instax wall at kate and moxy’s jan2014 photo by cole
How long do we live? Do I know when I’ll die? I see myself. I don’t imagine myself as an old woman. There is something easy about death for me. I wonder if he has seen this? Who cares.
When light disappears so does shadow.
To create fodder for making, I prompt my composition students with:
What questions are you asking?
I write my own:
Why do I believe? Do I, if I ask why?
Do I remember?
What about school? Do I want to go back? Can I work in that mode?
Do I feel okay?
What are my creative strengths?
Do I believe in my art?
Will I be pregnant soon? Do I want to be?
How does what I do feed me?
Can I get a muthafuckin’ paycheck?
Do I need school to get the gig I want?
How can I make more art? How can I make more money? Is this the same question?
Why did I start smoking again?
Where do I go from here?
Sometime later I add text, written upside down, to the questions:
moving bodies / souls
digging in the dirt
love for him
I’m sure I have no idea
(excerpt May 2014)