This past thanksgiving I drove to New York from Chicago. Somehow the trip, a mix of strange weather, family drama, odd food deficit (I lost five pounds) combined with the underlying and recently ever-present anxiety I have felt since I graduated from college this past June, provoked in me burst of focused energy.
I have been thinking, as I believe many people my age do, about myself, and about what it is that I am supposed to do with me life. It seems every week (or every other night) I draw up a mental list of what I love, what I hate, what I believe in, and what I hope for. As cheezy as that sounds, occasionally items from my lists stick in the sieve that is my brain and that is how this project came about. A few things I have always come back to, things I hope to live by that I love:
art, that is one thing I have always been sure of. Specifically, moments of creation, especially when they happen between people (again, that sounds so cheezy, but I whatever, its true) I love people (not always, but often), strangers, stories, oddities, lists, collections, ideas and exchange of all those things (well, maybe not stranger exchange, I don't know how that would work).
So, I won't rant endlessly, I have never blogged before and I'm not sure how I feel about it, but for now, what I want to say is this:
I have gotten a tattoo that comes with a set of rules. It is an empty picture frame that looks like an 18th century baroque mirror. It is on my left forearm. Whenever it is empty and comes up in conversation, I will offer the person I am speaking with the opportunity to fill it. They can draw anything they want. I relinquish curatorial control over that section of my skin with the exception of works done in toxic chemicals, which are not allowed. I will do this for the rest of my life, or, as long as I still have my left arm (note: knocked on wood). I will do my best to document the works, the people, the places. If David Bowie signs my arm, or draws a picture, I will immediately have it tattooed in place. That is all.
