Zero the One

Time flew by so fast. Family. Insane heat, crazy laughter, uncertainty. Love.

Inheritance. Sir Nonoy was my first mentor. Back in highschool after a summer art program at the museum, I wanted to continue my learning but didn’t have the funds. He offered to mentor me for free and that was the beginning of our friendship and my life in art. He passed away last year. I grieve how I missed the chance to express how much he truly meant to me. And sad about the projects I didn’t manage to realize with him. He never pressured me to become “great” or achieve material success in the arts but he always taught me to remember where I came from. He was the first teacher I had deep discussions with and healthy debates about art and communication, life. There is never a right time to remember but I am always indebted to you Sir Noy. I hope I can pass on the inheritance of your teaching and loving support.

I have more to share on this. Soon ❤️

Last batch of pics from Picture the Change by ✨ Normally a retreat or an epic effort / “win” is the mark of something that brings you back to life. Instead it was things like how the shops here still sell things by weight - from pasta to cookies to candy, even in the small shops. Or the two pots of tea/tisane during every meal at lending memories of Armenia when it’s not covered in snow. Also, learning folk dances one evening, or discussing about life in Kyiv with our roommate Lily, or learning about Moldova from Gabe and Dorin, or the witches of the Basque Country from Jare, or discussing about neurodivergence and if everyone is just a bit adhd as Paulina says and our facilitators Ana and Kas who are also neurodivergent sharing how it is a real condition like an invisible disability. I felt so seen. And equally witnessing and learning a lot. New ideas as well as new collaborators like Silvia and Eva. I’m in that part of the cycle where the head eats the tail. We begin again.

Trust. Congruence. But first, spring came early and brought all the contradictions. Sun and blossoms one day and inconsolable rain after, so much so that worms emerged. I saw one in the middle of the street and thought, what are you doing here buddy? This is the least hospitable place for you to explore. With a piece of forgotten tissue I dug out of my pocket and with a lot of queasiness I transported him to the grass. Talked to him as if he understood. And yeah, trust. It gets harder the older you get because life. Contradictions. And no, I will not segway into “trust the universe”/positive thinking/manifestation.

I’m speaking of trust with a spine. Trust that isn’t maintained by states of denial. The kind that can call a spade a spade. Without it our soul becomes brittle because trust requires congruence between our inner knowing and our outer being. It requires surrender - not control.

A little generosity. Of our attention and care. A bit of courage. It gets lonely out there, stretching out of your comfort, learning, grieving the illusions you hung on to and maybe losing a whole lot of people who won’t come with you where you’re headed next. Which takes me back to love.

Think of the people you love unconditionally without question. Feel the ferocity of your heart, the unquestionable intensity. If you can trust your love, then we can try to trust our way forward. This isn’t merely about individual will. It’s trust with a spine and by spine, I really mean heart. Persistent but not forceful. To try and then try again.

Not a blind trust. Instead, a loving witness.

As for the image - I don’t know. I had a vision of being blue against a warm/red background.

I didn’t have words for a long period. Felt myself between survival and wanting to serve, not really knowing how while rent was still due, knowing I’m lucky even when it’s hard and that there’s more I could still do and yet... heartbreak after heartbreak. Dawn after dawn. The only way to exist going forward is to be intertwined, woven together in some way. Helping and being helped. This is my prayer. And as always, grateful to those who weave and mend with me.

Models .arakelyan shot at in Aparan, Armenia
I’m here thanks to
❤️

This mural existed before October and it’s at least some years old and in the past weeks I’ve seen it vandalized and then remade. I continue to read, learn, listen. Meanwhile thousands of civilians killed including 73 journalists and those alive are threatened. I am among those who worry for and - I don’t know what else to say that hasn’t been said already.

I believe in practical magic - in that it’s normal and we all possess it, some more strongly than others. It has nothing to do with wealth or status, it’s something completely internal that spills through our voice, our character, in how we show up and color spaces. Chiara naturally brightens spaces primarily through sound, her voice. I am always in awe with her fluency, in how she molds a soundscape and brings things from her travels, from her experience, from her heart - helping us see while we hear. She is a living prism of sound and soul. Happy birthday ❤️

Intimacy with our shadow. Or how to make our bodies hospitable to the full range of feeling, thus allowing us to relate and connect deeply in ways that are expansive and liberating.

Sometimes or often we confuse calm with numb. It’s the difference between solitude and loneliness. They look similar but feel different. When people insist on stoicism and neutrality, on the surface it appears under control, balanced. A culture obsessed with good vibes, positive thinking - there is no room for the equally real and valid feelings of grief, anger, pain or sadness.

Ironically, we need to break in order to be whole. Our fractured parts cannot be pieced together mechanically or rationally but instead felt, metabolized, welcomed and made space for. What if we allow this process to rearrange our inner landscape? Can we make ourselves a space that includes instead of separates?

It won’t feel comfortable, it won’t be familiar. And while anxiety and dread are normal reactions to the unknown, could we approach it with curiosity? Like seeds planted in the soil, unsure about the tree it will become. Even in the deepest abyss is a pulse, a direct line to the core of the earth. Nothing escapes the tremors. Can we listen for this pulse and let it resuscitate instead of suffocate us?

How can we relate with this unknown, not as something hostile but as a place in between, where our edges meet and touch, and overlap. Can we give it back the respect and reverence it deserves? Without it we are truly dead.

I don’t think this is a good shot but it’s the first one in a while where I felt I was taking a risk, it felt a bit scary and intimate. The man was walking in font of me and while waiting to cross I played a bit with the shutter and then he turned around and looked. I took the shot and I looked back at him waiting for a response or reaction. He didn’t seem to mind and when we crossed the street we just went on with our lives. I try not to impose when I’m shooting. I don’t like staging things (usually, unless it’s another type of project). But lately I’ve just been receptive and being in the places/spaces I was at. I’ve been reflecting on this idea of posture and how we’re often leaning forward too much when it comes to our work. Interesting things can also happen when we lean back or even just stand where we are and let what’s here touch us

Some snaps I like from recently

For the price of a bus ticket you can get to Frascati from Rome and meet fellow creatives like who’ll show you more than what you can find and experience on your own alone. The day was perfect, a food fest was happening and randomly inside a vine covered wall Maurizio, the resident artist/restorer/sculptor, gave me the pep-talk of pep-talks. I so needed that. The lakes! Castelli Romani. It all smelled green and fresh. None of this was planned and that’s why it was special. Thank you Kim for this and spending time together over lunch 🤍 looking forward to the next time!

I’m approaching what feels like the middle of my life. The years I’ve lived up until this point was one story and the years ahead are another. Many stories I’ve held to be true or fact were actually temporary and made sense only for that window of time and those version/s of me. Family dynamics that seemed like permanent burdens or fixed qualities like my flat nose or like how the Tan side is so fiery and the Tale side so gentle and gregarious now look more like tangible survival pathways I can see and discern. Looking at the complexity of this root system helps me perceive the tree better. My parents grow older and my role as a daughter mother blurs, ancestors collapsing in and through me. We survived. We carried each other across the shores. Paid the cost. For a while I grieved the end of my first act. More grey hairs daily, no longer my most youthful self. While simultaneously freer than I’ve ever been. Living in ways many in my lineage couldn’t. It’s a privilege to grow old/er. To share parts of the story with others. To hold and to be held. I feel very much myself and grateful to be alive.