now

i have learned too early maybe how short life is. i am afraid of the brevity. i want to be an old woman in my bed. i do not want to be cut short. i am afraid of being cut short. i want the death (and life) of Louise Bourgeois- 98 years old, warm in my bed after a day of work in the studio, spitting images and loves at the world all the way up to the end. i want to work with that fire. i want to be a slave for decades to it.

everything is memento mori to me now. i am making myself a sweater with a skull on it. i never really cared for skulls as an image much before but now i am strangely attracted to them. i think of vanitas, our eye-blink existence, and want to claim every single shred of joy and sweetness i can. especially those bits found inside the swivel of sorrow. they are the most nourishing, the most poignant and necessary.



my sweater doesn't look like this but maybe i will attempt to make something along these lines as well. i love it.

come see me at slingshot today if you're around and we'll talk about art. or we can crochet together. i'll be sitting in the huge window at 890 valencia in san francisco.