Tender

I seem to have lost a month, April to be precise. When I look at my calendar, I see that I was indeed present for this mysterious span of time. In fact, that calendar doesn’t have one blank day. I was busy with work at the arts center (where I am the gallerist), providing care to loved ones, being in relationship, loving on my partner, digging in the dirt in preparation for planting, taking drawing classes, and attending the Belonging Without Othering Conference in Oakland, CA. That all sounds lovely, and it was, except for when it wasn’t. Because life is like that, yes? I can feel anxiety in the middle of a beautifully sunny day, I wrestle with boundaries in the midst of giving care, and there are days when I barely have the oomph needed to get myself to the class where I know I’m gonna light up. I’m not alone though. My partner reminds me of this nearly daily: “we are in this together.”

In fact, we are all in this together. This realization sits heavy some days. The unrelenting awfulness that is happening in Palestine and Israel is in my heart and on the tip of my tongue, yet my hands keep grasping for some way of making a difference. Some days I can also feel the light, and it is also strong. For instance, have a listen to this reading by Michelle “Mush” Lee from the conference (start at minute 5:45:34). The word “tender” keeps coming up for me as I sit in this duality. It’s an amazing, multifaceted word - adjective, noun and verb. I’m feeling tender (adjective); I’m a tender of the people, places and land of which I’m a part (noun); and I tender my work to the world because I believe that art is essential to our collective thriving (verb). We could all use more tenderness, yes?

I’ve been invited back to the Hoffman Center to participate in their “Word & Image: Writers and Artists in Dialogue” biennial event. On June 8th, each of the 12 visual artists will be paired with one of the 12 writers, and we will then have until the end of July to create work in response to each other. I’m so grateful for the opportunity to connect and collaborate in this way. I’m also really happy to get back to the North Coast, where I breathe my deepest breaths.

May you too find ways to honor your tender parts, and breathe deeply.

A walk on the beach, after the opening reception of the April show at the Hoffman Center.