I use the word ‘confession’ not for its connotation of sin but rather of disclosure–self-disclosure. I write to know what I think and feel, to hear myself, sometimes to reveal myself to myself. This week I have been remembering a lot. Part of taking stock in this time of enormous reconsideration before stepping forward.
I painted yesterday—a little oil rendition of a selfie I took this past winter in the upstairs hall. The selfie is rather elegant while the painting is curious and ‘not like’. I lengthened the hair, made my skin shadows bruise-purple, one wall a geranium red and the other textured gray like papercrete. Gone are the hallway’s 30’s large-flowered wallpaper and polite off-white wood framing. I made my eyes too blue. Everything can be mutated so easily.
It was freeing, this reinvention of space and self. Read more