jenn freeman | po'chop | chicago dance | chicago burlesque

The Brown Pages

edition xvii | vol. ii

The Brown Pages | Po’Chop | Chicago Dance | Jenn Freeman | Dance | Artist | Digital Collage | Home Here | Brown Paper
Audre Lorde on The Brown Pages | Jenn Freeman | Hand written Audre Lorde quote | Home | Here | Chicago
The Brown Pages | Audre Lorde | Hand written x Jenn Freeman | Po’Chop | Chicago Artist | Marker | Vector | Dance
Get yo' scroll on | The Brown Pages | Handwriting ain't dead | Chicago Dance and Performance Artist

 welcome to Ed. XVII. i've began this year renewing an old vow. to be on my side. to feel my feelings. to dispell fear. to trust my words. to trust myself. i impatiently ask myself "when will you fully embrace the self that you can't deny?" 

patience. breathe.

take a dose of compassion with your breakfast.

fitting that i start this first edition of the new year a bit introspective. don't cha think? i am grateful for these pages and hope you are too. thank you for choosing to spend your time online on The Brown Pages. as always play, explore, go off the road. click where you think you shouldn't. the juice is in the details. i pray to Lorde that you enjoy 'em.

sending love & light,

Jenn Freeman | Po'Chop Chicago Performance Artist
The Brown Pages | Po'Chop | Hand drawn circle vector |


spokes to splinters. 

forget the time together.

tender and burning.

let go.

i breathe memories into objects.

this rocking chair was a physical remberance of my grandfather. built to disassemble into 62 linear inches. we've gone to seattle, des moines, stL . together looking for an anger that only a black man who was a small town's first black cop could know. truclent. grass stained whites. the wailing of the blind boys of alamaba as we bobbed down backroads of gravel. we called him dynamite.

this performance of dynamite at ICUQTS will always be with me. within minutes of starting my rocker broke. continuing to slowly crumble underneath me. frustrated and supported by D'Angelo's 1000 Deaths i broke the back of the chair over my knee. slamming into an era's edge.