RayRay: tight curls, mocha skin, slick in a white linen suit
20-something girl, hippie skirt over baggy pants, locks twisted up under bandanna, bone thin
Shaggy brown hair, stoned eyes, pale skin, dressed like a Vampire; people called him Slash
No nonsense woman, attractive, strong, intelligent, petite, a soft side known to few
The Verizon Manager, jokester, the man, Bernie Mac, who unfortunately couldn’t fix my dead cell phone
Crinkle-faced grump from Detroit, hates white people but says he’s ok with me – thanks
Guitarist, tattoo sleeves, curly brown hair, sweet eyes, olive skin, makes hearts out of steamed milk
Patchouli-wearing nymph, whirling in a spiral dance, dirt on her face
NYC, wild hair on rollerblades, six pack abs through his sweaty white tank top
Long silver hair, permenantly tanned skin, no bra, tending raspberry bushes in short-shorts
Dimples and blue eyes by the pool, charismatic Jersey-boy, handsome, expressive, charming
These are people I’ve known either very well or in passing. They are of various ethnicity’s, ages, sexual orientations and backgrounds, but this is how they struck me at the time of our meeting. When I look at a person skin color may or may not be of interest to me. Most of the time it gets upstaged by overall presence. People have argued with me that it’s impossible not to register a person’s skin color first and foremost. And I argue back – this is me, this is how I see it. It’s not that I’m trying to avoid saying Black, White or Other (which I’ve been accused of) it’s simply that it doesn’t occur to me when there’s so much else going on. My old mentor/acting guru used to say, “If you think nothing’s going on then you’re not paying attention.” He was talking about scene work, of course, but the same holds true with people.
Much is revealed when we look closer.