Materiality is so important to my practice. The materials I choose are critical because they set the tone for the pieces, give skin to an idea, and become the access points to much larger conversations. The lack of material is what intrigues me most about writing. It’s the only medium where whole worlds can be created from nothing. I write because good stories are a type of magic I want to be part of. My favorite way to keep my words is in amber ink on torn out pages. I like the feel of paper in my hand and I like the way the ink becomes indivisible from the paper.

When thinking about what’s needed to write, we might say, at the very least, a pen and paper, but there can be even less than this. One can compose something within their mind, speak it aloud, and leave it at that. If there are listeners, they might remember it forever; it could live within their cells informing perspective for the rest of their lives. Or it could be forgotten almost immediately. Both scenarios are equally important and poignant. The artist gets to choose how ephemeral their work is within their own lives, but how words live on or don’t in larger arenas is much more complicated, nuanced, and out of one’s control.