i've been very much inside myself lately... very much inside the work. wandering. wondering. not worried though. just a space of deep contemplation where only the stitches between my fingers exist, only the pencil in my hand, only the spilt glitter matters.
i started work on a new textile piece yesterday and managed to twist away the majority of the day without realizing it. it was wonderful. and then suddenly, a bit of oil painting in the evening. it's funny how unexpectedly oil painting returns to me. out of nowhere and for a few days a time, and then i dive back in to my luscious black graphite. i have absolutely nothing to complain about. :)
my tea is steeping. it feels weird to write that. i've never been a tea drinker so this is all quite odd. and i wrestle with feeling a bit bourgeois over this whole tea drinking thing. ha!
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.
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