Hello, hope you're all faring well amidst global crisis! The print in this image is perhaps a ~bit too small to read (and I assure you the written text is rather nonsensical anyways), so I'll explain this entry in a caption: it was my birthday recently, so I decided to try to summarize each year of my existence in a few words, the number of which equals my age*. (Does that make sense? I hope it makes sense...) This was a surprisingly fun yet challenging exercise that forced me to choose my language in a very deliberate manner. Interestingly, for some years I drew a total blank -- I simply could not think of any overarching story worth memorializing on the page -- and those years were often the ones I'd idealized as being my happiest. Meanwhile, I had far FAR too much to say about the years of my life that were fraught by inner turmoil/existential conflict; distilling those years into a single phrase proved quite tedious. So I suppose pain truly does inspire art, while comfort is simply.... boring. (darn.)
*yes I did possibly take some creative liberties and smash a few words together... forgive me, counting is not my forte
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