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.

Feb 19, 2014

an instinct toward joy


it's near impossible to think back to just a little over 2 years ago, spend a moment with those memories, and relate to them.  that wasn't me.  THAT girl is not THIS girl.  that life is not mine.  i wake and stretch wide in my own bed.  my hand reaches down down down and i give myself cause to smile.  a roof i pay for above me and a blanket i made with my own hands. and for however humble my accommodations may be, they are mine all mine and i love every inch.  my satisfaction is deep and abiding.  i begin to take pictures of the small moments...  the silly bear planter that i use to hold my pencils and crochet hooks, the books piled in to a boarded up window ledge, Seth sitting on the kitchen counter...

i was once so miserable that the very idea of making a visual record of my life - a life i was so utterly at odds with - was a humiliating, horrible thought.  i didn't take pictures for years.  i had absolutely no urge.  no instinct to nest.  no instinct toward joy.  i made lots of pretty good art and i will not say that era is without value...  but i'll never be grateful.  i will never say Thank You for those days.  i'll feel thankful, rather, that i somehow managed to acquire the wherewithal to find a way out.

slowly, the camera has found its way back into my life.  i want to know myself and my life through different lenses and films, different croppings and configurations.  i take pictures of my mouth, my smile.  i take pictures of my naked form in the mirror.  i take pictures of my friends.  i take pictures of the things my neighbors leave on the curb and the defunct churches down the street.  i take pictures of my diary.  i take pictures of the notes i leave to myself stuck to the door of my armoire.  

i take pictures...

i'm in an era i want to remember.  


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