Some of the daughters who stayed turned into nymphs, living off the fish life wading in Nigerian waters. They were free when the white man decided to make our shores his own––to say our waters could be his. The mermaids could drink and dance. My mom doesn’t drink. She does love to dance.
While painters will take to a canvas or poets will take to the pen, the potter takes to molding earth itself. The clay is alive and breathing and from it life is not introduced, but rather transformed.
Stepping into the Timothy Dwight Art Studio for a Friday evening vision board workshop, I was greeted with warm lights, familiar faces, and the gentle hum of indie music.