1.28.2026
(May) you remember that the scars (you’ve tried to hide) helped create vivid, fantastical dreams. Those dreams you shy away from sharing when someone asks you "how is your day?" and you say "good, the weather is nice," rather than "trippy...last night I dreamed I ate a trout whole and live and birthed a fish woman who screamed in my ear to start writing about folding and to offer prayers to people and go sit zazen and be furious and recognize that the space between the fury and the action is potent and creative because it is mysterious and full of possibility and also fueled by rage which isn't inherently bad and neither is my desire to work in a feverish state to exorcize and burn my ruminating thoughts like tapas."
01.27.2026
Our bodies, contorted to fit each other and the stiff discomfort of our hand-me-down couch.
Lovers, shape-shifted into postures impossible. Desperate to be nearer.
01.25. 2026
This is a digital practice space grounded by the act of folding as a central framework. It is a daily-ish offering in text and images shaped around topics of creative practice, motherhood, and bodies, mostly.
Fold practice started in 2023 as a commitment to walk into the studio for five minutes everyday about three months after my daughter was born and a year and three months after my sister died. Basically when showing up was hard to do. I planned to practice a single fold everyday until it somehow reached perfection but that's kind of nuts and my body said no! Realistically, I'd fold a piece of paper in half if that's all I had in me that day and that was enough. It eventually became habit and I was in the studio for longer than 5 minutes most times. It was special and church-like and still is. In the past, I would only have a regular studio practice when I was making something towards a public viewing of some work.
The initial iteration of fold practice was book and paper-centric - I derive alot of joy and ease from folding, but also all tasks that set me up for running my hands over something uniform or seeing objects stacked up, like a set of signatures. This has expanded to other forms of visual art - printing, weaving, drawing - and the scans of those experiments live here. I realized shortly after starting fold practice version one that at the end of the day, I still love talking about and practicing with bodies, so a future movement practice is imminent.
Initially, fold practice lived on Instagram. The witnessing and gaze on the process and the self- directed responsibility to put it somewhere felt necessary. This 2.0 version is the next version and likely won't be the last! I deleted the Instagram without saving the writings and I'm not opposed to continue that sort of ephemeral practice here.
Fold practice started in 2023 as a commitment to walk into the studio for five minutes everyday about three months after my daughter was born and a year and three months after my sister died. Basically when showing up was hard to do. I planned to practice a single fold everyday until it somehow reached perfection but that's kind of nuts and my body said no! Realistically, I'd fold a piece of paper in half if that's all I had in me that day and that was enough. It eventually became habit and I was in the studio for longer than 5 minutes most times. It was special and church-like and still is. In the past, I would only have a regular studio practice when I was making something towards a public viewing of some work.
The initial iteration of fold practice was book and paper-centric - I derive alot of joy and ease from folding, but also all tasks that set me up for running my hands over something uniform or seeing objects stacked up, like a set of signatures. This has expanded to other forms of visual art - printing, weaving, drawing - and the scans of those experiments live here. I realized shortly after starting fold practice version one that at the end of the day, I still love talking about and practicing with bodies, so a future movement practice is imminent.
Initially, fold practice lived on Instagram. The witnessing and gaze on the process and the self- directed responsibility to put it somewhere felt necessary. This 2.0 version is the next version and likely won't be the last! I deleted the Instagram without saving the writings and I'm not opposed to continue that sort of ephemeral practice here.
01.20.2026
A prayer for those who dream worlds in darkness, then second guess the limitlessness of their imagination as soon as the sun peaks over the trees.