womanness is a/an:

visual exploration
poetic investigation
personal essay
intimate practice
erotic expression
performance of self-authorship
visual-verbal love song1
pursuit of a new archetype
living metaphor
nocturnal poem2
archive of female overflow
map of intuition


1Mann, Sally. Hold Still, Little Brown and Company, 2015, pp. 208. 2Paz, Octavio. “The Kingdoms of Pan.” Translated by Helen Lane. The Double Flame: Love and Eroticism, Harcourt, Inc., 1995, pp. 18.
CHAPTER 12: AN ANDROGYNE, THE MOON1








1Carrington, Leonora. Down Below, New York Review Books, 1988, pp. 45.

2(am still fighting)


3(still fighting)

4(still)

5(to be under the waves is of course to be outside of language, outside of the ability to speak our experience, to name it. To be under the waves is the loss of words; the loss of words our offering to the void.)

6(Undertow/water waves vs. rip current. I’m still deciding)

7(making room for the artist)
For weeks I fought2 the desire to say nothing. I fought3 the urging for stillness. I asked for words and was told hush, listen and struggled to make peace. I fought4 the truth within me that nothingness was right action, that richness was unfolding unseen beneath my many surfaces. All that is nature and all that is cosmic and all that is female-bodied teaches us that life itself cannot exist without the void. Nor creation of any kind. These are the blood messages. The burden of alchemy. Void we come and void we go and through voids we pass, ritualistically, privately, unseen-ly, as a bridge from one skin to the next. The poet and the mystic at odds within me.

Womanness is a universe within a hemisphere, hemispheres within a body, bodies within a culture. Tensions and splits. Descents and resurrections. It’s like I’m in an ocean, that’s how I’ve described the tempestuous experience of remaining wedded to my womanness above all else, and how the older I get the more subversive the visibility of that gesture becomes. Sometimes I’m sucked under the waves5 for months, years at a time. But then sometimes——sometimes!——I manage to get my head above water. Maybe one day I’ll learn to surf instead of track the undertow6. And maybe one day I’ll learn what I already know to be true, that between the waves and me there’s no real separation. We’ve always been one in the same.

As I write this La Soufrière is erupting. As I write this the Prince is in the bardo. As I write this my ghosts are reclaiming their embodiment and new dreams are speaking close to the bone. As I write this I am feeling through the darkness for what it looks like to go inward without receding, to speak silence without holding my tongue. As I write this I am learning to make what my hands can make while my inner-sight is birthing something entirely beyond. Sequence and dissonance. Delicious frictions.

What are your dreams from the nothing? Here are mine: a desert home, daily studio practice7, cyclical rhythm, my grandfather’s embrace, tomboy skin. Strength. Release.