I am propelled by the fragile quiet moments of us. The vulnerable, the gentle, and the exacting. We gesture into the world through repetition and ritual – small precise utterances of action and creation that say “we are here.”
We are the fog horn sounding – marking our shores.
We the conjugation of the infinitive and this is not always such a bold move. It is often:
I look They carry
You sleep You(pl) hold
He/she/it stands We breath
A counterpoint to a world otherwise bellowing and blaring and these careful ways we live laced with longing or hope or disappointment or stains.
This is where the work comes from and I mean to have it quietly proclaiming something tenuous and true.