What Kind Of Man

Love, like

Last week knocked me out; I dragged my feet from my afternoon class on Friday and fell into my bed, what gravity. And so I spent the next two days organizing rooms, learning all the "stuff" I own. Heavy work. Yet I continue to rearrange filing cabinets and art supplies and projects, these little things adding. A compulsiveness bred from waning control. It's sunk into my imagery. I put weights in this rice paper project, An Exodus.

After photographing it, I realize an exodus isn't a one-stop shop. It is a reinvention, a rebirth every time. The title isn't truly fitting; a power like that shouldn't be matched with quiet, manageable shapes. But I know now that the piece's title isn't An Exodus. My entire spring semester is an exodus imminent.

"What Kind Of Man"

I have fallen into fifteen-hour work days, what with projects and essays being due. This month-long intro to my last semester in undergrad has been lethargic. I am ready to be jolted out of that.

Florence + the Machine has released a new single, announced a new album. It woke me up, much like Swift's "Blank Space" did a couple months ago. This dry winter air has cracked my knuckles mercilessly, regardless of the lotion I slather religiously.

I am almost done with my first project, An Exodus. Cleaning up the edges on my paper forms was born of rage and confusion. I started a 6 feet tall drawing right next to it. I sob into my strokes, releasing the pressure I feel constantly behind my teeth. It is akin to those bursting cinderblocks four years ago that my tracing finger wanted. 

And this drawing lives next to my installation while I waver between sudden loss and complete domination. I wrote three poems under the title An Exodus before I started organizing these paper forms. I hope this love that cures blindness will be evident in my project.