When I think about art, I do not always - or entirely - think about the object. I think instead about the artist in practice [which is not to say that craft or process or skill are of themselves art-forms]. An image that comes to mind this moment is of myself seated in a saloon in Lagos—waiting for my brows to get shaped with a razor. There is often—despite the woosh of the air conditioner—the moist of the humid afternoon, which means I am sweating, as is the make-up personnel. Typically, she would be close enough for me to feel her breathing on my face, or to see the slight tremor of her hands before she starts. I am used to my frown, used to getting coaxed to relax, but I can sometimes be as mistrustful of words as I am of a blade. It is, finally, the look in her eyes – that of acute attention—to which I surrender.
loved this so much. so well-thought