many little updates

Hello readers,

It’s been a while, and since I last wrote everything in my life that could be different is now.

The last few months have included: leaving my job at the college (rather choosing not to return in the fall), prepping and completing a big move out of a three bedroom farmhouse and into my van/studio, a journey across the plains to learn stone lithography, leaving my long-term partner, installing my first solo show Grief Object, a journey east to the mountains and beyond for various artistic collaborations, and now a series of house sits thru the summer.

All of these big changes seem destabilizing, and in some ways they are. However, mostly the feeling I am left with is a sense of enlivenment and gratitude that my life is now taking shape in the ways I have always wanted it to. I have felt deeply out of alignment for several years now, working a series of seasonal jobs and dealing with the depression and heaviness of knowing.

I draw my old house recently and a line emerged, “A house is a net that holds and traps.” Living up on a lonesome ridge as my partnership drifted further and further in different directions, I found myself caught in the furrows of my mind and unable to move into action. The housework was hard to keep up with, my own work suffered from a lack of ideas. Nothing stirred me, it was hard to remember to go outside, to drink water. I have been really ill, with emotional anguish rendered physical. My body has suffered, shrunken, and my confidence in myself and my place has been whittled away over time. Now, deeply confessional I offer a counter narrative to the assumptions one can make from social media. I have been miserable and far away. And yet—these lessons are invaluable. I am finally coming home to myself

Reader, I am learning so much about what I need from a house. And what a beautiful space I am in to discover this as I, 1) do not currently have one and 2) am starting work on a house of my very own in the fall. In many living situations previously, I mingled my work and life in a domestic space that looked like piles, clutter, and was difficult for people I have cohabitated with. I am learning a small home space with a few project baskets in combination with a large studio space is my ideal. I will seek this out to the best of my ability going forward.

In the meantime, a van as bedroom is a very tender way to live. I am outside so much because I have to be and that is a good push to be more active. It also means (and I especially felt this in Philly) that my home is so tenuous, especially when traveling which is an added layer of anxiety that most of my precious earthly possessions are in a metal box, liable to be broken into. The cost and stress of car troubles is also of stronger concern.

Being away was a balm to the mess of my life I left at home. It gave me space to breathe and begin to disentangle the past few years. Our town is like a fishbowl and news has travelled fast. I am shying from observation (while posting every day on instagram dot com, a contradiction of course), and retreating into my work and studio as a refuge. My methodical, repetitive, and tedious handwork gives me ample and productive space to wade through these depths. I am tied loosely to my routines but finding deep joy in rooting into them.

Upon my arrival from my sojourn, I had a small artist residency by form of house sitting for my ex partner. I am grateful for the time, though it was very difficult and emotionally taxing to sort through our belongings. I wrote 8 songs. I removed the top of the first bed quilt I ever made to be recomposted into a new form that I will share in the future. I emerged more settled and grateful for my newfound sense of agency.

The batting of the quilt that was made out of pure love has transformed too. I pieced a found shape quilt from a red linen dress that I got at the thrift (with a very feminine cut and shape) paired with white linen. This top was included in Grief Object, which was deinstalled at the end of June. There was a moment when rebasting where the top did not align with the full size of the quilt I made for two. As a commitment to myself and my autonomy, I trimmed the quilt to be sized for one. It is a very thick winter quilt and it will serve me and my little dog well this winter in our (presumably half-finshed) house.

In this gooey time, I have been revisiting an important book to me, the Baudelaire Fractal by Lisa Robertson. Robertson is an art historian by training but this book is a dense and explorative work of fiction. It has always met me in different pivotal moments of my life. For example, this passage:

My residual excitement and relaxation would extend outwards from my body and the speeding car, towards the dilapidated warehouses, the shut storefronts, the distant container yards, the dark exercise studios, the pools of sulphur light, towards a low-key dereliction. I would feel pretty much free. I was a driver, not a pronoun, not a being with breasts and anguish. I was neither with the lover nor alone. I was suspended in a nonchalance. My cells were at ease. I doted on nothing.

I have been long looked for meaning and signs from the world around me. For example, an unsavory experience in south jersey told me when it was time to return home even though I did not have a strong deadline to do so.

I’ve made no plans for this summer, having just quit my job and committed to building a house. Now that everything has ruptured, I am fascinated how easily everything I have been working towards is clicking into place. I will jury a show at the Dairy Barn and be a weaver in residence there this fall. I have been offered a booth at Pawpaw Festival in exchange for a demo. I have been soliciting more quilt commissions and people are receptive (two spots are still available for the year, details below). I will go to Maine in August to help a family member with their house. I will go to Montana in September. These are the benefits of living no where and being flexible.

Of course there are trade-offs. I want to remind you that this is possible because I have no regular shower access (beyond the kindness of my dear friends and community!), no kitchen, no toilet. These are the realities of living like a rat. For now, through the summer, I am content to be challenged but I do foresee a moment when this dance becomes grueling.

Juniper has been my root through these changing times. Even at my worst I have to tend to him intently and often he takes me for walks, an arrangement that suites us both. While I can easily become engrossed in my work and lose time, Juniper gently reminds me of my body with devastating eye contact and soft nose whistles. We have worked particularly hard over the past year to build a relationship grounded in complete trust. This has included off leash walking and attending work in the studio together. I love him more than I could ever express. The day we met in Texas was fated in many ways.

My goal is to return to a more regular writing practice here, which has certainly waned over time. Already my executive function faculties are returning to me so this bodes wells.

Take care of yourself through this demanding time, summer which takes and takes and takes. Rest easy and I hope you find pockets of joy in the long days.