My brain doesn’t hold memory, not much anyway. What memory there is, is fragmented and disjointed. Something that I can’t quite touch. But it leaves me feeling confused, frustrated, and overwhelmed. My brain doesn’t work in a linear fashion. It shoots off into a million different points at once, stretching me thin and exhausted. I see fragments of words spoken and feel moments of deeds done. They hold me down and hold me back; like a child, I fold into myself, disorientated as to what is real and what is not. Told to be good. Be still, be silent. This world is not for the likes of me. I can try and negotiate, but it makes no difference. I am frustrated and frustrating. Ask anyone if I am not who they say I am. I am not who you think I am. I am no one and nothing. I am everyone and everything. So come and find me, but only in the small moments when I want to be found. I make no promise that I will be there. My brain doesn’t process thoughts and feelings very well. It struggles to separate things, gets them all tangled up and leaves me exhausted. Being able to express myself visually and creatively becomes a burning need. It brings a sense of relief from extreme emotions and physical sensations that I don’t always understand. It helps me to unravel the coil in my belly and the burning in my mind. My ongoing series ‘Come and Find Me’ reflects the place in my mind where trauma and memory converge. It is the place within me that simultaneously experiences pain and peace. It combines multiple images from a near and distant past and the continuous blending and erosion of pixels until I arrive at the visual embodiment that is the confusion of my mind and sense of self.
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