Well renowned Jamaican artists have been showcasing many pieces of art works in Jamaica and aboard. Recently, I went into a bank in the co-opiate area and saw a "Giclee print" of this artist work, and I fell in love with it instantaneously. The print had Jamaica "Sunday morning" written all over it. This print broth back some far tucked away memories of when I was a little girl growing up. I recall my big sister would Well renowned Jamaican artists have been showcasing many pieces of art works in Jamaica and aboard. Recently, I went into a bank in the co-opiate area and saw a "Giclee print" of this artist work, and I fell in love with it instantaneously. The print had Jamaica "Sunday morning" written all over it. This print broth back some far tucked away memories of when I was a little girl growing up. I recall my big sister would comb my hair for church each Sunday morning. I would be ask to hold the brush, comb and bubbles in hand to give to her alternatively. I laughed to myself as I stood in the bank line and scrutinize the prints' every detail.
being slapped
Many Sunday mornings while standing or sitting under the sweet sop tree next to the outside zinc kitchen getting my hair combed. I would often get distracted by the natural in-habitat of the environment either by the common fowls, roosters, mongrel dogs, lizards, or sucking my big finger. When my sister was ready for one of the grooming tools or hair accessories and it was not handed to her on time as I was distracted in one way or another, I would be literally slapped back to the matter at hand. Looking at the little girl's face in the print led me to sense that something has captured her interest. I remember having to force my eyes to the extreme corner of my eye sockets (sometimes until they hurt), just to get a good look at whatever that had me distracted.
"Ohe it hurt"!
The hair on the little girl's head reminded me of my hair, my kinki afro hair. Lol I remember when big sis combing my hair and was just about to rap the bubbles around the "bumbo-brush" as she would often call my short thick textured hair. I would often turn my head right at that time and she would get pissed and with a sharp thrust my head would be flown back into position. I would yell to her "ohe it hurt eh nuh". Sometimes the pain would be caused from the thug and other times it would be because my moment was so rudely interrupted.
Well, what can I say but thanks to this artist who has rendered fine brush strokes and created such wonderful memory, and bring back memories that I just realize has more impacted on me than I know.
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