It started with the little things. Picking up bananas at the store, airplane rides, sketches and paint brushes. It was the small things, things that we give no matter to that slowly opened me up again. The simplest of tasks for a time were my biggest obstacles, but it was art that brought me back. Confused, alone, and un-actualized, a seed was planted.Â
You are a draft of myself I can no longer comprehend, no longer grasp with the clearest of detail. But at the essence of myself it is you who I come back to, who I knit by poolsides for, roller skate on empty roads for, who I look for in the girls I shoot, girls who I see all the beauty in that I never saw in myself. The younger versions of you are like collections of items in a stored away box, always there, a faded remembrance, a sentimental surprise.
