Saturday, August 22, 2009

City Handstand

City Handstand
Originally uploaded by skinny.jeans

Beth and I have been preparing for our show, opening on September 4th in downtown Anchorage, which will consist of 15 diptychs of holga images, each containing one image from each of us. The show will be called "Half" and is an expression of both connection and separation. I have often told Beth, both verbally and in poetry, that I feel that I have not experienced anything when I'm away from her until I've told her about it. I feel like half of a person without her, and I cannot wait to be under the same roof again, in the same city!, after these years.

WIthout you, I am as an amputee itching the air.

The last time that we lived together was during the five days before my departure from Athens to San Francisco; my lease had ended, and Beth and I wanted to soak up sisterly time together anyways. In the middle of the night before the morning I was to leave, I woke up crying, saying, "I don't want to go after all. I just want to stay with you and talk and play cards forever." It was admittedly not my finest hour, but I feel that way still; when I'm with my sister in the same place, I'm both more inspired and more content. I still feel like I want to artistically take on the world, but I'm also completely satisfied with a cup of tea and a game of gin.

As much as I will miss this city so full of life and energy, I cannot wait to land in ANC next weekend at midnight to the arms of my sister, my best friend, my other half.

Saturday, August 8, 2009

My Dylan

Originally uploaded by skinny.jeans

I packed up Dylan into his carrier, scrubbed out his litter box while he and I cried, then set him on the backseat of hattie's car. She and I talked for about 40 minutes, and then I shut the door and she drove away. My Dylan.

Honestly, it's one of the hardest things I've ever done, and for those of you who know me well, you'll know that's saying a lot. He's been my friend and companion in a time of great uncertainty and change. He's the first pet I've had that I've bonded to like this, and I will never forget him. It's better this way; hattie will take great care of him, and I will be moving in with my sister who will not have to worry about her allergies and asthma acting up in the middle of a shut-in winter. Dylan won't have to make the flight to Alaska. My Dylan.

Dylan, I will miss you.

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

dear lover, i am that girl

Originally uploaded by right.of.passage

If I died tomorrow, it wouldn't be difficult to assemble the events of the past decade of my life by simply reading through my blogs. I spend a lot of time at my computer--writing, designing, and doing webby things, and as a result, I have accrued several volumes of blog posts and journal entries. In hard-copy life, a new journal usually marks a new journey or transition. And so, as I am about to embark on a new journey--moving from San Francisco to Alaska--it is time also for a new blog. Just photos, poetry, thoughts and bits of life that you might find interesting.

I walk the streets here, in this place of sun and sea breeze, and I walk and I walk and I walk. After work many nights I just walk for hours like someone lost or someone going somewhere very important, sometimes until midnight, snapping a photograph here and there, writing down a few thoughts on a pad of paper. My soles have passed over the rocks on the seacliff, the docks lining the bay, the steamy grates in the tenderloin, the swept sidewalks lining the storefronts.

This city has wrapped around me, taken me in. I've breathed in the breeze, the mountains and the parks, swallowed up long-night conversations and deep belly laughs. The people, memories, and miles of this place I know will travel with me. San Francisco, I will miss you.

Now, I look forward to the space. Space to walk with my thoughts, a warm home with my sister, my family. The cold and dark quiet of the winter.