Daughter Of Man


Daughter of man

Blessed with a bosom capped with twin peaks

Emblazoned with dark tipped nipples

Lancing into my mouth

Jousting with the thrust of my tongue

Take me up into you
Take me into the place they call sin

The enclave hushed up by the priests

That none may speak freely of

That place

Where kings shorn themselves of their crowns

Take me into the place

Where Samson gave away his strength

Envelop me with your nether lips

That warm embrace the hedonist never forgets


Daughter of man

Blessed with a derriere so bountiful

Juggled by the sway of your hips

Lay me on your altar of gold

Pierce me with the dagger of your eyes

Wash me with the taste of your lips

Even as the fire of my loins burns

Erecting the tower of my pride

Babel reaching for the stars

Despite the flush of my cheeks

Teach me the ways of your castle

That I may lay my life down to defend it


Daughter of man

Adorned in the skin of the bronzed sands

Touched with the obsidian of the night

Caressed with the haze of a snowstorm

Let me into your infinite wetness

The ocean pacific of sweet loving

Animate my desire in your well of creation

So I can unlock the secrets of life

Hidden within the palaces of pleasure welled up in you


Daughter of man

Allow me to rappel those twin peaks

So I may embrace their dark tipped cupolas

Winding down like an acrobat

Let me overturn your mound

Tending the sweet spot

Of pleasure tendrils convulsing the cradle that is your body

In the throbbing of my need

Or the unwound coils of your want

In night or day

In the beginning and forever more

And at the height of our pleasure

We become like



© Sena Frost 2k17

image courtesy opinionatedmale.com


How to Paint a Sunrise

Smile of the sunrise                                                                                                                                                         Image courtesy pinterest.com

Prepare the ground

Twilight purple

Intersperse with a sprinkling of beige

Don’t worry about evenness

Now stop

Allow to dry for six hours.

Mix red and yellow

Blend into the consistency of an angry flame

Then add some more yellow

Remember you’d want a ruddy gold

Now spread the paint evenly

Large expressive brushstrokes

Let’s see the bristles in them,

It’s not a poster.

Don’t forget to work quickly.

8 minutes is all it takes.

The sea of colour warm seeps across the celestial dark of night

Brazen and unfettered

A dash of colour on a ground of nothingness

Yellows and blues jostling for attention

And at their epicenter

The source of all hue,


© Sena Frost 2k16



Or an artist to be precise. There are so many people who parade themselves as such. Just because you have a little skill at putting nice sentences together doesn’t make you a poet or drawing people to perfection an artist.

Art is one of the greatest gifts God gave to man. It is a direct albeit weakened description of His power; the ability to create. A painter breathes life into his painting, likewise a writer into his writing.

The ability to draw observers to your work and by observers I don’t mean those who go gaga at your wordplay or your effortless skill at rendering the human physique or how well you sing or dance. I mean those who sit down and interact with your work because of its inherent depth (or lack of it), those who go beyond the media into the reason behind the work to appreciate true beauty.

Beauty. A very ambiguous subject. It’s the reason why a footballer moving a ball would be adored by fans, a shapely woman gawped and have men at her feet, a morsel of food photographed and paraded like a piece of gold which incredulously is valuable because it is so nice to look at.

The greatest artists of the ages transcended what was viewed as the standards. It is not enough to be part of the latest fad and enjoy the centre stage. Each word and brushstroke and move is your gift to the world. What are you leaving behind after the show is over? People happy with how good you are or people getting better because you touched them in places where hands don’t go?

Would you be remembered as a candle easily snuffed by the wind of time or a star whose dying nova spawns even greater stars?

Art is a legacy, built for the future. Think about it the next time you are going to do what you love.


© Sena Frost 2k16


Feeling at odds with the world?
Ever thought of letters to capture the mood you’re in?
Are you eloquent in the expression of unspoken word?
Bright sparks in that dank inn?
The one you call your mind?
Does the beauty of your body send you into throes of ecstasy?
A dopamine rush perhaps?
You looking for perfection?
Music made by a deaf man.
Flowery words of love crawling across pages not yellowed by centuries?
Looking for a high in a high?
Reading between lines and under them,
Searching for improbable meanings?
Are you still full of wonder over the slamming of the door,
Even though they slam the door?
Just because “you think like a child”?
Do you feel morose and unhappy?
Ready to engage the unnatural?
Perhaps slash off an ear?
Or liaise with nubile young women?
Beautiful as the islands they were born on?
Ever had the urge to decorate a church with nudes?
Carefully carved and wonderfully made?
Blasphemous right?
Feeling at odds with the world?
Ever thought of writing to capture the mood you’re in?
Are you eloquent in the expression of unspoken word?
Bright sparks in that dank inn?
The one you call your mind?
Where the bottom of the bottle drips,
And you’re crippled by the mundaneness of growing up which so excites the world?
Do you think you’re becoming a maniac?
Obsessed with eccentricities that only you can see?
If so then yes!
You’re on the SS Looney,
Where everyone is a bedlamite,
VVG and PC and WS and KC,
Initials for those who’s insanity reached out to you across choppy seas and moody weather.
I know,
I know,
They’ll never understand why,
They hate to love you,
They love to hate you.
The ones you love will kill you.
This is art!

© Sena Frost 2015


When I entered the University of Education, Winneba albeit reluctantly I faced a dilemma I had not noticed: choosing a 3-D elective. I harked back on the great painters of old and then it struck me. They all did some form of sculpture. I followed that path however small I may be in the art world. I do not regret that decision.

First year sculpture was a mix of challenging and a lax attitude in general. My first sculpture lecturer was full of ideas and a hard taskmaster. Her assignments invariably meant you had little to do the rest of the week.  As students we grumbled yet set to work. I am however to blame for my low achievements then. My close friend then often assured me not to be so uptight about it. It was not rocket science that my grades were extremely poor. I was disappointed in myself. Full of ideas but a profound inability to work the material exactly as I saw it meant I was often flummoxed. I resolved to get them up in the next year. Some sculptures I made which I can be proud of are as follows; Blind Dog (the bust of a dog), a relief sculpture with a floral design, a tricycle assembled by me. My most memorable day in sculpture class was when I made Blind Dog. I had not done the assignment then so when I came to class I grabbed some clay and quickly modeled a dog. When I was asked to explain my work someone pointed out that the dog had no eyes. I countered by saying it was the character in a book I had read. (It was actually about a blind cat.) I was hence nicknamed Blind Dog. I tried my best to stick to my strengths in an area where I was unfamiliar with so I made animals as much as I could.

Second year was a massive growth curve. I found myself a new sculpture partner and I was in the class of one of the most influential adults in my life (I did not know yet.)  Portraiture was interesting. My partner despite his bad boy traits proved to be a hard and able worker. He occasionally gave me working tips. I guess you kinda learn shortcuts when your dad is a professional sculptor. We took a trip to Kumasi. It was exciting and purposeful. You can never quite get over the thrill of travelling with course mates. We visited quite the number of places. I doubt I ever go there again. Back I school we set to work on busts. It was very challenging but I put in my best effort. I was a bit surprised when I got a B in my grades. No offense but my first lecturer did not make sculpture very enjoyable neither were my grades positive. Second semester was no less exciting. We did some carving and there was another field trip in it for us. We went to Aburi. It was also more challenging than the first sem. I suffered a crisis of self and an artistic low. My relationship ended and troubles at home proved tasking. I withdrew into myself. My erstwhile partner-turned-just-friend told the lecturer and we had a chat. I broke down. Thereafter I would go to see him and just talk. He is a good friend. I have never talked to an adult about how I felt inside before and I am glad he was the first. My carving was alright though I finished way behind time. I felt a bit good about myself. I established myself as one of the best presenters in the class. My points were largely irrefutable and I tried to be as organized as possible even going without notes to look through because I had memorized everything.

Third year slowed down a bit. Again I had to find a new partner. My former partner’s dad was the lecturer. He pushed us hard. Metal casting is no joke. I nailed presentations though and we went on yet another class trip. We visited Touch of Bronze and a couple other places. My practical was not strong enough but my grade was still good. Working with wax is not as simple as it looked. It was mercurial in nature. Second semester had it slump with a friend slowly cutting me out of her life. I put my foot down and braved the semester though. Third year was also my final sculpture year. I feel I am not in enough control of it to keep working at it yet.

When I graduate from UEW I will miss this class. In more ways than one. I genuinely learnt something new and different in art. I managed to create with my hands from media other than paper. I made a new friend. I earned respect and I gave it.

Art and education is always a curious blend of dogma and rule breaking. I am glad to have survived it.

Memories of unforgettable moments

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My tango with art


Art is a curiosity to me. That said I started art out of curiosity rather than necessity. I was a science freak. I wanted to be a veterinarian when I grew up. The natural world is a place full of wonder. My issue? I made good drawings. Not extraordinary but good. I read about art whenever I opened a history book. There was simply no way a history book would not have art in it. When selection of courses came, I added visual art. By some twist of fate, it was what I got. I started from ground zero. In a class full of burgeoning talent, I was at best mediocre. However, I stood out not for my quality drawing or painting but the concepts I had in my mind. Presently I mooted and shared ideas to my friends. My creative juices flowing I would go three years in art largely unscathed.

In the University of Education, Winneba I came up against what art really meant. I struggled and often my state of mind was not conducive. I feel visual art is not my field. I still have the spark of churning out amazing ideas but they often whittle away to nothingness.  The way I paint and draw is different. What I do almost always turns out different from what I imagine in my head. A lecturer likened me to Henri Matisse. If I ever take painting seriously perhaps then I will own it.

I love art because I love science. The two areas are more alike than different. Both require a very similar skill set to comprehend. Sitting on the fence, I would say it was a big risk I took then to know what I know now. One thing is certain; I must strive to make the most of my art talent however small it may be.

Judith; nudes and the Ghanaian

The nude in contemporary African art is subject to polarizing views and controversies. From when African people have been described as people of few clothes till now where lesser clothes spark controversy the nude has been at its epicenter.
Our various cultures see little wrong with a woman showing off her body as seen in our puberty rites. In the wake of missionary work which relegated traditional religion to idol worship the selfsame culture was labelled primitive and derogatory. Whatever right artists from the Renaissance and “civilized” European countries had to draw, paint and sculpt nudes is lost to me.
Recently a friend of my Judith modeled for a nude photo-shoot. This immediately sparked acts of rancor. She has been mainly a non conformist. The picture in itself is beautiful and demure. Its revealing nature dampened by the drapery and lighting.
Over all it speaks of innocence and femininity. Her eyes however betray this otherwise virginal look. Knowing her personally I’d say there’s a wanton woman roving behind them. Her glare and the set jaw speak of daring and hold little fear of the unknown. The disheveled hair suggests the wild nature of her persona. The darkness is symbolic of the wanton desires we hold as imperfect human beings.
As an artist in the making I would aptly say this is a masterpiece of a shot. Taking on a variety of meanings and judgment from a mainly confused people it stands for the deep lying discord our cultures and religious beliefs sow.
Nudism is not self gratifying but an avenue for showing the perfection of the human body as a gift of God and nature.