Imagine, hair. The elusive, coveted “good” hair. On some days that is my hair. Or was. Or can be. But you should know by now – Don’t. Touch. My. Hair. For, I am my hair. A collection of memories twisted together with thread, bundled in intricate knots and layers of life’s undulations. There are mysteries and secrets hidden in my hair. All the embellishments woven onto my hair have independent integrity. Their meaning amplified into my shine and ‘joyful noise’ when I turn my head. My hair is an extension of my body and my SELF. My hair is my crown, a melody in the wind, my hair, Is…
My hair holds memories of being sent to the person who could ‘do my hair’. To tame it, quiet it down. Not unlike, the me in the world that hot combed my hair to a crisp until it did not offend so I could be “heard” in business meetings.
And yet, you still touch my hair without permission. With this work, I have created a bridge on which to meet you. Please Do. Not. Touch. My. Hair.