One day I wrote about something that I had never shared with anyone, as this particular experience had frightened me into a silence. I still had no intention of sharing the story and even though it brought about a vulnerability, writing it out somehow felt like the thing to do. After writing it, burning it felt like the thing to do. So I burned each page, watching as the words dissolved back into nothingness. 

That process seemed to spark the next steps in a life-long journey of personal healing and growth. Eventually I came to realize that life comes with many hard edges and recognizing the bruises that sometimes incur only deepens our experience here and ultimately brings us closer to peace. 

Years later, I rediscovered this freedom of writing things that would never be read by anyone. Instead of burning the writings though, I began working them into the skins of my sculptures. In this way, I could speak freely of all the bruises, of things that have happened that were out of my control, things I wouldn't take back for the world, things I hope for, things I'm afraid of and of things I'm sorry about. Within the sanctuary of my own internal dialogue, nothing is taboo. Anything can be said. Thoughts may be left unfinished, words torn in half, memories overlapping, until they become mere threads woven into the fabric of a brand new story, one that is forever unfolding.