seven objects portrait, no. 5, 2:26:2021
i'm deeply appreciative of the magic here, fed by my devotional practice to one of the most famously unseen icons in greek mythology: eurydice, that thrice displaced dryad fatally ripped from the places she belonged to meet the call of her beloved. since this self-portrait is about my relationship with eurydice, it is also very much about bodily agency, longing, waiting, grieving, and home.
i bought the singing bowl more than half my lifetime ago, my first day alone in iowa city, also my 21st birthday. i played it for my spanish class, wrote about it in letters, use it to cast circle, to cleanse space.
eurydice, cradled in sacred song.
the wood is sliced from one of the apple trees in the backyard of the house i grew up in. both of the trees are now deceased. my father took the second one down this fall and reserved several slices of wood for me. i can feel them waiting for me as i wait for them; my connection to those trees was strong. i believe the second tree to die was the one i was frightened i'd killed several years ago.
acorn friends have come to me over the last few years. top right thunked down right at my feet while we were talking to friends from across 10 feet in our colorful homemade face masks late last year.
that incense cauldron? man, i pined after it for more than a decade, but it was always just outside my reach. the period in which i acquired it was it's own kind of underworld.