11x14 in. Watercolor and Graphite on Paper. 2017.
Some questions seem to have no answers. The pain of them lingers somewhere deep in the body, invisible because it’s so built into our structures we can’t see it. It’s built into our foundation, our bones— it’s hidden inside the sturdy stable thing that holds everything else together. I don’t know how to go about picking it apart but I know it needs to reveal itself, it needs to change. Something needs to erupt forth and blossom anew if I can muster the bravery to bear it.
The question is then, how do we change the foundation to allow the core to blossom. Can I, the true me, the secret me beneath myself, the one that is separate from the social norms and parent’s expectations, the one who thinks unusual things in unusual ways, can I invade myself and pop up like weeds, blossoming in every nook and corner. Can I replace myself?
It hurts to move forward. I often feel paralyzed, so tender and so in need of being comforted. I wonder if this new skeleton can embrace me, can hold the current me that is so delicate?
Who is the I to which I speak in my mind? Who is the truth that works on instinct and deep knowledge, that internal decision maker I have to yet learn how to trust? Why did no one ever tell me she was there, and why did it take so long for me to realize how desperately I need her?
I hope we can fall apart so that we can rebuild something integral, that we can bloom like the dandelion and spread our seeds in the winds of change, and grow a new skeleton in which to lean into. I hope in learning to look at the thing behind the thing, our vulnerability can find comfort in asking the questions together.
Delicate, and possible.