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I don’t know about you, but every piece of art I create is a piece of me somehow. My artwork is a snap of who I am at that precise moment of creation.

For my birthday a few months ago, a dear friend gifted me with one of those DNA kits. She knew it was essential for me to learn about my ancestry. This had been an obsession of mine for a while and I needed answers. As a woman, I only get one half really analyzed, but it’s still a lot of information. I discovered I am mostly made of 73.9% European (mostly western Europe) and about 24% from the West coast of Africa. And it means I am actually more White than Black, even though you first see the color of my skin when you look at me (don’t you?).

It took me a long time to be comfortable with my flesh. I grew up in an all-White family, without any siblings. And I did not want to bring the subject with my Mom because 1) not her fault 2) I didn’t want to sound like I was not grateful.

Faces are fascinating. And I love playing with different ways to convey racial differences with paint. You can see that in the following Nixies. It might not be obvious at first sight, but they are all of color to a certain degree.
I have two daughters, each has a skin tone of her own. My older is pale with a lot of freckles and hazel/green eyes; her sister is like warm caramel. But they both have african DNA running in their veins, you just don’t see it. These paintings are for them, too…

1- Kamaria
2- Glawdys
3- As I am
4- True to myself
5- Benji

This year, my month of April seems to focus on daily practice. I always start with the best intentions but run out of steam before the end. I don’t want this pattern to repeat itself, though.
I have two distinct projects this month that are really exciting!

Effy’s blog-along

Starting today, I will do my best to blog every day. I really wish to open a dialogue with you guys and that you’ll enjoy spending time here. Effy is hosting it and I am thankful for the push to at least try. This space means a lot to me, but Fear is often too loud.
I am learning that Love is Louder and that my voice matters.
Another thing I love about this blog-along is that I get to discover what other creative people have to say and give them some love as well.

The 100-Day Project

Starting tomorrow is the 100-day Project, organized by Elle Luna.
I picked doing an abstract painting on paper. No pressure, just joyful explorations of shapes and marks. It is about the intention that goes behind the scenes.
I will share on my Instagram feed daily, and invite you to follow my hashtag #100DaysOfAbstractExplorations 🙂

This is another blogpost that has been brewing inside me forever. The words and emotions wanting to get told but my mind putting a stop to it. I apologize if it feels like rambling but it was not easy to articulate into words.

I told you in a previous blogpost that it is difficult for me to identify as a Woman Of Color (ie WOC). See, for those who don’t know: I was raised by my White mother while I had no contact with my father’s side, where my skin tone comes from.

Am I just my skin tone ?

I have afro hair. My skin is really in-between white and brown. All my life, I have been either too white for people of color, or too brown for white people. Never good enough for either of those ethnicities.

For all my life, strangers have been trying to play the “where in the hell is she coming from ??” game. Tunisia, Algeria, Egypt, Brazil, India… I think I have heard it all. But no, I am French from two French parents. See, my father is from French Guiana: that very small overseas department and region of France on the South American continent. Yes, you might never have known it existed before now. And to crown it all, my Mom embraced her celtic roots when naming me with a celtic name…

Mom had no clue how to care for my hair or how thirsty my skin is. She did her best with the tools she had at the time (no internet, you guys !). I am crying typing this because my Mom, too, had to deal with ignorant people and had to sacrifice friendships when her friends knew she would be raising a bi-racial kid.

My skin tone seems to confuse others. But then… how is this my problem ?

I am constantly judged. By People of Color who seem to feel betrayed by my marriage to a White man, by White people who can’t understand what he is actually doing with me etc. I learned not to care too much about the stares and the disdain we see on their face but this is hard.

How can I identify with African Americans when I am too marshmallow for them ? All my life, I have fought to feel this sentiment of belonging. Belonging to a community of some sorts. I was raised in a white family that has no clue how difficult it was for me to be around them in public because I always felt like the duckling in the eyes of others (not theirs, thankfully).

And what about my daughters ?

This is a heavy topic for me. My daughters are both beautiful girls. In their own individual ways. While pregnant, I wondered: what will she look like ? Will she have a fair skin like her Dad ? Will she suffer with inheriting my afro hair ? etc.

Our first born (on the right in the picture) looks like her Dad: freckles, fair skin, but beautiful green cat eyes. Our youngest (on the left) is more like me but weirdly her hair makes all the difference: when we put our hands on top of each other, it looks like the same color but when we put our faces close to each other, I look afro and she does not. We say she has caramel skin. They both have the same Mom but, as I suffered as a child and teen and even adult, they are frequently asked: “which of you were adopted ? are your parents your biological parents ?” and it sucks. It hurts and creates wounds that will not go away by growing up. Mine are still deep. It was to the point that at 8, I kept asking my Mom to tell me the truth (about being adopted. Which I am not).  Who the fuck do people think they are to approach a stranger and ask that kind of things ?

Mae wants boxed braids and I keep telling her no, which is unfair. But because her brown heritage is not showing, I don’t want people to misjudge her.

My heart breaks when I realize that their skin color will cause them harm at some point or another in life.

My fear of Spiritual bypassing

See… I was raised a Catholic. Did all the Sacraments coming before marriage (we did not wed in Church, though). My Mom has always been more or less open-minded and into Buddhism. But around 12yo, I started my research of a Spirituality that would encompass what my guts feelings were and what I knew as true… There entered Wicca and paganism. I devoured books and books, looking for answers and rituals and a practice in general.

I usually KNOW where my practice comes from, like smudging with white sage for example. I do it, acknowledging and respecting its roots. But who am I to actually take this as my own ? Are respect and knowledge enough ?

My father was adopted; and Guiana is a very special place as it is French but surrounded by latin american countries that influenced its practice (of course). But I don’t know nothing about the practice of my ancestors there. Were they doing hoodoo ? How can I ask my converted Protestant Father about this without hurting his current feelings of religion ? I don’t feel like I belong to any culture and it hurts my Soul.

Both my girls are spiritually curious. My husband is taoist, I am pagan in a general sense (Wicca was not for me, eventually). They ask questions, we answer as best as we can and research when needed. Good that the Virgo in me could spend her days in books looking for answers about everything…

I wish I had the funds for these DNA tests we can order, it has been on all my wishlists for years…

Welcome to this new Gratitude Friday ! Feel free to share with me your (partial or full) gratitude moments in the comments; that way I can hold joy for you ✿ (you know that makes me happy to make you happy).

This week has been emotionally tough for me. Various things and a lot of inner work needing to be tackle. Facing yourself is often not the easiest task…

This week, I am grateful for:

• Walks in the neighborhood
• Creativity in all its form
• Candies, even though I should stay far from them
• Starting reading aloud to my daughters again, after a long hiatus and even though they are 11 and almost 13
• Being open to let women find me so I have my girl gang
• Sharing my first video project for Strumpet Stencils
• Inspiration
• Loving cooking
• My understanding husband, helping me figuring out my life without pressure
• My best friend, Sophie
• Baths

What about you ? Please, share in the comments a few things you are grateful for if you feel inclined.

This week’s soundtrack:

I was told (in no specific order) that I am “too sensitive” “too emotional” “too intense” “too shy” “too loud”… And it was not a compliment but a way to diminish my reactions. Well… as an INFJ and a type 5  (in the enneagram) I guess that yes, I am all these (and so much more). Knowing to balance my feelings feels like an impossible task, even now.

Yesterday, something happened in my close family that left me still in a bit of chock today. Nothing dramatic but still, I had to process it in my journal this morning.

Let the feelings sink in

In hindsight, one of the turning point in my life was 2003. I was heartbroken. My Soul family had abandoned me. I was living on my own for the first time (I was 18 and starting my University studies). I was empty inside, feeling like I had nothing else to give.

For so long, I ragingly fought the bad emotions swimming in my head. But it was like trying to go countercurrent. It lasted for years. Until that moment I decided to stop fighting it. To acknowledge the presence of an emotion I was not fond of, to welcome the lesson(s) it was bringing at that specific moment, and then let it go.

I believe that we all need a few tools to help us process things. So we don’t drown in our own feelings. Whatever works for you. May it be seeing a therapist, painting your heart out, writing the shit out of it, photography. Don’t let it govern your life so much.

Today, I am taking my own advices as it is one of those days. I want to either crawl back into bed until tomorrow or put my entire body under water in my bathtub. But life needs me to tackle it so it won’t happen. I got this ! And do you.

An uplifting song: