I rifiled through my stash of old works, ephemera, and beloved bits and pieces I've saved for the some-day collage that I haven't gotten to yet, and like old lovers, there was a familiar and shy meeting. "I remember this one," I thought quietly to myself, "and this one, and oh yes, this one." And the old dreams like sticky cobwebs were all still there, waiting so patiently and so quietly in the old corners of my ife.
I didn't know writing this little book of poetry I just had to give birth to would lead back to my artmaking. It's comforting to find that it's true that everything is connected, and like one of my dear art teachers encouraged, "Nothing is ever wasted." And so it isn't. These little imperfect books that have been welcomed into your hearts are being birthed one by one. They'll ship in mid to late January.
It warms me to know you'll each have a parr of my heart to hold in your hands. I'm so grateful for you.