Newsprint and Charcoal remain at the forefront of commandeering a response to the fragility of purpose…
Reading and readying a response…
The charcoal smell of burnt trees in the Summer.
The inspiration burns long enough to leave a trace of something amiss and in ruin…
Delicate, gentle, harsh and uneasy
A resistance
A pressure with tranquil facility
The stillness of movement…
Waiting, waiting, waiting
for a chance
A promised chance
To be devoured…
¿Si la pobreza tuviera color, Cual sería su solemnidad?
El árbol de higo con sus hojas de manos familiares de su labor
Las siluetas protegiendo la luz del cielo y su viento
Granadas, granadas, granadas, y sus múltiples células dulces y agrias.
La tierra respira entre testigos de nuestra existencia.
El polvo de terreno caliente y desnudo ante el sol, La noche no te promete su intimidad y la frescura de su desnudo te calma lo celestial.
Si mis palabras fueran la ley estuvieran desenterradas de su desconocimiento.
Que Sera de este mundo fiel y recompensado por el aparecer
Lo viejo revela lo nuevo y no hay nada más que decir…por hoy
I recently completed my MFA degree in Studio Practice from the SMFA at Tufts University in Boston, MA.
The call to set out and pursue a higher education met with a set of challenges that required me to break the cyclical patterns of a personal history commensurate of the solace that settles within the correspondence of domestic routines.
The separation between the Pacific and the Atlantic Ocean stripped away and fortified the attachments between the land, the people and the encounters retaining ghosts of a memory of becoming and what once was.
It has provided the sanctity of reflecting on a past withholding the expectations of an illusory future encased in the moment to remain present.
The point of departure usually does not consider the entanglement of the mooring lines that have been cast-off to undergo the innocuous search for a place of belonging.
The tension held within the lines attached between the shore, the vessel and the grounding of time and place must reconcile with the reverberations of anticipation that is constantly tightening, loosening, and unattached with care.
A personal journey into the practice of making evokes the compassionate swells of abysmal disparities of all things below and beyond a point on the horizon.
It remains within these parameters that the voyage to a resonant place encountered amongst the ruptures and revelations will continue to provide more questions than they do answers. A responsive accumulation of the calmness between the high and low tides summoned amidst the dance of the cosmos.
