The Fourth Sister — Weaver of Becoming
She sat with her chin tilted skyward, as if listening for her own future. A young Black girl, graceful and sharp, wrapped in silver more than her sisters before. The light had grown, but not full yet. Enough to show the curve of her becoming.
Her moonflowers were few now. Worn like quiet declarations in her hair and at her shoulder showing signs of a girl tracing the outline of womanhood. She was refining herself in real time, not seeking perfection but clarity.
I watched her hold her dreams in one hand and her doubts in the other, balancing them both with the elegance of someone who refuses to disappear.
To black teen girls walking the tightrope between girlhood and greatness, and to black women who are late bloomers, she offers, You are not unfinished. You are in motion. Stay with it. Adjust. Trust the shaping.
She is the pause before the spotlight, the breath before the bloom. The light is rising, and so is she.
The Fourth Sister — Weaver of Becoming
She sat with her chin tilted skyward, as if listening for her own future. A young Black girl, graceful and sharp, wrapped in silver more than her sisters before. The light had grown, but not full yet. Enough to show the curve of her becoming.
Her moonflowers were few now. Worn like quiet declarations in her hair and at her shoulder showing signs of a girl tracing the outline of womanhood. She was refining herself in real time, not seeking perfection but clarity.
I watched her hold her dreams in one hand and her doubts in the other, balancing them both with the elegance of someone who refuses to disappear.
To black teen girls walking the tightrope between girlhood and greatness, and to black women who are late bloomers, she offers, You are not unfinished. You are in motion. Stay with it. Adjust. Trust the shaping.
She is the pause before the spotlight, the breath before the bloom. The light is rising, and so is she.
Mixed media on canvas
20x24
Free shipping
