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

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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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