clouds over the earth, like a crochet blanket moonlight shining in the holes onto my eyes like the ray of the sun seeping in to me, through my crochet blanket the song plays and i feel you leave right shoulder up and down but now i eat, i feast and feel you here
why do we act like each other don’t exist? why is it more comfortable to look at an advertisement? everyone looking into space like we don’t exist.
together, ignoring reality. hiding in their own.
what if we all stopped walking at once, in silence, and then went into dance. everyone dancing together. on the sidewalks, in the parks, in the train, on bikes, on stairs. creating a force that would allow us all to stop. and come together as one.
fall into reality.
and why do kids only have playtime? does it make sense that at a certain age, deemed by the calendar and by time, we lose our sense of play. only work. why can’t we play?
a man plays the violin.
everyone ignores him. i don’t give money. i give a smile. he plays and walks on.
- 1 / I am for the art that grooves through the stillness.
- 2 / I am for the art that hears the silence within the groove.
- 3 / I am for the art that cherishes the silence within the groove. Embodies, senses, transmits.
- 4 / I am for the art that reflects like a box covered with 100 diamond shaped mirrors.
- 5 / I am for the art that says hello to the self that has forgotten to open its eyes.
- 6 / I am for the art that is the before, the during, the after, in one breath. That is the breath.
- 7 / I am for the art that confronts that which lays dormant.
- 8 / I am for the art is the earth, the fire, the water, the air.
- 9 / I am for the art that gives space to each particle. The space each particle deserves.
- 10 / I am for the art that has a forever home and knows it.
- 11 / I am for the art that pushes your blood to your heart, pulls your tears from your eyes.
- 12 / I am for the art that spreads. As quickly as dispersing milk through a morning coffee, as slow as dripping honey from a tiny spoon.
- 13 / I am for the art that burns as hot as the tip of the cigarette meeting the flame, that silently swirls as the smoke after.
- 14 / I am for the art that attaches shamelessly to the sweaty bodies making love in the lost ashes. That is the love that is made.
- 15 / I am for the art that floats above the clouds with its attention on roots below the trees.
- 16 / I am for the art that hears the whimper and provides the embrace.
- 17 / I am for the art that becomes the sun through being a ray.
- 18 / I am for the art that realizes the moment it awakes.
- 19 / I am for the art that realizes the infinity it inhabits.
- 20 / I am for the art that realizes the harmony it perpetuates.
- 21 / I am for the art that is an oasis of time.
[inspired by Claes Oldenburg]
the unfinished surface of your hardwood floors rough and soft, a mirror to my feet your crooked teeth and warm lips a mirror for my fingers to dip into dipping into you, hot and wet i melt so easily your flame takes my oxygen takes me to melt and drip in your warmth golden soft tender flickering will you go out?
northampton, massachusetts // september 2017
thick the blanket lays low on the mountains heavy layers of flags, blowing. a tree passes by grey and warm a family stands black + pink individual + total sensuality in the darkness the expression that is everything flowing through my body for the first time the excitement of the child i feel it again, i remember.
we meet again. pink skies and the icy wind electric points and the silent abyss. when do these points of opposition meet? light reflects off her waters, when will it meet the light of mine? space stands between, but i am you, and you i. i sit on your banks strands of green hope growing between us strands connecting borders of perception. when i perceive you, i perceive me. we are one.
out of the bright sun i write, my desires crash against the edges of the beach wishes float above i am caught by that which i believe, and held by that which i let go. with the light of the sun, reflecting off the split moon i find my way in the dark. setting intentions adding to the light till the light is full, suspended in the dark and intentions blossom spreading seed, offering nectar.
portugal // august 2019 – zurich, switzerland // october 2019 – tel aviv // january 2020
be held in stillness and groove
the sea welcomes us in an odyssey of responsibility alone we sit, together we wait in the darkness we meet our own heartbeat unique groove, pulse of love electric energy conveyed infinite pulse connected a shimmer is revealed in suffering rests love golden eyes of the forest pierce our walled rooms peel our skin inside out now we know the sea of love
the smell of his robe collar to collar kissing me, nudging me the scent travels in down and through my spine tingles and glows and thinks that he is the one for me for us, for me and my body one, one of the ones but i do know he is one
berlin, germany // august 2017
They say that water has memory. Its chemical structure remembers, from the beginning of time, until now.
Our story, surrounded and contained by water.
Formless and formed, adjusting and adjusted, absorbing and absorbed.
location: Berlin, Germany
Together in the sun, he is sitting on the bank as I swim to meet him through the grass of the lake. I slowly stand up, sensing each drop of water roll down my naked body, each drop reflecting in the light of his eyes. Hummus, pita, olives, red wine serve as sensory distractions. The bliss floats out of our laughing mouths. We wade through the water, our chests and lower bellies meet. I feel the heat of a deep knowing and exchange. A shy look to the left, a drop of fear joins. The water reflects the sun back into our faces and eyes, encouraging us to trust in the brightness. Do we notice? We choose not to discuss the answer. Diving back into the cool water, the heat of our connection and the heat of our impending separation dissolve. For now, we are one. Me, him, the water.
location: Amsterdam, Netherlands
water: The Amstel
Five months pass with the Pacific calmly flowing between us. I in the West and him in the East. I am consumed by the heat of our separation; I crave to slip into the cold, silvery blanket of the sea with him, to leave this behind; I do this. We meet at the canal, time pauses, the moon shines down on our tight chests. Did we see the brightness reflected back at us five months ago? Do we choose this brightness or do we choose fear, do we choose darkness? Holding hands, we step and step, slowly, deeper and deeper, matching the pace of the flowing water next to us. Holding hands, we look at each other from the peak of our individual mountains, seeing a home in each others eyes but noting the dark abyss between us. The only way to meet is to reach the base of the mountain and tread across the solid ground. Our story begins its descent.
location: Faro, Portugal
water: The Atlantic Ocean
Seven months pass. Halfway down the perceived inner mountains, we stand shoulder to shoulder at the edge of the European continent, looking out over the Atlantic with no land in sight. The red sun stretches over the horizon, becoming wider and wider in a way I have never seen before. It appears to be on the edge of the universe as we know it, someplace in an oasis of time. I desire to go there with him, to hold his hand and step onto the surface of the limitless water, defying gravity as the pull of the sun and timeless space slowly melts us together. His lies and betrayal meet with my potential desires; the former wins.
location: Munich, Germany
water: The Isar
The river rushes around my calves and ankles. My feat grip into the dirt, my hands clutch the stones. He sits on the river bank, stable; I stand in the river, fighting the flow. A storm cloud rolls in, covering us in its darkness and thick drops. The space between us breaks, we becoming two people fighting the same battle. Rain pours into our faces, matts our hair, clothes cling to our bodies. The repetitive motion of the bicycles is the only familiarity. A few times I drive meters with my eyes closed. By this time I have gotten good at moving forward blindly. We pause under a bridge and wrap ourselves in a dry cloth. The smell of my palo santo cleansed home is in the fabric. A sad attempt at protection from our reality.
location: Tel Aviv, Israel
water: The Mediterranean Sea
We sit together by the Mediterranean. I can’t escape the heat. The heat of the sand. The heat of the air. The heat of the water. The heat of my lies in my stomach. I am trapped, and so is he. We are trapped in our own heat, and even the water isn’t cool enough to soothe us. He throws his plastic bottle with enough force to break us into pieces. It happens. The bottle hits the ground. Our individual truths come out with the shattering of our reality. Everything flows. The bottle is thrown away. Recycling isn’t popular in Israel.
location: Berlin, Germany
water: The Spree
I finally find the courage to say goodbye. Water takes its most intimate form, now able to cool us once more, wrapping our hot faces in heavy drips of saltiness. It pours down. It consumes. It transports. A tear rests on his cheek, not eager to flow down. I see it as an invitation to unite our individual waters. My gentle kiss becomes a suck, I take the tear in my mouth and we become one. Molecules meeting, bodies parting.