Check it Out... Straight from Brooklyn!! I am Sam. Sam I am. Or, Sam am iz. I am a Biblical Studies Major, for now, and by His Grace I am actively pursuing to be the man that God has created me to be. In meeting this demand, I have chosen to be a writer of different disciplines that reflect my culture, maturing convictions, and my aesthetics in regards to art. I long to see the original Creator of the complex world who filled it with nature and humanity, who currently sustains creation’s existence, and who structured the world’s redemption and demonstrates it in history. I will see Him, the Creator in the image and form of the already glorified LORD Jesus Christ.

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April 27, 2009

Tag.....

I am currently the President of PBU's Cultural Awareness Assocation and we got the oppertunity to display artwork from a concert we did last year. This is a description of the art work and the history of the art form known as graffiti.


"I wonder, O, wall that you have not fallen in ruins from supporting the stupidities of so many scribblers".-Pompeii

“Philadelphia, 1967: In the city of Brotherly Love, in the summer of love, names like CORNBREAD and TOP CAT began to scream at the metropolis’s civilian population. A tall, exaggerated, free form script advertised the presence of a growing handful of inner-city youngsters, rogue street soldiers”. From Philly to New York, via TOP CAT a soon to be Harlem resident, graffiti moved into the city that never sleeps and awakened New Yorkers. Against the walls of the city, graffiti instantly possessed New York as its own: by writing its name on it.

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"It begins"

This is renegade art. No patron. No audience. No respect. No love. Graffiti’s revolution: habitual. Graffiti’s momentum is determined by an aluminum spray’s can. The life span of a revolution’s beginning and end is in the life of his spray can. The artist, the revolutionary, fights until the vision becomes complete. While pointing to the wall and drafting his declaration, his war is fought and before his eyes his flag is hung. Time walk away from him and it is over as he stands lost in his piece yet vigilant of his surroundings. It is finished and an evacuation calls rings by the shake of a hollowed can. Practitioners of this art form spans from open slums of the inner city to the elaborate gated palaces of the land called suburbia. But what does graffiti mean to urban city youth?

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Graffiti is a way to have the streets talking about you. The garbage can, the billboard, the light pole, or the window and walls could all advertise your name as you walk by. The avenue is now your avenue. You just had to be the first one to write your name on it. This is why it is called tagging. With the shots of a spray can, everyone knew you name.

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If “the history of art is nothing more than the record of how people have used their minds and imaginations to symbolize who they are and what they value” then what does the urban inner city youth want? How different or irrational is this art form when compared to the art found in Lascaux (Dordogne) caves, France? Why are public buildings and private property the canvas of their robust statements? How is the use of public transportation a way of conveying their ideals or statements? What happens when an inner city youngster, who has ideas about neighborhood, is granted a way of communicating? Who gives it to him? No one does because he takes it. He colors his conclusions with the same precision he honed in, as a little kid with crayons, coloring in within his lines. Through his hands, his ideas travel to parts of the city he does not have the money or time to visit. His ideas communicate to people that would never acknowledge him. His audience are millions and his fans few. This artist has no patron and He has little time to paint his ideas. His cost is limited time, energy, the possibility of an arrest, dangerous death from unsafe locations and the price of the spray can. And as he finishes his piece, he pays only two of these costs, time and energy. He is too way quick and smart for the arrest and death and he stole the spray can.

Graffiti as an art form has never been modest in its approach. Graffiti has never been subtle. As renegade of an art form as graffiti is, graffiti needs the attention of people. Graffiti sits next to you on the train accompanying you on your ride. Graffiti speaks to you about its ideas. But this is not a dialogue. This is a monologue. Graffiti speaks but never does graffiti listen.

On Nov. 23, 2008, artists Harold Hairston Jr., Christian James, and Mike Dejessa created this piece during the “I. Am Hip Hop” show held by the students of the Cultural Awareness Association. The educational event was meant to inform the students of Philadelphia Biblical University about the artistic elements of the urban inner city. Charting through the history of Hip Hop, students experienced an interactive presentation of the now popular mainstream commercial genre, through the art form of Hip Hop itself. Students saw the stylistic changes of Hip Hop culture in conjunction to social events in the art form’s thirty-six year development. The piece represents just one element of Hip Hop culture. Out of the four elements of Hip Hop: DJin, Breaking, and Rapping, Graffiti was used as a way of charting through the decades of the development of the art form and the social events that accompanied them. On three wooden boards hangs, three glued black and white paper mosaics of the musical and social developments of Hip Hop, ordered and divided by decades (1973-1980; 1980-1991; 1991 to the present). On top is the colored and cohesive tag of the show that brings all of these pieces together. This tag made possible by the composition of lined, accented, and bold lettering via spray can. This tag is a declarative statement that defines and expresses the history and the goal of culture. If Hip Hop had a tag, we as Bible believing Christians pray with conviction, that this would be it. We pray that this tag would be the creed of the Hip Hop culture. This creed is what makes sense of thirty-six years of development. The goal of this event was to chart out the redemption of a culture. And by God’s grace it is happening all around us.

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Out of place? I agree, yes very much so! This tag belongs on the streets making the avenue its own. This tag needs to move from borough to borough, city to city, and country to country communicating the nature and purpose of humanity and his culture. By God’s grace, this tag stands here communicating as boldly as graffiti has always done. But this time, graffiti showcases redemption rather than rebellion as it tags the message of Jesus Christ. But this is not a dialogue. This is a monologue. Graffiti speaks but never does graffiti listen. Graffiti redemptive revolution: habitual. This revolution is for now, as God’s ideals are not humanity’s social norms. But it will be, as the incarnation, crucifixion and resurrection of Christ defiantly communicates to the world, including to His own believers at times. God’s revolution will be accomplished and a restored universe is His eternal tag communicating the more comprehensive ideal ever. GOD.

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The Revolutionaries: *(left to right) Harold Hairston Jr., Mike Dejessa, Christian James

April 20, 2009

You Game? (Part 1)

Okay, for the five people that read this blog, I got a game. I'm going to post three pics up and you tell me what you think about these. Leave comments, thoughts/musings,poems, rhymes about pics 1 through 3. And based on the comments you leave behind, the next blog will be interesting....


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April 9, 2009

AH-jay-NOU (Defining Discipline)

Discipline: Teaching, Instruction, A branch of learning or field of study; training or experience that corrects, molds, strengthens, or perfects especially the mental in order to acquire some coveted knowledge or skill; Punishment by one’s authority with a view to correction or training. A rule or system of rules governing conduct or action; a system of regulation

AH-jay-NOU!
It is a Haitian term, as well as a demeaning way of disciplining. I remember hearing that. I remember hearing that after I did something or said something my father didn’t like. And after my beatings (which were never brief). I was sent to the wall. I’m convinced it was a psychological thing. When sent to the wall, one would have to kneel down and face the corner or the wall and stare at it. I remember my body getting tired, my attempts to sit on my heels and being screamed at or hit again. I remember my mind getting tired trying to think about things to think about. I can still taste the snot/tears marathon that ran for miles down my face into the cracks and crevices of my chapped lips. I remember the peeling of my chapped lips and the spitting of the skins. I remember the feeling I got after getting up, relived that I could walk around again. Happy that I was on the good side of my father, but not to go back and enjoy the time spent with him. Those didn’t happen anyway, but I was happy not to owe him nothing and to have a clean slate with him.

I remember never wanting to be apart of the system, traditions, or people that disciplined me that way. It was not an honor. We played everything by roles. I failed to do mine, according to his standards as his child, and I got punished. I was determined to be radically different from him. And I am. Very different.

The point is that AH-jay-NOU mentally still affects me. Discipline? What it is and how should it be done? Well, it is done with the intention of molding a character within someone. Discipline can be self-inflicting or done by an authority. The problem with my father was that his discipline didn't include a realistic character that he was trying to mold into me. He simply used discipline as a excuse let off his steam on me. Thus you have abuse and years of fighting.These experiences constantly color code my Christianity. It is a struggle for me sometimes to pray. Prayer happens most of the time when a conviction or a concern strikes me and sends me to my knees. And its grueling because prayer is a hard discipline for me because of my experiences. But what I often miss, is that prayer is a discipline commanded, not by an sinful father but a Holy Father. A Father who isn't abusive. A Father, in which all my personality and character traits, righteously finds its origin and source. A Father, who not only holds an active and absolute responsibility in my birth, but an active and absolute responsibility of my enjoyment and perspective of life. A Father, who not only made a way for me to experience salvation, but He made sure that I will never go through the sanctification process alone. A Father, who I do not have to get up from my knees feeling that I have to pay my debts to Him and then I can go on my day knowing that He does not have a problem with me. That when I sin, I can approach Him knowing He won’t crush me because of the gift of His son. Discipline issues? Yea, we are going to have them. But let us be discipline with the aspiration of pleasing God but only in living in the reality that He has forgiven us. And we did NOTHING to achieve it. I know the tension that we may have. I wrote this trying to reconcile the problem of the abuse of grace. But those who He has chosen would never abuse grace (by grace if course!). Those who God has chosen through the gospel of His Son understand that the abuse of grace is not the offense of a system or a philosophical ideology but the abuse of grace is an offense to the One, the Grace-Giver that sovereignly distributes it. May that be our guide to the disciplined and organized path of life.


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"Nuff Said"

April 7, 2009

Home. (Brooklyn till I die.)

New York. The girls, they were the experts at practically walking the paths of paradox. It was more than hard to get.They were ruthlessly resourceful in their ability to mislead. We all stood out there, lost. We were lost even on our own blocks, only to express our embarrassment of the inflicted taunting caused by their deception through our curses.

New York. Us boys, you found us stationed outside our apartment buildings dribbling basketballs in our hallways. We wore our devotion on our skinned ash. We were up early in the morning with no shower. We were militant in our drills of dribbling, our bare sweaty feet hydroplaning inside our untied sneakers moving to the squeaks of rubber skidding off the tile floor. We coordinated our moves so that we could execute them with ease on our next victim waiting outside in the park. We used the sign that said NO BALL PLAYING as a hoop for our point system, coordinating our form and our defiance. I guess that’s how we got our points around the way. You could find us puffing blunts in public like they were cigarettes. You could find us gripping dice, gambling for something to hold on to while losing whatever little we already had. You could find us sitting on your parked car while you are inside your house. And if you were the police, you couldn’t find us at all. We were searching for something. Whether that manifested itself through the replication of someone else or not, we were searching. We were so impressionable. We were something but we wanted to be something else. Somebody else.

God’s grace found me to be someone else. God’s grace found me to live like someone else. Him. To be like Him. To pursue Him. To be honest when I am not like Him. God’s grace found me and I pray that God’s grace might find those people, I was taken from. This is my Arabia. This is my Midian. But by God’s grace, I will return. By God’s grace I will not return alone like I left. Nor will I return the same. But I will return with a community of people with biblically based counter-cultural convictions. Who shares the same desire to see my people redeemed? Lord, give me Brooklyn or I die! Lord, give me New York City or I die!


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"Eastern Parkway"

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"West Indian Day Parade"

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"An Hasidic Jew"

Sam

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