Root System

Her hair does not end where hair is supposed to end. It continues upward, branching and forking and spreading into trees — actual trees, with full canopies of forest green — so that the line between her crown and the canopy above is impossible to locate. She is the trunk. The trees are the thought she is currently having.

A gold circle sits at her third eye: not an ornament, a compass. Her face markings are white horizontal bars — the same marks worn by Yoruba priests and priestesses to signal that they are operating between worlds. Red chain earrings. Gold discs. A red bead at her chin. Green beaded collar wrapping a neck that holds up a world.

The teal field breathes around her the way water breathes — with patience and intention. This is a painting about what it means to be deeply rooted: not fixed and immovable, but capable of growing in every direction without ever losing the thread back to the source.