Note from Spring

I find myself sitting comfortably on the floor of a small studio space. I couldn’t tell you the exact square footage, but it’s definitely more room than I’ve had in recent years past. Two high windows behind me are slid open and I can hear children scrambling about on the playground as they chase each other around the swings. I’m staring at the beginnings of a piece on my easel trying to see where and why I want it to be. Small jars that were formerly members of a spice rack sit on the bottom of a shelf holding diluted ink. A dozen tiny round brushes lay scattered on a drafting table, which is a relic from my adolescence. No standard pencils are allowed to sit in my hands anymore as I’ve become more accepting of how quickly I can see. And somehow I feel more at peace just trying to exist in this room with the colors and the sounds. No longer do I yearn for the hustle and bustle of my youth, but rather something more consistently still.

On that note, I’ve been rather silent lately as to my pursuits. I used to run marathons, jam pack my weekends, and overexert in any way possible. But you see, I’ve gotten enough medals, missed out on moments like this, and realized that extremities are incredibly exhausting. It’s so easy for us humans to get wrapped up in things that don’t really matter because we don’t understand our existence. It’s easy to chase after something that seems so much better than now, but it’s a lie. Unfortunately, we don’t see this. It takes a tragic event, illness, or something truly shocking to shake us.

So what was mine? Illness. Life-long illness, and I’ll leave it at that. All I can say is I simply can’t go back. I’m doing well, taking medication daily, exercising, blah blah blah, but this new knowledge is what really stopped me. When it’s passed down you have two choices; either crawl in the corner and wallow or let it become an opportunity for further exploration.

And personally for me now more than ever, there is an increased interest in the study of these transitory instances. And what I mean by that are these singular acts that take place every second of the day. It might be a dog sunning in the grass, or a baby taking their first steps. It can even be something as simple as really looking into a mirror.

So I ask you now, do you have something like this that has hit you and changed how you see?

Mendusozoa Mendusozoa

What interests me?

This very moment. Something is happening. Can you see it? If I listen closely I can capture it to become a record, which transforms into memory.