Portrait of the Artist

What are you afraid of? That they’ll see right through you? See through your farce? Your vain bid for importance? That no amount of effort will surmount the appraisal of your surface? Or insubstantialize your many failures and shortcomings? (In fact, make them all the more obvious.) That you will be deserving of neither attention…Read more Portrait of the Artist

Lasting Summer

My earliest memories make no logical sense, one moment I’m standing in a field of sugarcane, the next moment I’m with a flock of ladies in a churchyard, in another moment I‘m running up the front steps of home. The green cane stalks loom above me in my toddler height, bowing in the wind as…Read more Lasting Summer

Wahlberliner

I must admit, I’ve been (more) distracted lately. I am still working on my Origins book project which is coming together slowly but surely. But for the most part, I’ve been living my best life outdoors! Summer has come to Berlin in full force this year! April and May felt more like July. I don’t know…Read more Wahlberliner

The Air People

We hopped and bobbed around the room. Huge, overinflated balloons. Us. Not the room. We had turned into enormous pillows of air. Air people. We all looked the same. We were of the same puffy, peach-colored vinyl—the same soft material used for sumo wrestler costumes, baby swimming pools, air mattresses and inflatable rafts. We were…Read more The Air People

5 Years of Spring

It had been the perfect spring morning, full of rose-colored light, the air as soft as petals after winter’s sluggish over-extended passing. The apple trees in the garden were thick with white blossoms. The young cherry trees full of dark purplish buds, nearly ready to unfurl. Soon the locust, the linden, the lilacs and chestnuts…Read more 5 Years of Spring

Being Myself

Doubt is part of every word I say. Before the glances congeal into a gaze, I am already formed. A partial. A remnant. Existing to be discarded. How many estimates Must I encounter To meet the one I cannot fall short of?   I fail, I fail, I will fail you Always In your judgement…Read more Being Myself

March, the Death of Winter

Some thoughts on the loose ends of winter: Remnants that scatter. Swept out. Soon to be forgotten. Bared by the persistent cold prove too fragile to stand, neither whole, nor in any semblance of form. A relentless wind, whipping panic, freezing each and every protuberance. Removing the timid, Exposing all that is meager. There is…Read more March, the Death of Winter