So I've been sorting through my closet (living in a studio means my closet is simultaneously my basement, my attic and my garage. There's A LOT of stuff in there), and it's beginning to feel like I'm on an archeological dig through my life. I keep finding random piles of photos that document a particular era in my life, long-lost treasures and just plain lost memories. I also have a number of boxes that contain my mom's things, and every year I'm able to part with more, realizing what is actually important that she left behind (tiny little figurines that I can't actually remember her having, go. Cards addressed to me from her, stay. Photos that remind me of her being happy, display). I was rewarded for my excavation efforts by finding a book I'd written when I was eight. Actually, I found several. My friend, Makiko Matsumoto, and I made countless books using recycled paper and duct tape for binding. We then decorated these with our stories and
"In the midst of winter I found in me an Invincible Summer." - Camus ...On exploring strength in its many forms: strong people, strong writing, strong curiosity, obsessions, stances, and loves. Strength as a concept wide enough to encompass fear, truth, vulnerability, and joy.