Art-making quells my anxieties of aimless existence. I am comforted by the chicken scratches I make in the dirt of the universe. It gives me the excuse and materials I need to reach beyond the limits of my being and engage with my friends, neighbors, and fellow artists. The stories of other people seem like an endless pond that I could swim in forever.
The process of cooking and sharing food has been an anchoring ritual throughout my life. Dinner was always eaten together, father, mother, little sister, and I gathered around a scarred wooden table. I was told once our house smelled like bread. I remember nodding, consumed by the vivid sense that the seventies gilt bamboo wallpaper that lined the kitchen and dining nook had absorbed and radiated the history of every of our family meals. Currently I reside in New Orleans and often relax away my evenings by cooking large meals.