In December 2017, my dad passed away. This was both a psychological and creative catalyst that moved me out of my digital comfort zone to a place where I could commit a sort of psychic harakiri.
A survivor of childhood trauma, difficult relationships with both parents, I was finally free to spill my guts and maybe purge whatever was there that needed a voice and perhaps healing. This would be a process where poetry, broken haiku and the innocence of visuals collide.
The original idea was based on an exercise of using both hands to write letters to myself. The less dominant hand would be the child I was, the dominant hand the parent I wish I had. Only, I didn’t want to write letters. It was important for me to take ownership and make this exercise my own.
Below is the first part of that exercise, an exercise I call, unlearning.