A Measure of Hair

I’m afraid to cut my hair. Only once has it been chopped above my shoulders. I missed it’s presence as hair holds generations of memory, experience and loss. Sitting in the cape seagrass I think of braiding my sisters’ hair, my moms’, my own. I remember when my meme lost her hair to chemo and now has a full, snow white, bun atop her head. Hair possesses much symbolism in my life as a woman and an artist; brushing, braiding, touching. Again and again.

As a multidisciplinary artist I document my time on earth. Much of my work examines aspects of intimacy.  What is tenderness? I ask this question with purpose and selfishness. My work embodies my curiosity to know.  I often wonder if my artwork fully communicates what I believe it to be whispering in my ear? Am I a good mediator?  What is life without reflection, love and care? My desire is to understand how as an artist I can make narrative and storytelling both personal and universal.