#2 - A summer I miss / tides / April recap
"Home is a mobile thing," a friend once said
Hi friends,
It’s been a while, apologies. March and April were hard for me - spring usually is, for some reason - but I finally have time to sit down and collect myself. Here I am, sitting in an old school turned studio in Maine. My space is the only one in the building with unfrosted windows and I could see the trees, not just their shadows. I will be here for the month.
On my way here I stopped by Ithaca to visit my college advisor, who I cherish as home in many ways. When we sat down in her living room I felt my body collapse on the couch. We hadn’t seen each other for almost a year, but nothing changed in this house, not even the smell. It’s miraculous how the body recognizes familiar and familial landscapes. We chatted for hours about insignificant things, she made dinner while I “helped,” and I dozed off after the food. In the summer of 2020 when the world felt apocalyptic, I broke my ankle falling down the stairs and she took me in. There was barely anything else going on in my life and she was finishing a book that she had been finishing for months. And we did just that - sitting in the living room, reading or on our laptops, with wine or beer or tea, chatting sporadically, laughing at times. The sun was generous. I napped a lot, hoping it’d help my bone grow faster. It was frustrating to be immobile, but there was no rush. The move to Chicago at the end of summer felt like a worry I could deal with later, or perhaps never. I didn’t want to leave.
This is a dilemma that haunts me. I never want to leave but I can’t bear to stand still. I try to take root in new places but it’s hard to be uprooted again and again and all the time. In my last apartment there were boxes I never unpacked because I wasn’t sure how long I’d be staying. I make projections and videos, rarely objects.
I didn’t exactly have a plan for life after grad school so I frantically applied to a ton of residencies with this urge for escape. They always promise “the time and space away from daily life to create” but now that I’ve been living this residency hopping life for a while, I wonder what if this is my daily life; where can I run off to then? In a certain way, this year - including the brief, hazy intervals in Chicago - has felt like the summer when I broke my ankle. There’s nothing I have to do. I nap when the sun is high and my eyelids feel warm. In my recent dreams I’ve consistently been on some sort of quest but without a final destination or goal. Sometimes I see familiar faces: Mara dropped off a map to me once, and Jason was this stranger at the bar who possessed valuable information. Twice now, someone I know only vaguely in real life passed by in the background; I tried to run after him but he vanished before I could both times. None of them ever ended up on the quest with me.
I’ve been thinking a lot about tides. When I was in Vashon in February the ocean was close. I could see it from outside my window and I tried to arrange my daily activities around the tides. I took walks on the rocky beach when I could, as it’d disappear entirely into the water at high tides. It’s funny when the ground under one’s feet is as elusive and unreliable. Once I got distracted on my walk and had to race back while the water closed in.
The ocean here is a 15-minute walk from me and the harbor is packed with boats. It feels farther away but also more vast. The tides are decidedly stronger. Not for a single second did I mistake this ocean for mine. When I woke up the other day, the building smelled alarmingly salty. I peeked in the hallway convinced that there’s a dead whale in here somewhere, but it seemed to be just the wind. It started raining soon after - some of that water must have traveled from the sea.
Now, some (old) news and (new) appreciation -
I had four shows in April and was named one of the Breakout Artists of the year by Newcity - it’s a bit overwhelming but I am immensely grateful to be seen. I revived a piece made early on in grad school, showed freshly off-the-bench metal work, created something very different from my usual shtick for a deranged group show, and got to do my first improv set with some super talented musicians. All exciting stuff. Can’t wait to play more.
I absolutely love cooking for myself. It’s something I don’t get to do a whole lot when I’m in Chicago because I am too busy, have social commitments, eat like trash in the studio etc. etc. but at these two recent residencies I have the time and headspace (plus beautifully equipped kitchens) to make all the meals I could dream of. Please share your favorite recipes with me - I want to try new things!
Block Cinema put on an Apichatpong Weerasethakul series and it was indeed a blessing. Syndromes and a Century calmed me down and opened me up in this delightful, tender way. Also, meeting Joe and realizing how humble, considerate, and grounded he really is as a person - just like his films would have you believe - felt significant.
My friends at Sweet Void Cinema have managed to build a truly inclusive space where I always feel welcomed, comfortable, and a little goofy. I adore them and all that they do. Thank you Jack for messaging me out of the blue on Instagram two summers ago.
No Nation, my home for over a year remains a home I feel like I could and will return to.
I lost my wallet last month which finally forced me to get an Illinois ID after living in the state for almost three years. I suppose it’s at least one form of belonging.
This essay by Dr. Devon Price, titled “Freedom from Psychiatric Surveillance,” is painfully resonating as well as illuminating:
I wanted the freedom to step off the conveyor belt if ever I decided I didn’t trust where it was heading. But if I sought help and was institutionalized or put on a suicide watch, that escape route would become blocked.
I also can’t help but think about the murder of Jordan Neely in light of these discussions of home, legal presence, and mental illness. I’ve been on the edge of homelessness at least twice and thankfully friends and loved ones have scooped me up, but not everyone is as fortunate every time. A person that is unhoused, disenfranchised, mentally ill or all of those things needs support, not further violence. This should not be up for debate.
Another thing that comes with being away is missing out. As I write this newsletter there are a million art things happening in Chicago, and I so wish I could be there with and for my community. Sabine said, all the way back in freshman year, that my problem is I always want to do everything, but one can’t have it all. I’m still grappling with that (somewhat unreasonable) sense of loss.
Send me reading and viewing recommendations related to tides if you have any. Also I’d love to see some New England friends on my way out of this residency, so holler if you are in the area and want to host me for a day or two. Until next time!
Ruby