arriving

How did I get here?

I think about bodies of water, the shapes and shapings of borders. I think about the people who’ve shaped me, the experiences I share with them. Where do I hold them in my body? 

Memories– love– stored in personality, in teeth, in ankles.

Where even is here?

I begin to wonder where my mind shifts into the present moment, out of reflecting or anticipating, into “HERE”. I find bathing helps sift through these thoughts into right now. Dancing helps, too. 

These drawings are, in a way, a performance, a structured improvisation; a translation not necessarily of memories, but where I am in relation to them. Even when reimagining, what do I feel about past and future lives… right when my hand touches the paper?

Beginning with automatic, abstract linework, I shape the landscape; the oceans, the borders. From there, I respond, building a space across time. HERE: she is in the bath, drawing her legs draped in water. HERE: she is in her Omi’s kitchen, washing currents picked off the stems from her garden. HERE: she is in the rain, sensing everyone she had ever lost seeping back into her skin. 

I try to accept that I am an intergenerational bank of habits… I joke with my brother that between Papa’s philosophical nature and Mama’s worrying mind, it’s no wonder I’m getting nowhere.

The tedious and monotonous tasks, the repetitive vibrations, all emerge out of abstract patterns on the paper, often remaining nebulous to the naked eye, but carrying the capacity to become a strong tide– dividing, devouring, dissolving. Connecting– reconnecting– to my body, my hands. Shaping new topographies, shifting directions. 

A week before his passing, my father softly affirmed, “Sonja, I am delighted you are here.”