Intimate moments, alone, captured while the faint taste of incense lingers in the air. Warm soft light is ubiquitous. Long locs fall across bare shoulders while bejeweled hands dab into shay buttah so that they can spread it over the brown skin that drinks it in. Blaq Buttaphly and I were in the cool basement loft. And while we laughed and talked we created these captures that were, for me, one of the root inspirations of Pangea’s Garden. Minutes, that happen, privately, so often that their rare beauty is, easily lost in the repetition. Every now and then, I like to take a moment to capture...

By Tamara Madden When I was growing up, I was constantly told how ugly I was. My mother was stunning and always had men running behind her, but I never thought that I would look like her and never wanted to, surprisingly. I would look in the mirror at my dark skin and big forehead and wonder why people judged me. I always felt like I was a nice person, but nothing seemed to matter more than my outward appearance. My mother was light and I was dark and I often wondered if her complexion and the length of her hair made her more attractive to people.  In high school many girl’s got their self-esteem...

By Scottie Lowe I AM my hair.  I am my naps.  I am my African wooly hair.  I am every African woman who was beaten and told that she had to cover her hair or lose her life.  I AM every slave woman who loved her nappy hair and who had to see white women and mulatto slaves get preferential treatment for having straight hair.  I will NEVER as long as I live let straight hair define my beauty. If you ever watch that show “Yo Mama” on MTV, every show, they crack on someone for having nappy hair and everyone in the audience rolls with laughter.  Anyone who finds nappy headed momma...