Studio Log

process work, writing, inspiration, and studio documentation. 



There was a jar with precious inches of water
And inside,
A few chive blossoms,
still tight in their papery bodies,
punctuation marks on the ends of stems.

They were all yearning towards the sun
They were all growing,
Still, even cut
Even in water
Even dying

I was still growing too,
Even cut,
even dying. 

And the only thing to do, in the Portland sun,
in the warm spring light,
Filtering in through the arched windows

The only single action to take, was to strip off my shirt,
To pull a single tulip from the jar, 

Just beginning to open like a bowl
A thing that holds other things

And hold it against my chest,

A lover
A caress

An empty hand on my skin
A nothing person running their palms along me

They’re dying too,
Just like this tulip
Just like me

Everything’s always dying
The sun’s always hovering in the golden hour
This tulip will stay half bloomed for it’s entire life

And I’ll stand here,

Ghost hands on my body
Ghost arms wrapped around my ribcage
A non-being pressed against me,
crushing the tulip between us.

And I exhale.
And the shutter clicks.