Residency is a two-part journal entry brought to you by one of our favorite artists.
This week, the Toronto-based artist ANAMAI shares a stream of observations, anxieties, and fascinations.
Going too far with not enough to do there
I’ve been working this week to fill in holes in an upcoming tour.
I worry that one omission will open up the whole neglected earth, the tremors in my lip will begin the quake and the bumps on my skin will erupt. This is not the way.
I live in the future. I lie to myself. I say, the day is almost over. Soon I will be finished working. I will ride my bike home, I will take off my shoes. I will eat and rest, then it will be tomorrow, I will pass through this day and then sleep and then the next, it is winter, I am wearing my big down winter coat and I have a wool sweater and still it’s not enough.
These are the shortest days now. Why leave the house at all because it’s always night, each night I forget a bit more, each night I pretend these lights are real light and they flicker and I don’t remember anything except this hovering feeling, smothering buried feeling, and then somehow the air is warm again and I am paler and more tanned and wiser and more forgetful and I have nothing to show for anything because my mind has been inside someone else on a boat speeding into the future.
This isn’t a poem and I didn’t write it for you. I don’t care about solving your problems or how much you were hurt or if you feel disappointed or if it’s too late or if you are mean. I just put some ideas together, barefoot.
Skipping over quarries
In my dreams I’m never taller than I am though
I wish I were as quick-footed as a goat
Sticky sappy soles
Masters of physics and feats and hooves
Sticking to the vertical rock,
A little spritely cloud
Dancing like an animated cave drawing
Read ANAMAI’s first entry here.