Art Star: eyes

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Art by Brianna McCarthy: A Woman's Worth

“We wanted to get you the doll but the store sold out of the black ones.”

I was well acquainted with “Christie” when I was a child; it was imperative to my mother for me to only own the “black Barbie” as opposed to her blond-haired blue-eyed counterpart. I always found this unfair because all of my dolls looked alike except for their separate outfits and respective functions, but my mother wanted my standards of beauty to be set by images that resembled both me and my culture, and although this may have not been the best method to do so, her intentions were in the right place.

Every female image I was surrounded by set forth a philosophy that was all but normal, classifying beauty by unrealistic standards concerning weight, height, skin color, and hair texture. Not only are women criticized by the physical attributes that we are born with, we are also forced to endure the lashing tongues of the prejudice within our own cultures.

For years I thought that these types of commercial propaganda only affected little black girls like me, but it was ignorant to think so. As I grew older and our society grew into the millennium the female image transformed: clothes became tighter and more revealing, hair straighter, heels higher and the popular skin color of preference became a frightening shade of Ritz cracker…tan but not "too" dark. With time I became introduced to women of different nationalities, ethnicities and cultures to find that not only were they under the same pressures that I had been dealing with my entire life, they were subject to the same unrealistic standards of beauty. Not to be confused, all of these women are gorgeous, but it was the ugly images in the media that made them feel insecure about all of the traits that make them uniquely beautiful. Scrutinized for anything from the size of their waist, feet and face; crease in their eyelids, arch in their nose, texture of their hair, and the shade of their skin tone down to the amount of skin they choose to reveal.

I remember an instance where I was sitting next to a group of Indian women who were interrupted by an American man who asked where they were from, and after receiving their response he inquired further, “If ya’ll are from India, why are you so dark?” The key is not only his question but his tone when he said it, his temperament revealed that he had prejudices toward darker skin. This particular situation took me back to my first semester in college, where I watched a friend obsessively apply “all-natural skin lightener” to her face in the hopes of being seen as more attractive, never mind that she was already beautiful, she felt that by lightening her skin tone she would achieve the image she felt everyone else wanted her to have.

Barbie is merely plastic; sex symbols photoshopped and public figures airbrushed, but all of these fabrications shape our perceptions of others. We are setting standards of beauty by something that doesn’t naturally exist; furthermore, a woman’s worth is foolishly set by her attractiveness to the opposite sex. This comes from a time when a woman’s main purpose in life was to be married, so she was forced to spend every moment of her youth preparing to be a wife and "suitable" prospect. These practices are still prevalent today but completely distorted, and with both sexes under similar pressures it’s hard to break away from them, but we must understand that they aren’t imposed by some unseen force, they are created and fostered by us.

What if a woman’s worth was determined by all that she is within before all that she appears to be based on opinion? What if she began to require the respect she deserves? What if, instead of being picked away by the eyes spectators she is judged by her actions, the words that leave her mouth, the character within her heart, and what she strives for throughout her life?

Its inspiring work like Brianna McCarthy’s that can bring us all back to reality.

Brianna McCarthy, based in Trinidad & Tobago creates art that exemplifies the beauty of diversity. Fueled by the people of the island in which she dwells she uses watercolors, graphite and paper to tell a story which at face value may convey an exaltation of outer beauty, but when examined deeper divulges the uniqueness of inner beauty. Imperfectly shaped eyes speak more for her characters than their words ever could, they evoke a sense of pride and confidence that every woman should have within herself and when interacting with other women. My favorite works are her collections of busts, despite their skin color and hair texture they tell a story that can relate to every woman; bound by a simple white backdrop, each figure declares their true worth, undetermined by fabricated images and the opinions of men.

To learn about Brianna McCarthy and discover more of her work visit Passion.Fruit.

“Aerodynamically, the bumble bee shouldn't be able to fly, but the bumble bee doesn't know it so it goes on flying anyway.”

8<3 Track Honey

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Bar Tales Chapter 6: Lulu

Sometimes you go to bars to meet new people.

Sometimes you go to bars to see old friends.

And there really isn't much difference - between new and old.

Because at a bar all that matters is the moment, the single unrelentness urgency of now

And everyone at a bar is looking for love, looking for significance, looking for validation.

However, when you meet an old friend, one you haven't seen in years, who are you?

Are you just a memory? A fond recollection of a your past experiences? Does an old friend know how you have grown, how you have struggled, how you have failed?

How do you measure how much you owe a memory? How much do memories weigh?

What happens when the old friend becomes just another girl who you might fall in love with?

Does she deserve more? Does it make her become more perfect?

And what do you do now that you are touching each other? Do you remember that you are both teases? Both in it for some transcendental fun?

What do you do when all of a sudden it feels real?

When you are holding hands and looking into each others eyes? When your best friend whispers that holding hands is the best way to see if you have a real connection?

Do you suddenly you remember that she had liked you years ago in high school? Do you remember how she might have liked you last summer? Do you let that give you hope?

Do you remember where she has been? Where she is going? Do you think of every reason why it would not work? Do you remember that you are just friends?

And there should be nothing more pure than a girl who just wants to hold your hand.

There should be nothing more simple.

But the years between you begin to weigh ya'll down like an anchor.

All those questions of why have we never hooked up? Why have we never gone out? Why would now be any different? What makes this moment special?

And you look into her eyes praying to see a soul struggling with these same questions. Praying that she might be conflicted too.

You look into her eyes as if you can interpret her.

And you sit there holding this girl's hand and it feels perfect.

Yet you know that this means absolutely nothing to her.

You can't even bring your lips to utter the words: I like you.

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