No matter how prepared I am to start again, blank walls create an unbelievably difficult hurtle for me. The act of drilling holes, finding screws, deciding where to hang what…I tell myself I’m ready, then the artwork finds itself stacked against the walls for months. I carry pieces from room to room. I consult my mom, my sister, and anyone who walks into the house. I find another place to set the frames aside “until there’s time to pull out the drill.”
That moment I finally make a hole, it becomes real. Hanging it up, trusting the frame fastener to hold up its end of the bargain…suddenly the house begins to feel like a home and walls seem more friendly and connected to the room. Why did I wait so long?
A Pattern of Words 
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