STEPS.

making progress.

SHADOW.

WALK.

PIANO (M)OBILE.

XYLOPHONE.

CRACK.

ILLUSION.

"I try to keep myself from getting scared, try to get my thoughts off someplace else - try to think back and remember things about the village and the big Columbia River, think about ah one time Papa and me were hunting birds in a stand of cedar trees near the Dalles..."

- Chief Bromden, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest (Ken Kesey)

DISSOLUTION.

DETERIORATION.

"the more I become decomposed, the more fragmented I am, the more I become an artist."

- Vincent van Gogh

IN MY MIND'S EYE.

A bright, mysterious space.  Always spotlessly clean, and yet, somehow a mess.  Nana’s spartan influence mixed haphazardly with Grandpa’s absentminded clutter.  The kitchen table, its glass top and wrought-iron motif of leaves dancing around the perimeter, held up by impossibly thin legs.  The radio permanently set to ‘the news’, occasionally big-band.  

Light would stream in through the large window above the sink, revealing the swaying branches of a mature crab-apple tree.  The sunny kitchen a distinct entity in the old, musty house full of antiques, breakables, books.  Delicate wallpaper sucking up the rare light waves permitted to enter into the permanently darkened house.  Except for the kitchen.  The white cabinets, reflecting the glaring sun, concealed a world of treasures.  Chocolate-covered raisins, almonds, and occasionally mini-chocolate bars.  Treats for good behaviour, treats just because. 

Delicious smells of Friday-night dinners wafting out of the double-swinging doors.  An intimate meal of cheerios at the table, my dangling feet, unable to touch the ground, visible through the glass table top.  Deep conversations on the merits of Bert over Ernie, the wars in Israel, my great-grandparents.  Hustle and bustle to have everything on the table on time, shabbat dinner for twelve.  The hub.  Bright.  Warm.  Glowing.  Times of happiness, togetherness in the clean, white kitchen on Russell Hill Road.

MEMORY PLACES.

MOVEMENT.

what are spaces that have moved me?

what are spaces that have moved you?

what stands out in your mind?

is it the light?

the air?

the person you were with?

what they said?

what they meant.

how did you feel?

how did I feel?

how did I change, when did I notice?

when does that sink in?

how will I know when I'm moved?

do the hairs on my neck stand up?

do I flinch, or do I pause?

do I even know that I have been moved?

what are the spaces that have moved me?