With my suitcases packed & the sky creased to its perfect middle, I’m the most beautiful I’ve ever been without having already left.
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When I listen to music, it moves through me because it has to. The soundwaves hit my ears, and my body decides where it needs to go next.
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I could be sharp-tongued, curious, fucked-up—what had never felt available to me. For the first time, French was no longer borrowed, but mine.
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The artist’s dictum “trust your materials” only started to make sense in collage, with strange fabrics and colors and patterns coalescing in startling meaning.
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I only noticed the color by how it happened to me; from where I stood, I was surrounded by a forest of light.
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Histories pass orally through cities, through centuries, and as I walk inside them I am held by every storyteller that came before me.
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Sade makes pain the centerpiece: showing us how bearing witness to the tragedy of history is a beautiful and necessary act in itself.
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People ran to keep their bodies tame, searched for every secret before the leaving.
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My grandmother introduced the piano to me through AM radio. She didn’t know piano, but she knew piano.
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How many times can you choose the thing that hurts before you can’t call it an accident anymore.
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