When I got my first grownup job after graduating college, I moved into a 230-square-foot studio apartment. Life there was very streamlined and multipurposed; the desk tripled as art table, dining table, and laptop table. There was no room for multiplicity or redundancy or excess. I really loved living there.

I’ve since upgraded to a one bedroom apartment with a partner, and then parted ways from that partner. I feel like I am swimming in space. I parted ways with a lot of material things this week in order to prepare for the upcoming moves. I packed my art tools into boxes and got rid of my bed (I think there is something to be said for sleeping close to the ground). Since there are less things here, I was able to clear out the bedroom; it has transformed into a yoga and meditation space. I am thankful!

Yesterday morning I was feeling very irritable. At first I couldn’t dissect why, but I think what it comes down to is the discomfort of transition, the discomfort of ending, the discomfort of unpredictability. In the morning I was caught up feeling grumpy about my plans to abandon the familiar, but by the afternoon I decided to choose to both honor where I’m coming from AND embrace the future. Because while an ending is an ending, it is also a beginning.

Om namah shivaya!

(Also I got to eat delicious Ethiopian food with my beautiful yogi lady friend Alicia, which never hurts. I’m thankful for nourishing friends and nourishing food! xoxo)


Letting go


You guys.

Usually I’m very good at cleaning and letting things go, but THE ART SHELF.

I’m preparing to move to a different apartment for the summer, and then several states away after that, but THE ART SHELF.

I’m a paper pack rat and a project pack rat. Also apparently I have very eclectic interests, and it’s hard to admit and accept that there are certain projects that I probably won’t finish. Do you see how I wrote probably? I still can’t or won’t admit that I won’t finish these things. I self identify as a finisher, so it’s hard to do otherwise. But it also doesn’t make sense to carry all of these strange things to Portland (I spy a children’s “Kritter Keyboard,” a melodica, rumpled black book cloth, so many kinds of paper, strips of paper, woven paper, twenty cootie catchers that I folded last summer for some reason, Polaroid cameras, 35mm film cameras, four containers of glue, an engraving tool and a zinc plate, a children’s cassette tape recorder, a giant partially completed woodcut, I could go on).

So, this week I am going to make peace with the art shelf. Deadline is Saturday.

Xxoo my sweets, hope you’re doing wonderfully.

Letting go