo: The cS Angel. The thought has occurred to me to turn Her into a full “Welcome to Your World” mural with even more layers and dimensions (I could really have some fun toying with all the possibilities for a mural!) So yes, I may engage in some artistic “tweaking” down the road, but for the most part this is it. And is it just me, or is she not that far off in her looks from our first logo, The Dancer? Maybe that Heroine didn’t have to die after all. Maybe she’s just been reborn in a better, fuller form. ~ cS

cS Angel With Signature

Movie Trailers… Do People Still Watch Those???

It’s been forever since I’ve gone to see a movie in an actual theater, so I’m not exactly the resident expert on what the trailers are like anymore. But is it just me, or does it seem like they’re slowly being phased out? We all still know which films are coming out next, but when was the last time any of us actually watched a preview? In this digital information age, I’d almost think they were being automatically streamed into some Collective Consciousness pool and uploaded into our brains each time we blink. If nothing else, it makes a good plot for a movie. The Matrix meets Inception meets Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Yes? No? Maybe…

On a similar note, it’s also starting to feel like forever since I gave you all a peek inside my own head. That’s not to say there’s been nothing going on up there. The Rabbits are as busy as ever. But as usual, my perfectionist nature won’t let me share the details if the timing is. not. quite. right. Maybe I should upload a few of my dreams to Facebook and tag my followers? The details would be just hazy enough that I wouldn’t have to worry about giving away too much, but I could still keep inquiring minds in the know. Not a bad idea, but until technology catches up I guess I’ll just have to make due with more “old fashioned” means. So here, for your viewing pleasure, is my list of “Coming Attractions” at your local RabbitsInMyMind Cineplex!

coming attractions

First up: An actual recurring dream that I’ve been having! It’s the subject of the play I told you I’m writing. I’ve set up my basic outline. I have a rough title. I know there will be four Acts with multiple Scenes in each one. And I’ve written text for most of the first Act. But, I still have to remind myself occasionally that I’ve accomplished a lot. It feels like such a slow process trying to solidify and create dialog around something as … well, hazy as a dream. It’s also been super draining writing on such a personal topic… hint hint, tease tease… Wondering what topic I’m referring to? Check out the snippets below and let me know what you think!

“… It was one of those weird, disjointed dreams that don’t really make sense. But somehow you just know that you have to go with the inside out rules. Y’know? … Yea, like that! Only it’s not really a “boom box” per se. At least, that’s not how I’d describe it … It’s my connection. To music. To the real. To myself. It’s my outlet. Short answer: They’re really big ass head phones that keep me close to her. (Pause) So yea, about that dream.”

“… Apparently, I’m the only one who knew how to drive, but they were the ones who knew where we were going. Although, I don’t really think they knew where we were going either. The dream ended and we never even got anywhere! Maybe I’m wrong to give away the ending so soon? Sorry, spoiler alert, but it’s true: all they did was create chaos and confusion.”

“… I know what I did wrong. I know that’s what everybody says. They all say: ‘If I could just go back in time, I could fix things.’ I also know that everybody’s wrong when they say they can fix things. Still. I know what I did wrong. I got a life.”

You’ve probably noticed, in those snippets, a few recurring themes from several of my previous blog posts. Yep, when my creative juices start flowing, it all seems to meld together that way. So it’s no surprise that my next preview flows naturally from the last one.

Continuing on the theme of music as my “connection” and my “outlet”, the thought occurred to me last week that I should share some of the music I’ve been listening to lately. It definitely acts as an inspiration for my writing. Or does my writing serve as an inspiration for the music I listen to? Hmmm. Anyway, I thought that would be a quick, easy post I could churn out in a day or two with no problem. I’d list my top five songs for the week – making sure to show off my eclectic tastes by featuring a song from five different musical genres – and include a brief description of what I like about each one. Easy, right? Apparently, my tastes are more eclectic than I knew.

I struggled to classify each song as falling under just one genre. I struggled to choose only five songs for the week. I struggled to write a description for each song that didn’t loop back to five other songs or artists or personal memories related to them. And after four days, the musical rabbits in my mind were starting to resemble a Markov chain that even Andrei Markov himself couldn’t unravel! But I’m learning not to fight my inner Dory. It’s part of my process. So I’m working on an interactive, much more in depth look at what’s Coming Through My Headphones. Think: memories of My First Kiss meets Skank meets Mahalia Jackson meets The Blower’s Daughter meets The Mad Violinist. It’s gonna be BIG. Real big. Yes, I do know I just listed five songs, but I promise there was no way I could have done a full post on those five songs without writing for weeks on end!

My final teaser trailer follows the thread of taking a closer look at old memories. It’s a Throw Back Thursday post I’ve been developing for the past two weeks. What’s so special about this particular throw back? It combines some of my Original Artwork, multiple Heavenly Bodies, a few Optical Illusions, my recent Greek Mythology binge (Did I mention I’m also planning a belated honeymoon to Greece with the hubby this May? Talk about binge-ing!), and more of my usual Self Discovery thrown in for good measure. Think that’s a lot to fit into a single post? It is. But it all comes as the lead up to another major announcement about the future of CultSTATUS.

Remember my last big news from a week, or so, ago? (Which is working out wonderfully, I might add). Well, Thursday’s post is going to be just as epic. Should I include a zoomed in picture of my artwork to whet your appetite? I think that depends on how many comments I can rack up below. I thrive on your feedback, after all! So, what do you think of the Coming Attractions? Are you guys tweaking any of your own W.I.P.’s? How goes the slow process? ~ cS

So today… I got a life!!!

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If you’ve read my “Letting Go” post from a few days ago, you know that it’s sometimes a struggle for me to step outside myself and away from all the things I’ve scheduled for maximum productivity. You also know, then, what a big deal it is for me to be able to say that today I got a life. That’s right, not just tried to get a life… I actually got one. I immediately needed to share the news. Yes, this is me, shouting from the roof tops:

“Hear ye! Hear ye! Your girl Constance Sherese broke out and broke free! She didn’t follow the schedule. Nope. Wasn’t feelin’ the structured plan. Never. And she definitely threw up her goodbye deuces to the beaten path! Woo De Woo!!!”

So, how did I manage to pull off this death defying feat? I went for a walk! But this wasn’t just any ol’ walk. This was a step outside myself walk. A take time to care for myself walk. A forget about the business plan walk. A super hero blue walk. An inspire and be inspired walk. An “I’ve got so much more to give” walk. This was a FREEDOM walk, y’all!

I know I’m being more than a little dramatic with all this coy posturing. Basically, I’m playing the tease real hard today. But I promise it’s worth the build up. So let me start from the beginning.

I’ve been a fan of a certain Facebook group and nonprofit organization called GirlTrek for over a year. Their mission is to inspire one million people to join their Movement by the year 2018, with the ultimate goal of supporting Black women and girls as we lead our healthiest lives ever – just by walking.

Why walking? And why Black women and girls? Because GirlTrek founders, Morgan and Vanessa understand the power that women and girls hold. They understand that all women deserve to live their healthiest lives possible. And all women deserve to be inspired to such a healthy lifestyle in a way that speaks to their human experience on a personal level.

Morgan and Vanessa realize Black women have that kind of personal connection with walking. Because we have a connection to the women of our pasts who spearheaded major change like the Civil Rights Movement. Without major funding. Without a large platform. Without popular opinion or public support. But we did it anyway using the power of walking. Walking to freedom like Harriet Tubman. Walking to the neighbors’ house to spread the word. Walking to the voting polls like Fannie Lou Hammer. Walking for Life.

As an advocate for Lupus awareness – a disease that is overwhelmingly a womens illness, and even more so a Black womens illness – I can relate to the power of walking for better health. The Lupus Foundation of America chapter, here in Georgia, has its’ annual Lupus Walk coming up in April and I could use all the motivation I can get to ramp up for spreading the word about that initiative.

So, if GirlTrek and walking for better health are so important to me, why is this the first time you’re seeing me write about their organization? Because I’m a chicken. I know that sounds very 5th grade of me, but it’s true. I like my schedules for a reason. It’s a daily struggle for me to step outside myself and play the role of bold trend setter.

Don’t get me wrong, I am by no means shy. I can give a public speech to a packed house with no problem. Just give me advance notice so I can fine tune my talking points, write three drafts, proof read everything, work on my tonality/inflection, and add the proper vocal emphasis, then trust me, I’ll knock it out of the park. But what’s that you say? You want me to just Show Up and Show Out? Effectively, “wing it” and get a bunch of other women to follow my lead? Now that’s just crazy talk!

And let’s not forget that I’ve got my own cause. CultSTATUS. My own mission that requires me to step out of my comfort zone. Because it’s all about the Art, right? Where is the Art or Culture in walking for health? I’m not knocking the Movement, but really? Over the past year, I have felt like joining a walking revolution was just too much. Too much clutter and scattered lack of direction to be talking about GirlTrek and Lupus Walks and Harriet Tubman and Tribute Walks for one hundred minutes on a Saturday (when Saturdays are my most productive day for writing my novel and play!) all while trying to clearly and concisely promote my own CultSTATUS brand. And did I mention waaaayyy too many hashtags? Hashtag Harriet. Hashtag GirlTrek. Hashtag Super Hero Blue. Hashtag Walk It Out. Hashtag Harriet House Party. Can you say Hashtag Crazy???

No. I’m sorry. But the logistical side of me says “no.” Hell, if the Rabbits in my Mind don’t drive me crazy, the Hashtags in my Head most certainly will! I’ll click “Like” on their Facebook posts, I told myself. I’ll share their quotes. I’ll even send some groupie love to Angela Davis and Toni Morrison in hopes that they’ll join the Harriet Tubman tribute prayer service on Sunday. But I just can’t commit to anything more. That’s enough, right?

And yet. It’s like I said in that “Letting Go” post. I really do have so much more to give. Because that’s what the GirlTrek Movement is all about. That’s how Morgan and Vanessa got me. With the giving. I listened to the Friday night house party live stream and I heard the tearful emotion in Morgan’s voice as she talked about the challenges she and Vanessa have faced in their own lives. But then I heard her talk about how they channeled their personal struggles into motivation to help the next woman. I heard her reflect on Harriet’s loss of family, friends, and even husband in her drive to walk to freedom. But then I heard Morgan remind us that we women can commit to be each others family members and sisters. I heard Vanessa comment on some of the very feelings I’d been having – that this was all just too last minute and chaotic (The deadline to get #Harriet T-shirts was Monday at noon, and I pressed “Submit” on my order at 11:53. Talk about last minute!). But then I heard her inform us that GirlTrek had rallied women for this Movement from Okinawa, Japan to Oakland, California. And I thought to myself “Don’t forget Atlanta! You’ve got me here in Atlanta!” And just like that, I was hooked. Committed to this giving. Because what other choice did I have, really?

So, I woke up late this morning. Ran to UPS to print out my tribute letters. Walked up the block to Freedom Park. Yes, I am aware of the irony that I fought this Movement for so long and I have a Freedom Park right up the block from my house. Filmed a quick honorary video to make up for the fact that I didn’t organize a full seven woman team. And then set off on my hundred minute trek.

If this wasn’t an exercise in Team Last Minute, I don’t know what is! But I figure if I share this post and manage to get six other women to view and “like” it, then I’ve achieved a belated virtual team and that counts too. It doesn’t hurt that my Sister From Another Mister, Tracee Ellis Ross (The Rabbits told me we were related) has started her own hashtag craze to help make exercise fun. She wears makeup while she works out! Red lipstick to be exact. If I’m working on Showing Up and Showing Out, a little #RedLipFit is the perfect way to get the ball rolling. D’you think spreading the groupie love Tracee’s way might get her to join GirlTrek too? There’s only one way to find out. Watch out, I’m about to go Hashtag Crazy!

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#GirlTrek #Harriet #HarrietHouseParty #SuperHeroBlue #OkinawaToOakland #DontForgetAtlanta #Atl #FeeedomPark #WalkForFreedom #WalkForLife #WalkItOut #ShowUpShowOut #ThisGiving #MoreToGive #LetGoLetFlow #TeamLastMinute #SistersFromAnotherMister #AngelaDavis #ToniMorrison #TraceeEllisRoss #RedLipFit #ConstanceSherese #cS #CultSTATUS #PushOnThroughTheStruggle #LupusAwareness #LupusFoundation #LFA #LupusGeorgia #LupusWalkAtlanta #RabbitsInMyMind #HashtagsInMyHead #HashtagCrazy

ThrowBackThursday: A Night At The Movies… ahem, Film Fest

Popcorn Buckets at the Door.

It’s #ThrowBackThursday and I’ve been looking through my old blog posts. This is one that’s been listed under my “Last Updated” tab since November 2011. Basically, it was still a draft. I’d been really excited about this post when I first started the topic, but other things came up and somehow I never got back to it. After a while, I started to feel like it wasn’t “new” and “fresh” enough anymore. But who says there’s nothing of value to be had in a slightly middle-aged post? That’s what ThrowBackThursday’s are for! So without further ado, I give you ‘A Night At The Movies… ahem, Film Fest.’

For anyone passing through the Georgia State University campus in downtown Atlanta, GA last Wednesday night it would have looked like a typical evening in college town. Vendors and restaurants closing up shop after the rush, young people making plans with friends about what to do with their next few hours of freedom, and a few dedicated students just heading inside for evening classes. But in one of those classrooms there was a group of students, faculty, and community members coming together for something not so typical to the University. On the corner of Decatur Street and Central Avenue, in the Classroom South Building, a student film festival and panel discussion was taking place burgeoning with fresh young talent and creative ability.

I’ve mentioned before that I’m all about scoping out the new and fresh creative scene. So now that I’ve given you the perfect visual, let’s cut to the juicy parts!

The First Annual Black Student Film Festival (sadly, it was the 1st and only edition of this festival) featured submissions across seven genres: Documentary, Suspense/Mystery/Horror, Comedy, Drama, Romance, Action, and Music/Video – and there were over 20 films screened during the two day festival.

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One of my favorites was the documentary “Keepers of the Culture” – by Amris Bell & Imani Warren

This piece took me back to my childhood days hearing my mother and aunts playfully refer to our family as “a bunch of Guichie’s [sp]” because we all love to eat white rice in place of the more traditional Southern African American breakfast, Grits. I gotta admit, I can throw down on some long grain Carolina white rice! At the time, I thought the word Guichie was simply a reference to rice farmers from the wet marshlands of North and South Carolina.

Around the time I started college, I learned two things. First, that I’d been misspelling the word for years. I think I subconsciously wanted to throw a little French Creole flavor in there. It’s actually spelled “Geechee”. You learn something new every day! I also learned that the Geechees are more than just rice farmers. They’re an entire community of people who migrated to the US from various Afro-Caribbean islands and countries. They’ve managed to preserve a distinct culture – known as the Gullah culture – within this small region. Remember that Nickelodeon children’s show, Gullah Gullah Island? That’s right. It was about the Geechee people of South Carolina!

I was intrigued to discover all this because it shed new light on one of my family’s great mysteries. My grandmother’s real name. I’ve started to think she may have had an Afro-Caribbean background on her father’s side of the family – and a first name to match! Bernice Hopkins, as we all knew her, was the daughter of Susannah Green. Susannah died in child birth when my grandmother was two years old, and Bernice wound up being raised by her maternal grandmother, Betty. So the story goes, Betty never really cared for the name Susannah (or Susannah’s husband, maybe?) had given my grandmother at birth. She made sure my grandmother always knew her real name, but she personally chose to call her by what we think was actually her middle name, Bernice.

When my grandmother got older, she did a bit of the typical teenage rebelling and ran off with a man who was never any good for her. You know the type. Gambler, swindler, drunkard, and all around skirt chaser. But he was fun, exciting, and her over-protective mother (in this case, grandmother) disapproved, so he had to be Mr. Right! Right? Needless to say, the marriage lasted just long enough for him to think he could “lay hands” on my grandmother and she ended it.

Time went by, she met my grandfather, they got married, and she needed to fill out the paper work for a legal name change. Betty had passed away by this time and my grandmother was looking for a way to say “Thank you for raising me and I’m sorry I didn’t appreciate you sooner.” She decided that, although she would always respect her birth mother, the woman she had become was forever tied to the principles Betty taught her. She decided to legally change both her first and last name.

I think she saw it as the great secret of her life. Something that gave her a certain “Je ne sais quoi.” My grandfather probably knew her “real” first name. But neither of them would ever tell the rest of us. She took that knowledge with her to her grave. I’ve often thought about trying to discover her secret. I have an Ancestry.com account, but I go back and forth in my mind about whether it would be a betrayal of her confidence. Then again, if I knew it, I’d name a daughter after her. I still haven’t decided and I may never decide. But films like the one above are a nice reminder that I have a rich cultural history with “new”, “fresh” stories to discover every day!

If you live in the Atlanta area and are interested in other global/ cultural events in the Arts, check out CENCIA’s website. Their current schedule takes audiences from France to Greece to Brazil and back to the United States. Talk about culture! ~ cS

Letting Go: What I Learned From Elizabeth Taylor

I’m working on letting go. I’ve been working on letting go for several months, actually. And probably – in recurring cycles – for several years. But letting go is hard. In part, because it feels so counter productive for accomplishing all the things I want to do. Which, I guess, is why I keep coming back to it.

I’m writing a novel. And a play. and this blog. I’m building my CultSTATUS brand with a website and Facebook page. I’m curating exclusive events in the Cultural Arts. I’m building a network of creative sponsors and contacts. I work a full time job. I make the daily effort to manage my Lupus and my overall health. I try to have a life. And every once in a while, there are those rare moments when I don’t just try to have a life, I actually manage to have one! I spend time with girlfriends and extended family and my husband. Oh dear lord, I Forgot About My Husband!!!! No, I didn’t really forget my Salomon. But there are those days when I worry that I’ve placed him last on my never ending list of To-Do’s. Please tell me y’all have a never ending To-Do list too. ‘Cause it can get really crazy in my head sometimes. Like, talking to myself in the bathroom for half an hour in my Bronx girl voice while the hubby contemplates breaking down the door to save me from intruders, only it’s just ‘lil old Me Myself & I in there. Yea, I’m a little crazy some days.

But every time I let go, it comes back to me ten fold. My sanity included! When I stop trying to fix, force, control, and pin down everything… It all falls into place. And then I feel boundless! ‘Boundless’ is my new word for the day, FYI. I used it in passing while I was on the phone with my dad earlier and it stuck with me. I didn’t plan it or strategically guide the conversation so I could use it in a sentence. Yes, I have done that before. And so have you – don’t lie! But seriously. When I haphazardly said the word ‘boundless’ today, it was the most inspired I’ve felt in a long time. I felt like I really am a novelist, business woman, entrepreneur. I’m reminded of a joke about a dog named Jett… Then again, never mind. Jett is a great dog, I’m sure, but a joke about a dog could never compete with the sheer genius of that one word. Let’s say it together. Boundless!

The bottom line is this: letting go makes room for more. And I’ve got so much more to give.

*Note* I’ve been fine tuning this post for most of the day. Crafting my Opus, if you will. That’s right, I said ‘Opus’. Opus is tomorrow’s word for the day. What? Anyway, (said in my Bronx girl voice) I got to the line above, in what had to be my fifth read through, and suddenly thought to myself ‘That’s funny. I said give…’

Now, like I said, I’ve been working on letting go for a long time. So, separate from all the spiritual and religious implications, there is personal value to be found in this process. And there’s nothing wrong with that. But it has to be acknowledged that today is Ash Wednesday (the start of the season of Lent) and this Holy Day among many Christians – myself included – is all about letting go on an even deeper level.

The purists would say it’s all about mortality. And the purists would be right. Sorta.

But there are a few images that come to mind when I think of Ash Wednesday, and the one that rabbit-in-my-mind ‘hops’ out at me the most is from a promotional poster for Elizabeth Taylor’s 1973 movie Ash Wednesday. I know. Elizabeth Taylor films don’t exactly scream piety or repentance. I mean, just look at the poster for yourself.

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Not a smudge of ash to be found on her gorgeous little forehead. And let’s not even talk about that string of pearls she’s so blithely toying with. My materialistic heart is beyond green with envy. Still, it’s dear old Liz that taught me the most about Ash Wednesday and the power of letting go. If you haven’t seen the movie, here’s a brief summary from Roger Ebert. Better yet, rent it on Netflix and see it for yourself. It’s not exactly an Oscar worthy performance, but it’s one of my true love’s as movies go, if only for it’s train wreck cheese fest of glamour and melodrama. Think Mahogany and The Way We Were.

The basic storyline though develops into the tragic conclusion that Elizabeth’s character never learns how to let go. Her husband is having an affair. She is aging. She doesn’t feel attractive anymore. So she decides to fix things. She has a face lift along with several other cosmetic procedures. She goes to a private resort to “get away from it all”. She has an affair to rebuild her self esteem. She sits and waits endlessly for her philandering husband to show up so she can make him jealous/ win him back. And in the end, she doesn’t even get the chance to confront him the way she’d planned because he arrives and immediately dumps her. He hardly even notices the changes in her physical appearance! When I tell you it’s tragic y’all. I mean it’s bad. Downright cringe-worthy in fact. But it’s like a train wreck that I can’t stop watching because I see the humanity in it. Separate from all the moral implications of her affair, and the “rightness” or “wrongness” of her choice to have plastic surgery. I really just want to give her a hug and tell her that she’s doing these things for all the wrong reasons. All the fixing, forcing, controlling, and literally pinning [her face] won’t make things right, because it’s already broken. She needs to just let go. And maybe if she let go of the diamonds and pearls [or maybe just the philandering husband] she could see that. The material things aren’t “wrong”, and who among us hasn’t held on to someone or something much longer than we should have, all in the name of “fixing” it? But it rarely ever works. And that’s what Elizabeth Taylor taught me about the importance of Ash Wednesday. It’s all about acceptance. Acceptance of the good, the bad, the passing of time, the aging, and even death (of relationships and people). Letting go. And the oozing glamour didn’t hurt either!

P.s. Liz’s birthday was this past Thursday, February 27, 2014. She would have been 82 years old!

P.p.s. BOUNDLESS!!!

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