I spend so much time creating routines. Imperfect though they are, designed to be flexible, a constant coming back to intention. Creative practice as spiritual practice. Emotional excavation is work. The machine of art from experience.

When do the routines begin to reinforce cycles of sameness? When something is unearthed, where does it go? What is the next step? Sometimes I feel like I’m just cataloguing, creating a growing archive of artifacts of self.

I do not wish to be only a historian of my own journey. I wish to take the journey itself.