dear you,
happy summer solstice! i hope june has been full of moments of joy, love, and light so far, and i hope the months ahead are whatever you want them to be :)
it is summer now, and i am trying to savour the quiet rituals of everyday life.
having time to myself lately has meant that i have had no escape from things i have otherwise been able to distract myself from, which has felt a little disorienting and caused me to oscillate between dread and excitement for the summer.
in these moments of stillness in early summer—the fullness of being—i am confronted with the question of what i want from life, what i will take with me from this phase of my life as it comes to an end, and what i wish to cultivate more of. i am reminding myself of the importance of slowing down, being present, holding onto inspiration, and remembering that i have much to look forward to.
lately, i have spent a lot of time doing things by myself, visiting the places i love, and finding inspiration in all that is around me. i have been existing in the movement of light, in the gestures made by people with their hands and eyes, and in the quiet sounds of life.
this month, i have been reading joy sullivan’s collection of poems, ‘instructions for traveling west’ (2024), which examines what happens when we leap into the deep unknown and the possibility of flinging into fresh starts. the collection illuminates the questions that haunt us: what possibility lies in the future? what will happen if we undertake reinvention? grappling with loss, loneliness, and belonging, the poems explore how naming our desires and longing sets our course forward: one must divorce oneself from routine and control, give grief her own lullaby, reacquaint oneself with desire, and realise joy is not a trick.
i’m slowly but surely breaking free from the clutches of fear and self-doubt that have been deeply instilled in me. i am doing this by accepting my vibrancy and eccentricity, by reading stories and living fully through my own, by taking risks and choking out the vulnerability that resides in my throat, and by creating more than i consume.
summer is here, and so is my desire to create.
i watched ‘varda by agnes’ (2019), directed by agnes varda, recently, in which varda combs through her 60-year artistic journey of photography and filmmaking. varda reveals the importance of three things in this journey: inspiration (the motivations, ideas, circumstances and happenstance that ignite the desire to create), creation (the means, structure, details, and the work), and sharing (perhaps the purpose of creation).
although speaking about film, varda’s insights encompass the expansive matter of creative practice more generally, and of navigating what these fields hold, and they resonated greatly with me. she speaks of the importance of patience. sometimes it feels like i have no time, especially to do the things that i love and enjoy doing, but i have all the time in the world if i make the effort, view myself kindly, and believe things will happen.
life is not on hold; every day is all there is.
i went to see the new yoshitomo nara exhibition in london a few days ago. before i went, i read his reflections, speaking to dazed, on his 40 years of art (which include more than 150 drawings, paintings, sculptures, and installations), his earliest influences, and the confidence and culmination of his oeuvre. nara’s world is one where solitude meets play, and the exhibition weaves an emphatic narrative of self. through his signature, recognisably big-eyed characters, one can trace his evolution from youthful rebel, through his neo-expressionist work as a student, and his darker, more introspective pieces emerging from trauma and tragedy, to his status in the present. for nara, this combination is all him.
“if age typically begets cynicism, he holds on to the opposing belief that something true, something beautiful is still possible”
shin hui lee, yoshimoto nara on the importance of not growing up
his serendipitous encounters with art and music growing up served as his earliest teachers, providing him the ability to develop a visual language rooted in play. his practice evokes the nonsensical perspective of a child while expressing deeply personal and even political sentiments, resulting in an honouring of past self, feelings of loneliness, of childhood, and the personal impact of conflict. in his art, the reconciliation of self and time becomes material, and memory and desire become form. nara holds a radical commitment to earnestness that cements his position as a pioneering figure of contemporary art. spending time in the presence of his works reveals his determination to see, resist, and believe in something more or better.
i want to be as empathetic, loving, full of wonder and adventure, and appreciative of life itself as varda was with her art.
i am trying not to borrow grief from the future, or prepare to lose the things i love rather than basking in the light of them while they last. i want to live joyfully, playfully, and curiously.
“we open each meeting by asking a simple question: what is keeping you alive today? this allows us to revel in the sometimes small motions that get us to the Next Thing. yes, i did not want to get out of bed this morning, but there was one single long shard of sunlight that stumbled in through a tear in my curtains, and the warmth of it hitting my arm got me to that first hour of living. there was my dog, who, on the mornings i do not want to get out of bed, will rest silently at my feet and wait for me to slowly emerge from under the covers, and seeing her reminds me that i do, in fact, have only one lifetime in which i can love this animal. as far as i know, we will love each other only here, for a while, and that is worth seeing what i can make out of a few hours, even when I’m wrecked with despair”
hanif abdurraqib, in defense of despair
i have been thinking about spaces this spring, and particularly about how they haunt, as spring turns to summer. the fragments of light that force us back to childhood, the slow murmur of sounds and the breeze of blue evenings, the expansive possibility and memory of the season.
“space is intrinsic to spectrality, as one of the meanings of the term “haunt” — a place — indicates. yet haunting, evidently, is a disorder of time as well as of space. haunting happens when a space is invaded or otherwise disrupted by a time that is out-of-joint, a dyschronia”
mark fisher, you have always been the caretaker: the spectral spaces of the overlook hotel
i find so much comfort and stability in my routines and the places i visit regularly. rather than finding these places or moments in which i occupy them, ordinary or banal, i find them extraordinary.
i am renouncing useless guilt, and refraining from making a cult of suffering. i am living in the now (or at least the soon), doing what i fear, trusting joy, and believing i will figure it out. i am taking the time to learn about what brings me joy, not just relief, what feels nourishing, not just numbing. i am trying not to use my imagination to contribute to the destruction of my mind, and using it instead for expression.
not everything profound has to be born from suffering. not every revelation needs to come from rock bottom. not every breakthrough needs to begin in crisis. we are allowed to know peace, to feel ease, to experience softness and deem it sacred. we are allowed to be well without needing to earn it through agony.
love is all around us, even if it is not about us.
“not to stop time, to accompany it”
varda by agnes (2019) dir. agnes varda
“imitate the trees. learn to lose in order to recover, and remember that nothing stays the same for so long, not even pain, psychic pain. sit it out. let it all pass. let it go.”
may sarton, journal of a solitude
i am letting go of the outcome without being fully detached from it. i am letting myself have fun, make mistakes, and practice. i am being passionate about what i love and chasing after what i want for myself.
i don’t need absolution, i need an acceptance of what is, and an embracing of what is not. i used to feel like i didn’t belong anywhere (maybe i still feel this way), and i wanted to go home despite not knowing where that was. being unable to find it, i built that home in the walls of my being, where i belong now and feel safe.
“nothing is lost, everything transforms”
varda by agnes (2019) dir. agnes varda
i am excited to live the rest of my life like it belongs to me.
i am going to try. i am going to try. i am going to try.
such a banger thank you thank you!!!! needed this!