November 2025

this project became a ritual or maybe it was a ritual that became a project.

maybe there is never a clean distinction, but rather some practices carry a materiality of indifference, a resistance to being named, and this one kept slipping between the two forms.

every night i lit three candles and sat at my desk. i spun my page slowly, circling the paper as though I might coax a center to appear.

there was no rhythm, only the small dance of avoiding wet ink.

i scripted my words in a spiral.