On January 1st I turn 36. It is a significant year for me as it is my “equalizing” year–it is the year that means I have lived away from “home” as long as I had lived at “home.”
I left my family at 18, bought a one way ticket to Scotland, and went to the Highlands to become a nun. As a back-up plan I bought camping equipment and thought I would live off that until I figured out my next move.
I did not make a good nun. I didn’t even make a good hiker. I crash landed in Manitoba in 2004 and stumbled though my 20s.
Another important thing that happens in my 36th year is that it becomes the year where my rate of moving average drops. Currently I sit at 35 moves, but come January first, I will average less than one move a year.
I’m getting all rooty.
Something I have noticed about living in a space for a relatively long time, like, over a year, is that you can unpack. There is time to organize your space. And something I noticed a few months ago after unpacking the last box, is that my brain feels more organized. Almost like moving is disruptive to your external life and your internal life.
I think it is these thoughts and realizations that have culminated in my decision to devote the next year of my art to exploring my personal narrative. I have a lot of shit to cover.
I thought I could make my work about cool things like chaos theory, or environmental extinction and the emergence of new ways of adapting…but no. My personal narrative keeps coming up and I think that if I don’t get to it, then it will eventually overwhelm my work and come out anyway.
Time to dive.
2021 is a big year for me.
I will hold my breath and plunge in head first.