If over the years, and passing through the realities of life, dreams die, I still keep intact my memories, the salt of rememberance.

- Mariama Ba

i am a messy painter

Tuesday February 13. 2001

an answer

It's funny how things dawn on me sometimes. A whole bunch of little clues, some I don't notice for a long, long time, suddenly all converge to give me a solution.

I think I've figured out where I'm going, what I want to express. I finally have an idea to focus on, instead of jumping hither and thither to things that are momentarily interesting, I'm finally zeroing in on an idea I can expand on.

It's women, it's the stories they tell, the stories they don't tell, the stories they can't tell. It's a record of things that aren't ordinarily thought to be important enough to record. It's what being female means to me, it's about what being female to every woman, in every society and culture. It's about the sacredness of the body, the sacredness of sex and how it's been exploited and abused and shamed throughout history. It's about the sacredness of the mind, the ideas that aren't expressed or can't be expressed, the rhythm and the beauty that are too often left undiscovered. It's about our freedom, and how we're still bound by our own rules and the rules of the world around us.

This is the story I was meant to tell. This is the story that's going to tell me what to do with my self-doubt. I feel more free now, it's more than just egotism now, it's more than just an endless, tiring chronicle of myself. That's not enough, my story has been beaten to death, it's time to move on to something that means more than myself. I finally know where I'm going.

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One Year Ago:
"I so badly (and still do) want to be loved and cared for. To be special to one person, and for them to appreciate me, and who I am, and all the other stuff that comes along with it."