these texts are an archive of my life in the San Francisco Bay Area from march 2007 - march 2015. it stands as a record of close to a decade of my life, charting the struggles i faced as an artist, daughter, and lover. messy and chaotic at times, eloquent and poetic at others, these texts are an index i am proud of. it was here in this electric box that i learned how to be honest about my experiences and the person i needed to become. it was here that i first learned the truism that words make the world and how to trust such a beautiful, rife, hard fact.

thank you for meeting me here in such tall grass.

my artist website is here.

Sep 21, 2010


last night i finished reading The Passport by Herta Muller and then immediately started reading The North China Lover by Marguerite Duras. this is a lucky and perfect pairing of work. the forms involved! Muller's non-chapter way of writing, the whole work broken up in to fragments. tiny short stories with a title centered over-head. and the entire book worms this way. back and forth between the present, memories. persistent memories. and sorrow. sorrow so deep, so confusing, reality bends. a clock on the wall becoming an evil portent. delicious writing. all the more delicious due to her use of simple words. fragmented sentences that make your breath irregular. and then Duras. lovely, aching Duras. no chapters here either. just spaces in the page. and some paragraphs are written in poetry forms rather than paragraphs of prose. back and forth, winding through tempos, such perfect companions. i'm on page 72.

this morning is cold. i have a cup of english breakfast tea with nothing in it. but it is hot, naturally sweet, a beautiful and simple taste. completely different than coffee. and an unforeseen welcome change in my morning routine.

yesterday, i crocheted almost all day long. there is something about the soft black of yarn paired with the soft black of graphite that has caught my heart. it has my complete attention. and maybe the action of these modes of making too- one mark at a time: drawing. one stitch at a time: crochet. some sort of very personal, very intimate mapping. and although the textile work hides the "hand" of the maker, the anonymity of the stitches seems poignant to me. when i hang a drawing next to one of the crochet pieces, a very beautiful dialogue erupts. something unexpected and i feel so compelled by it. not only to follow this route, but as a looker. when i look at the work, i feel compelled to keep looking at it. there is a mystery in it maybe. or some type of honest land being built. or navigated through. and this is a wonderful feeling. it feels like finally telling the truth. like letting go of an old, hard secret.

a few days ago i was driving and decided to listen to Post by Bjork. i hadn't listened to it in years and it used to be one of my favorite cds. i popped it in the cd player and turned the volume up loud. music has become important to me again. out of nowhere. for a long time, music stopped being important to me and i felt very sad - almost ashamed - of that fact. and it was also a Loss. music was my very first love as a child. music and words. i found opportunities to sing in secret every chance i could. singing- a safe room. and song 2 on the disk began. it had always made tears well up in my eyes and make my throat tighten. something about this song had always called up a swell of deep emotion. so deep, i have no clue the origin. and it happened again, like no time had passed. i steered the car with tears in my eyes and a runny nose. i didn't try to stop myself. i let the song reach in and pull out whatever it wanted to. and when the song ended and the next began, i felt wide open and unafraid of the world.

then i thought the line that calls up all that emotion is my most perfect artist statement:

i go through all this
before you wake up
so i can feel happier,
to be safe up here with you.

play it loud. this is the song:


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