Photo by Leon Macapagal | Design by Delia Brett This story is a reflection on memory and meaning — not a statement of blame or injury. My family and mentors offered great love and support; the feelings described here belong to an inner journey of learning how to walk my own path. I can still see myself there — a small girl, maybe five or six — sitting stubbornly at the end of the driveway. I had a little red rucksack, tied to a stick like the hobo in a storybook. I’d fille

Photo of Isabelle Kirouac and Delia Brett by Willoughby Arévalo | Design by Delia Brett The Reciprocity of Sensation and Being To touch is to be touched. To see is to be seen. To move is to be moved. To hear is to be entered. To speak is to extend ourselves outward—to touch the world with our breath. We are built from the same minerals as the inanimate rock. When we kick a rock down the path, the bones of our feet and legs – our mineral body – are meeting itself with itself,

Remember When You Danced Just Because? Think about children — how much freedom they express with their bodies. They spontaneously break into song and dance, jump up and down, spin until they become dizzy and fall to the ground laughing. They scream to be swung, tossed, lifted, and flipped in the air. Begging their parents: “Do it again! Do it again!” That was you once. So what happened? Ugh. Too much “adulting.” Too many responsibilities. Too many stresses.Not enough time. No

Image from Wix -  Funky Graffiti Dear Artist, I see you. I see you toiling away in the corners, on the edges, in the margins — fighting for a moment on the stage, in the gallery, in the hall, to be seen in the eyes of your audience, your contemporaries, your critics, your friends, your family, your city, your country, your culture — as exceptional. as valuable. Dear Artist, I see you. I see the ways in which you have looked with your inner eyes, listened with your inner ears,