Thanks to Brad, Jeannie, and everyone at Crosshatch and the Hill House for a beautiful residency <3
The isolation and peaceful simplicity of this house in the woods was cleansing, like a long meditation. I learned to really appreciate quiet – in the environment and in the mind – and notice the beautiful sounds that reveal themselves when you take the care to listen, even when you think there is “silence”. There is never silence, not really.
I enjoyed the space: Space between thoughts, between words, between that moment after the fire goes out and when I head upstairs for bed. Or the space between the sound of one distant truck passing by and another, where you can hear the tiny song of some faraway bird, or the knock of a woodpecker.
Got my new slide box in the mail today. The perfect one for my collection of menstrual blood specimens!
Who can find a proper grave for such damaged mosaics of the mind, where they may rest in pieces? Life goes on, but in two temporal directions at once, the future unable to escape the grip of a memory laden with grief.
– Lawrence Langer, Holocaust Testimonies: The Ruins of Memory
Nobody wants to remember trauma. In that regard society is no different from the victims themselves. We all want to live in a world that is safe, manageable, and predictable, and victims remind us that this is not always the case. In order to understand trauma, we have to overcome our natural reluctance to confront that reality and cultivate the courage to listen to the testimonies of survivors.
– Bessel Van Der Kolk, The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma
Found this piece of writing lying around in my notes. I remember I was answering a question here, but don’t remember what the question was. In it I describe the creation of my “Dysmenhorrea” series.
Creating art is ritual and spiritual. Craft is important and has its place for sure, but without your heart and soul on the paper you have nothing really and I see little point in it. Making art for me involves just as much spiritual alignment with the work as it does having the right words, paints, or materials.
In literal terms, I wait for the time to be right, when my uterine lining is shed, during the calm of the storm, the stillness amongst the waves, in which the pain has subsided enough to carry on. I put on a record – something rhythmic, repetitive, and raw. I pull the syrup out from between my legs and smear it on the glass slide. Then I shift the slide around, peering through the eyepiece, in search of something that draws me in.
I intend to transform this difficult/painful part of my life into pride, accomplishment, achievement. I’d also like to provoke thought and conversation around this taboo, yet overwhelmingly common/prevalent subject.
Awesome collaboration with FRKSE at Aurora in Providence, RI a few weeks ago. I projected a silent video lasting about half an hour, while FRKSE provided an improvised score. Below is a snippet of the performance.
my studio is looking very textured these days, with new work manifesting on the walls and a beautiful dog lounging in it.
photo of a scab, under a microscope.