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Month: December, 2011

December 14, 2011

The fourteenth was mine and Steele’s 4 year anniversary.

I woke up alone in my own bed and got dressed in a red wool skirt. And when I got to school I felt like I had this little secret (but couldn’t help busting it out and telling people throughout the day.) Four years is a long time. Four years, four years, four years. He surprised me with flowers, and on our break between classes we ran to pick up film.

This film is special and took a long time to get. I loaded a roll into my camera late in the summer and we had the idea to do a multiple exposure roll. I shoot the whole thing through of images of him, and then we rewound it being careful to leave a tail, and reloaded it and he shot the whole roll again of images of me. So these images are spanning a few months, it took a while to finish and finally process, and scanning it was one thing I wanted to do on the fourteenth. At school, where everything I do and make is for something, it feels like food to a starving stomach to make something for myself.

We took the bus downtown and roamed Powell’s, my favorite place, and spent a while drawing silly things in my daily notebook. (We play a game where we both draw the same thing to compare the differences.) And went out to dinner, heavenly good food (I got breakfast for dinner, and he got a chicken pot pie.)

And then went home and curled up and were together. It’s funny how those things, those quiet comfortable normal things, that you do everyday seemingly out of necessity become special sometimes. Like it is absolute necessary to hold hands when you’re walking through the aisles of a bookstore, even though any other day you would do it without thinking.

I will give you something small from a piece of writing I did recently. It feels strange to be posting this, like I should guard it, so I won’t give you the whole thing. I read it out to Steele two days before our anniversary while we were driving back to his house at night, crossing the river, and I cried. I feel like the moment of reading it is more important than what it said. That I could forget these words but never forget my throat feeling thick, the bars of the bridge passing, coming up upon an exit, Portland at night, and the way I had to pause to collect my breath before continuing onto the next paragraph.

I do not understand a love which does not yell. I cannot comprehend this easy light filled thing which you have given to me, do give me everyday.

Now I believe in us. I believe that it is better to have faith in this mysterious thing I do not understand. That there will never be a day I do not want to see your smile. That you will always pull me closer in the night.

But more deeply than that, I believe that you will not leave. And that I will not leave either.

(This last image was put together manually, they were both separate, over exposed and looked like they needed each other.)



It is December. Here I am.

The past few weeks, before Thanksgiving break, I had been getting so stressed out. About school. I love, absolutely loved, everything I was making and doing. But it was just so much, every day, waking up early and staying at school late and there never seemed to be any break. Just day in, and day out, and go go go and don’t sleep, sleep five hours, wake up early, go to bed late, pay the bills, spend all day in the print shop, and all week printing photographs, and write, and get home every night with only enough time to crawl into a cold bed and wake up at 5:55 the next morning.

I want this month, these next few weeks until the end of term to be different. I have so many things to do. I have three big projects and one paper. And they are all due. And they are all important to me. And I have ideas for all of them that require lots of time and money and stress. And I just can’t let it be like that or I will go insane. And it won’t be worth it anymore. I will no longer be connected to these things. What’s the point of making if I don’t have the context of my life for it to be in?

I am excited for December. There are so many things I want to do and accomplish. My projects, of course, which are hard and scary sometimes. (My photography project this time around is going to deal really intimately with a big insecurity.) And also I love Christmas time. I feel like a kid for counting down the days, but what else am I? I want to leave time to go home early, and make christmas decorations, and spend time on people’s gifts, and be happy. I want to do more art for me. I want to get back into just photographing. Not for anything, just to do it. Just because it’s what I love and there’s no reason not to do it. And I want to start a drawing, a new big drawing. I have been drawing a little in sketchbooks and things but haven’t done anything large scale in a while.

So there’s that.
I want to surround myself with comfort.