August 25th, Monday,
Still Here

Wax, Ceramics, Thread
2017

“When I awoke like this, and my mind struggled in an unsuccessful attempt to discover where I was, everything would be moving round me through the darkness: things, places, years. My body, still too heavy with sleep to move... Its memory, the composite memory of its ribs, knees, and shoulder-blades offered it a whole series of rooms in which it had at one time or another slept; while the unseen walls kept changing, adapting themselves to the shape of each successive room that it remembered, whirling madly through the darkness.”  --  Marcel Proust

I’m comforted by the memories embedded in our muscles and bones whenever I feel lost and displaced. The body remembers, even when the mind forgets. No matter where we move to, we take with us this fleshy vessel in which we reside.