Ladies Collection A series of original paintings by TIPSII copyright NGWESEPHILIP 2024 YAOUNDE. Accompanied with poetry compilation from Phil the local writer
For eons, women have been the very foundation of our world, a force of nature that has shaped civilizations. From the quills of writers to the brushstrokes of painters, creatives have woven tales of women, either celebrating their essence or scrutinizing their existence. In a similar vein, Tipsii’s latest collection, aptly named THE LADIES COLLECTION, captures the very essence of womanhood through a series of exquisite paintings.
THE LADIES COLLECTION is a tapestry of diverse women, each with a unique story and background. Every brushstroke, every hue of paint, holds a deep meaning for the artist, a reflection of their own personal connection to the essence of womanhood.TITLE : ELESSA
Arts is not
what you see
but What you make others
see
Tipsii
ELESSA’S DEMISE
A N O R I G I N A L P I E C E B Y P H I L T H E L O C A L W R I T E R
BASED ON TRUE EVENTS
Men are wicked she said
After sipping that liquor
Tears filled her eyes
As she listened to heartbreak anniversary
She said her story with no smiles
She fell in love with the wrong guy
It was all flowers it was all butterflies
He was older than she was
He was mature than she was
Dream guy she said to her friends
They met online
You know how it is
Midnight texts and midnight calls finally turned real when the
met
All she ever imagined turned to reality
All she ever wanted he gave her
Elessa was in heaven she was in paradise
Till it all turned sideways
she felt it in her guts Her female instincts said follow your head
and not your heart
She ignored ,she refused , she was consumed by that drug
called love .
Even thought of having his baby poor Elessa
E L E S S A ’ S D E M I S ETill it all turned sideways
she felt it in her guts Her female instincts said follow your
head and not your heart
She ignored ,she refused , she was consumed by that drug
called love .
Even thought of having his baby poor elessa
Men are wicked she said in tears with a bottle of liquor in her
hands as she narrated
I saw his phone
He has two baby mamas two kids
he wanted to make me one of them
He even said he is a chief
I tried to continue I thought I could share him with his kids
and their mamas
I wish he told me earlier
I wish I didn’t fall so deep with a liar
Men are wicked she said this time with a blunt in her hand
All those memories
All the late night texts
All the vacations and late night drives replay infront of her
eyes like a boomerang
She couldn’t take it no more
I have to leave she said
Tired of the baby mama drama she couldn’t take it no more
Now her only comfort is the liquor
Now her only friend is the blunt
Now her only hope is to forget all the memoriesElessa finally left that demise
She’s finally with her mr right
She’s finally with the one who makes her smile
She’s now in a better place
She finally with the one who gives her butterflies
She’s finally with the one she wants to spend the rest of her life
Elsa said in quote.. it always gets better !!! She fell in love even deeper
with Mr right
But how would she have know if she didn’t move ?
All along , the man for her had been by her side in disguise as her best
friend
Ellesa finally told her tale with laughs and not tears
Joy and not pain
I write for Elessa
I write for all the ladies who are in this demise
I write for those who are tired of the lies .
L e t t e r t o S O N G W A
W R I T T E N B Y P H I L T H E L O C A L W R I T E RBlack ,white
Chocolate , butter
Light, dark
Gold , diamond
SONGWA my beautiful maiden protected by me
Melanin combined with cream
Caramel combined with mayonnaise
Freckles blessed her face, endorsed with pink succulent lips .
Blessed with sprinkles of melanin on her smooth silk face
Her hair and brows shine and glow in ginger coloring
With eyes that look directly inside my soul searching for desire to hold
you SONGWA
I write this letter to you I dedicate this painting to you
I hold you from behind signifying protection . I cover you with
my chiseled hands and chest nothing can go through me Holding
you so tight just from the thought of loosing you Guarding you
from the world . this wicked world that shades you of your
uniqueness and condemns you of your complexion
Within my arms you sit comfortably but I still get this feeling of
holding you so tight till you suffocate
As my large arms circle you , and my body covers your nakedness
your well curated breast try to escape my grip
I write this to you letting you know I am your safe place
Societal norms , traditional values are all a myth if they dare
trespass our love
D E A R M E S O D E
W R I T T E N B Y P H I L T H E L O C A L W R I T E R
Dear MESODE,
In the heart of the savannah, where baobab trees whisper secrets
to the wind, you stand—a vision of strength and grace. Your
skin, kissed by the sun, carries stories older than time itself.
MESODE, my dear, this is your letter—a parchment woven
from the threads of your dreams.
The Morning Sun
As dawn tiptoes across the horizon, you rise. Your eyes, like
amber pools, reflect the promise of a thousand sunrises.
MESODE, remember how the first rays painted your cheeks—
their warmth a silent encouragement. The school bell chimes,
but you choose a different path. Your uniform gathers dust as
you slip away, leaving algebraic equations behind. The
classroom’s confines cannot contain your spirit.
The Tapestry of Dreams
MESODE, your dreams are a kaleidoscope of colors—a fabric
waiting to be stitched. You trade textbooks for sketchbooks,
geometry for the geometry of elegance. The needle becomes your
quill, and the runway your canvas. With each stitch, you weave
defiance into silk, rebellion into lace. The moon, your silent
confidante, watches as you paint constellations onto chiffon.
Your fingers, nimble as whispers, sew stardust into every
hemline.The Atelier of Courage
In the atelier of your heart, MESODE, you create. Needles pierce
through doubt, and sequins shimmer like forgotten stars. Your
gowns defy gravity, their seams a testament to your bravery. The
world becomes your catwalk—a stage where resilience pirouettes
with grace. The teachers frown, but you dance on, your silhouette
etched against the morning sky.
The Legacy of MESODE
One day, when the sun sets on your journey, MESODE, what
will remain? Not algebraic formulas or rigid syllabi, but a
symphony of stitches—a ballet of audacity. Your absence from
the classroom becomes your masterpiece. For you have traded
conformity for creativity, and textbooks for the poetry of needle
and thread.
The Final Stitch
MESODE, my beautiful maiden, let your dreams be your
compass. Chase them beyond the classroom walls, across
savannahs and sunsets. The world awaits your designs—the
ones that will ripple through time, whispering your name to the
winds. And when you doubt, remember this letter—the one you
wrote to yourself, in threads of courage and moonlight.
With love and sequins,
**MESODE**
—
May your stitches bind the universe, and your runway be paved
with stardust.
THE END