An Alt-Art History

Anyone else fighting through their Saturn Return? This year is cyclical and I am taking advantage of the writing time. My speech is broken because I am splitting my language into two halves (three if you consider visual). What dreams?

Like clockwork, we’re nearing the end of our first lease on the studio space. This is my first political act (other than the poorly-spelled signs I made in 2017). A declarative strategy, maybe madness, building on itself through context. Re-reorganizing thoughts that had taken hold before the last era frightened us all, like a bad dream.

Saturn Returns

Will another new planner band-aid my stress? Probably not, but it’s helping me whip stitch my life together. Slowly, I fill my empty notebooks with daily morning pages and lists of gratitude and goals. Working to close the gap between who I think I am and who I want to be. Practicing and honing and carving out the time to do the work. I acquired a new studio space in lieu of going to graduate school, and this unique claim was easily forgotten in the shuffle of life. I remember the insane pace of undergrad, and the growing pains that came with it. By contrast, the “school of life” is slow and steady and appears when you squint.

If Beyonce’s college was Destiny’s Child, then why can’t I name my own space as such?