tree photo by
photo by Wilma Potts
copyright property of R2C2H2 Tha Artivist
My art is one created through the use and motivation of three of my main passions: my love of art, my love of music and my love of history in particular African and African American History. I love to tell stories through the use of symbols. I think four of my biggest influences, Jacob Lawrence, El Greco, Miles Davis and Paul Gaugin, have taught and convinced me that interesting stories can be told in a visually expressive and highly original individual style without the use of the written word. These artists among the countless others that I admire like Picasso, Charles White, Van Gogh, William H. Johnson, Romare Bearden, Lois Jones, Archibald Motley, George Hunt, Jean Michel Basquiat to musicians John Coltrane, Thelonious Monk, Run DMC, Louis Armstrong, Robert Johnson, Howling Wolf, Billie Holiday, Robert Johnson, Charlie Parker, Duke Ellington and 2pac remind me through their prolific outputs that research is one of the most important ingredients in forming your own artistic voice. Before I create a series of related artworks I dive deeply into the subject(s) of my choice through the use of books, movies (documentaries), music and discussions with people who are connected to the subject(s). These tasks take me countless hours to perform, but I honestly feel that me taking the time to collect and analyze the information have made me a better artist as well as a better human being. In this way I feel artists are like synthesizers, taking in all foreign information and materials mixing it with the artists' experiences and knowledge and then compressing it into a product made in the artists' likeness or image based on the artists' own ideas and philosophies. All great art to me seems to be those works that have substance and tell unwritten as well as written stories that are to be retold and reinterpreted for years to come. Hopefully my dedication to my art will continue to lead me in this direction."
Check Out The Recent R2C2H2 Newsletter:
http://weallbe.blogspot.com/2007/07/r2c2h2-newsletter-late-springmid-summer.html
Other Artivist Contact Info:
Phone: (901) 299-4355
E-mail: rcherdii@yahoo.com
Websites:
http://www.r2c2h2.com/
http://www.cafepress.com/r2c2h2
http://www.blogtalkradio.com/weallbe
http://www.weallbe.blogspot.com/
http://www.jazzlieutenant.blogspot.com/
http://www.soldierboygrip.blogspot.com/
http://www.myspace.com/r2c2h2
Freely Subscribe To The Show By Clicking On The Following Link:
http://www.blogtalkradio.com/feeds/weallbeAs Always Please Spread The Good News!!!
~~~~~~~~~
Photo By Wilma Potts
CliCk On The Following For More Info:
http://weallbe.blogspot.com/2007/07/hire-r2c2h2-tha-artivist-to-speak-and.html
Please Visit The Alternative To The Alternative News @ The Following Address:
http://www.weallbe.blogspot.com
~~~~~~~~~
4.) Get You Read On By Checking Out The Last Three Full Months Of W.E. A.L.L. B.E.:
June
http://weallbe.blogspot.com/2007_06_01_archive.html
May
http://weallbe.blogspot.com/2007_05_01_archive.html
April
http://weallbe.blogspot.com/2007_04_01_archive.html
~~~~~~~~~
Then Visit The Award Winning And Nationally Recognized Website Known As: http://www.ctherd.blogspot.com/
~~~~~~~~~
6.) *W.E. A.L.L. B.E. FESTIVAL COMING THIS FALL 2007!!!
STAY TUNED TO W.E. A.L.L. B.E. FOR MORE DETAILS!!!*
~~~~~~~~~
Thanks Everybody For Your Continued Support...And In The Words Of The Immortal Duke Ellington We Love You Madly!!!
As Always Look For Me In The Whirlwind...
Artastically, Blacktastically, and Jazzliciously yours,
http://www.r2c2h2.com
http://www.cafepress.com/r2c2h2
http://www.blogtalkradio.com/weallbe
http://www.weallbe.blogspot.com
http://www.jazzlieutenant.blogspot.com
http://www.soldierboygrip.blogspot.com
http://www.myspace.com/r2c2h2
*If You Like To Be Removed From This Mailing List Please Reply And Write "Remove" In The Subject Line Or Body...No Need To Be Impolite…Thanks!!!*
Sis. Sherie Said:
Hey Bro,
You are the man! What a delightful experience that interview was. Howard was right, what a great trio we were. Age differences, parts of the country, educations and race. I learned a lot.
My mother taught me to write real thank you letters - you know, the snail mail type. Where do I send one to you? Do you produce your show? If not, who is your producer, too, please.
Thank you for expanding my horizons.
I'm glad I'm your sis.
Sis. Shamontiel Said:
I enjoyed the last show you invited me on, but this one is my favorite because I got to talk about my passion for education, the Harlem Renaissance, and you had some great guests on there to educate people on voting and diversity. Thank you for inviting me on and letting me get some information out there. As for your other guest, what an intelligent and thought-provoking conversationalist Sherie is. The person who called in had some great views as well, and I'm glad he called in to share his thoughts. You've got a great show on your hands and some of the most relevant topics to date. Keep doing you, and I'll keep listening.
Tha Artivist Writes:
On Sunday July 8, 2007 intergenerational reaching and teaching was definitely the order of the day on Tha Artivist Presents…W.E. A.L.L. B.E. Radio…Yours truly had the honor and privilege of sharing the airwaves with two passionate women of the written word and the valiant deed…Sis. Sherie Lebedis and Sis. Shamontiel Vaughn definitely went together like Ebony and Ivory…Not only do these beautiful kindred spirits share a love for writing but they also have a passion for speaking truth to power and activism on the college campus and beyond…
Sis. Sherie talked about her experiences as a middle class White suburbanite from California registering rural Black voters in South Carolina during the turbulent 1960s…She also talked about her experiences as the only White student @ Allen University, a Historically Black College/University (HBCU) in Columbia, South Carolina during the 1960s as well…
Sis. Shamontiel, an alum of Lincoln University in Jefferson City, Missouri another HBCU respectively, shared her experiences as a student activist on a mission at her first college of choice , Northern Michigan University…She shared with us her inspiring story of actually changing the curriculum requirements to stress the importance of African American Studies and diversity in an overwhelmingly White student population through her one woman protest and letter writing campaign…Although she transferred to Lincoln University her efforts were not in vain as you will hear in this interview…She also talked about going to a HBCU where half the student population was White (quite different from Sis. Sherie’s experiences @ Allen University in the 1960s)…
Other Topics We Touched Upon Include:
Voting
Politics
American Culture
Education
The Consequences of Brown v. Board Decision
Please Listen To The Actual Show By Clicking On The Following Link:
http://www.blogtalkradio.com/weallbe/2007/07/08/tha-artivist-presentswe-all-be-radio
Please check out the following for more info on our guests…
Our Scheduled Featured Guests Were...
1.) Civil Rights Movement Veteran, Activist, Author And Educator Sherie Labedis
(Sherie Holbrook)
2.) Author Extraordinaire, Entrepreneur And Enamored With The Culture Of Hip Hop Shamontiel L. Vaughn a.k.a. Maroon Sista
http://www.myspace.com/shamontiel_maroonsista
July 7, 2007
By Duncan Bech Special to PA SportsTicker
WIMBLEDON, England - Venus Williams claimed her fourth Wimbledon singles title with an efficient 6-4, 6-1 victory over Marion Bartoli on Centre Court.
Williams, competing in her sixth final at the All England Club, overpowered her 22-year-old opponent with a display which was ruthlessly effective at key moments.
The American met with stubborn resistance throughout as Bartoli, who was clearly fatigued from yesterday's epic triumph over No. 1 seed Justine Henin, battled bravely for every point.
Bartoli had produced one of the biggest upsets in Wimbledon history in toppling Henin but there was to be no fairytale ending to her fifth appearance at SW19 and best run at a Grand Slam event.
"Venus played some unbelievable tennis," Bartoli said. "I mean, she reached some balls like I never see one person reach on a tennis court, and she would even hit it harder back to me. So I really tried my best I think, and I played a great match, but at the end she was just too good.
"I can't say a player can beat her when she plays like this on grass. I mean, it's not possible to beat her. She's just too good, you know."
But she had made history by contesting the lowest-ranked women's final at the All England Club - Williams was seeded 23 and Bartoli 18.
Williams sounded an ominous warning when she blazed through the opening game by winning every point, and then picked apart Bartoli's serve in the second.
The Frenchwoman, ranked 19 in the world, looked nervous and double faulted on break point to hand Williams a 2-0 lead. Williams was glued to the baseline where she could overpower her opponent with a string of accurate, powerful strokes.
With her stamina sapped by yesterday's epic against Henin, Bartoli double faulted once again to concede another break point in the fourth - only for Williams to squander the opportunity with a long forehand.
It was Williams' turn to double fault in the fifth, conceding two break points and hitting the second long to haul her opponent back into the set.
The American's error-count was growing steadily as her earlier authority vanished, largely as a result of the resistance offered by Bartoli.
Bartoli was serving to save the set in the 10th and she wilted in the face of a ferocious onslaught from Williams, who accompanied every shot with a loud cry of intent.
A double fault handed the 27-year-old two set points. The first was saved with a fine passing shot but Williams smashed the second out of reach.
Bartoli came under siege early in the second set and initially dug herself out of trouble with a series of crisp forehands, only to then be broken by a thunderous Williams backhand.
Play was interrupted when the former junior French Open champion required treatment on an array of blisters on her left foot and Williams followed suit, receiving attention to her left leg.
Bartoli was first up on her feet and she grew impatient waiting for Williams, whose thigh was now heavily strapped.
When play finally resumed, Bartoli raced through her serve and caught the eye with a precise lob which left Williams stranded.
But she conceded three break points in the sixth with Williams smashing a vicious backhand to claim the third.
Serving for the match, Williams ended Bartoli's resistance with an unstoppable serve to take the set 6-1 - and the title.
Williams admitted the victory was made all the sweeter by her season-long struggle with a wrist injury that has affected her world ranking.
"I have so many people to thank. My sister Serena inspired me by winning the Australian Open at the start of the year. I wanted to be like her," Venus Williams said. "My mum helped me out in the first round and my family knows what I went through when I was off with the injury.
"It was a long road back with some tough losses to take. But it was great to be here and Marion was a really tough opponent. It's so exciting to win four titles. I always believed I could do it, but to actually do it is something different completely."
Bartoli paid tribute to her father and coach Walter and set her sights on winning next year's Wimbledon title.
"I'm disappointed with the result but I have to thank everyone on Centre Court for the support I've had," Bartoli said. "The world number one on grass is Venus so congratulations to her for the way she played here.
"For me to play in the final on Centre Court was a dream come true and it is possible because of one person only - my dad. Thank you Dad. I'll be happy if I come back here next year and reach the final again - with the trophy in my hands."
Blue. Once the paint was blue.Weathered, sun tarnished, the house slumped on the sand in the clearing. The door stood open, and though the few windows were glass free, it was dark inside.A roof of rusted tin shaded the front porch and steps, never painted. A shabby cane chair, a broken box of firewood, that’s all there was.
She was as weathered as her home, dressed in a gray skirt; the blouse darker gray, but still gray.Her hair, black and gray, was pulled severely back from her face. Her skirt stopped at cracked, bare feet as she stood on the hot sand and watched me trudge up the road.
The same grit of the lane pulled at my low heeled white pumps making each step a commitment. The runs in my nylons and scratches on my legs were witness to an earlier encounter with a raspberry bush. I’d read books about the sun searing the skin on the desert. Not here. The clouds formed a lid on the pot I’d simmered in since June. Sweat oozed persistently between my breasts, under my arms, down my thighs. My blond hair sagged against my neck for support. Many hand washings had not released a moldy whisper from my orange and yellow striped cotton dress, which glued itself to my damp body. I yearned to be dry.
What was she thinking as she watched me? White folks drive up in cars; they don’t walk up to the house. She went to church regularly and perhaps she guessed who I was as we frequented churches encouraging people to vote. When I reached her, her eyes were veiled, but not cold. She didn’t trust me, but she wasn’t locking me out.
“Evenin’. Mrs. Crawford?” I asked.
“Evenin’,” she answered, her voice almost a whisper as she looked at her feet. She wasn’t going to help me.
“My name is Sherie Holbrook and I am here registering voters for Martin Luther King.”
I had said the magic words, Martin Luther King, and she looked up at me quickly and then down.
“We’re talking to people about going to the court house to register to vote. Have you registered yet?” I wished she would offer me a glass of water.
The soft voice answered, “Yes, ma’am.” Perhaps I would go away now.
I didn’t believe her.I had been taught to say exuberantly, “Good for you, so few people have. Do you have your registration card?”
“Yes, ma’am.”She turned toward the house, limping slightly as she walked up groaning steps and disappeared into the darkness. Time went by. I thought she had decided not to return. Sometimes, that’s what folks did. They just disappeared so they wouldn’t have to explain they were terrified to vote.
This was the summer of 1965 and waves of change were crashing against shoals of tradition across the American South. The American Negro demanded freedom and the rights that freedom bestows and they were determined to get that freedom now! For many, the price for that freedom was costly. Some of the people we met told us that Negro votes were not counted, so there was no reason to vote. They knew that some people who resisted the system lost their jobs, like Rosa Parks when she refused to give up her seat on the bus to a white man. Some relied on surplus food to feed large families when the income from chopping cotton fell short. With the mere flourish of a pen, this source of sustenance could disappear. There were beatings, lynchings, bombings and burnings. Just having us in the community could have lethal consequences as it had in Neshoba County, Mississippi where churches were burned and three civil rights workers disappeared. A year later their tortured bodies were found buried in an earthen dam. In Birmingham, Alabama a church was bombed and four little black girls in Sunday school died in the rubble. We represented change, but we also represented danger and eventually we would leave and the community would be left with the Ku Klux Klan, the White Citizen’s Council and politicians who owed their success to stopping this change at any cost. Terrorism wasn’t shipped from afar; it was home grown and racially specific.
Now I brought that danger into her dooryard.Mrs. Crawford had no job and her husband could not be fired.He died longago.S he had no children who could be hurt. They had moved north for jobs in the cities. Her house was all she had, and she knew it could easily be burned to the ground. That’s what happened to her church when the white “Civil Right” people came and held their mass meetings there.
Her hands were empty except for calluses when she reappeared.She watched the ground as she came closer.“Cain’t find it.” she mumbled an apology.
“But you don’t need it.” I didn’t want her to get away.“You can help us anyway because you have registered to vote.” She glanced up at me for a second.
“On next Monday, we are taking a bus of people down to Monck’s Corner to register. If you come with us, you can help them understand how important voting is and they will see that you have done it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she murmured.I’ll come.”
“We are meeting at Redeemer Church at 10:00I insisted.
“Yes, ma’am.”
***
Mrs. Crawford was not there as the old, faded green bus crunched across the church parking lot and rested before the crowd of quiet people. The importance of the occasion was clear that sultry morning:Sunday dresses and suits, fancy hats with feathers and tulle, polished shoes, pocketbooks.They were too quiet, too afraid, but they were there.They deserved more. They deserved to celebrate their courage! Florence began to sing, “Oh, Freedom.Oh, Freedom.Oh, Freedom over me.And before I’d be a slave, I’d be buried in my grave and go home to my Lord and be free.”The crowd tentatively followed her lead.
We stepped up the tempo by singing “Keep Your Eyes on the Prize.”Voices committed more in volume and conviction.With "Ain't Gonna Let Nobody Turn Me 'Round", the crowd picked up the verse and their pride as everyone got on the bus and it slowly whined out onto the road.
Inside the bus fans fluttered like butterflies to beat back the heat.Many had pictures of Martin Luther King on them, others the image of Jesus.Someone else saw her first, walking slowly toward the church, waving her handkerchief. The bus creaked to a stop and Mrs. Crawford stepped up.
She came down the aisle to the empty seat next to me and smiled as she met my eyes.
“Everyone! We’re so lucky. Mrs. Crawford has already registered to vote and she has come to answer any questions about doing it.” Applause.We went on singing.
She sat quietly next to me in her broad brimmed straw hat. Five miles went by, and then she whispered, I ain’t never registred.”
I whispered back, “But, you will today.”
“But, I cain’t read or write.”
“I’ll teach you.You just need to sign your name.”
“I cain’t”
“We have time. I’ll show you.”
I took a pencil from my purse and turned to the back of the map of Berkeley County. I slowly wrote Rebecca Crawford.It was too much; I could tell as a furrow tightened between her eyes and her gaze dropped to her lap.
“Wait. Let’s start one letter at a time. Here, write over the top of this letter R.”
I wrote the R and handed her the pencil and paper. Awkwardly, she traced the letter over and over.“Now, write the R fresh here below”.Her hand shook as she tried. I couldn’t recognize the letter and we started again.
Fifteen miles is not very far when you’re trying to overcome 250 years of defeat. We registered 150 people that day, but Rebecca Crawford was not one of them. She asked me to come and teach her, so she could “registr” next time. I promised I would. I had nothing to give her with her name on it when I kept the map.
More than a month went by. As much as I remembered my promise, my other responsibilities kept me away. Begging our project director for some time to visit her, the time at last came where my promise could be fulfilled.
The road was as long and as hot as before.Far ahead, I could see someone moving toward me.I recognized the straw hat first, then a basket on her arm and finally that beaming, delighted face.
“It’s you!” She set down her basket in the middle of the road and raised her arms to heaven in thanks. I shook her hand and smiled back into her eyes. Before I could say anything, she said,
Chile, I been wonderin’ where you was.Sunday I prayed that you come and learn me how to write.”
I explained I had been busy trying to get other folks to register.
“When I gots up this mornin’ I was feeling something extra good was gonna happen today.I cleaned my house real good.I felt so grand I come on down the road. I saw you and I knew what that good was.Look what I cain do.”>
She bent down and picked up a stick. With a steady hand she wrote Rebecca slowly and deliberately in the sand.
About Sherie Labedis
"Is the right to vote worth dying for?" This question filled the minds of the black folks and white volunteers encouraging them to register in the summer of 1965.The essay, "A Line in the Sand," describes the dangers for black people voting at this time, the manner in which people were recruited to vote, and the courageous personal stories of two women.
In 1965 Sherie Labedis was a white volunteer enlisted by Martin Luther King Jr. to get black voters to register and vote. She was 18 and a middle class college student from California. Mrs. Rebecca Crawford was sixty, an illiterate black woman burdened with the racist legacy of the South. Her response to being treated with genuine respect led to a friendship that lasted through twenty-eight years and two generations
"Every great dream begins with a dreamer. Always remember, you have within you the strength, the patience, and the passion to reach for the stars to change the world."
"If I could have convinced more slaves that they were slaves, I could have freed thousands more."
-Harriet Tubman
