my trinkets and beads

I unzip the bag of pictures. Decorations for my room. Memories from my past; inspirations for my future. Here and there, there and here…nowhere and everywhere, everywhere and nowhere.

Trinkets and Beads. A movie that can’t help but disgust the human soul. Exploitation is the theme. Here and there, there and here…nowhere and everywhere, everywhere and nowhere.

Beads cover my wrists from here and there, there and here. Pictures are my trinkets of nowhere and everywhere, everywhere and nowhere. Exploitation is my practice here and there, there and here…nowhere and everywhere, everywhere and nowhere.

I need frames to display my trinkets. My beaded hands instigate the $18 transaction. The wooden shapes are placed into plastic bags. Gas is consumed, lungs blackened, all to escort my idea of art back to the white walls that protect me from the elements.

I sift through ink painted paper. Which faces, which stories, which adventures are frame worthy? Eh, this person was pretty important to me, but the picture just doesn’t look quite “artsy” enough for the wall? Oh, this one is great! A little boy whose name I don’t remember, who knows if I ever actually took the time to get the pronunciation right, is placed behind glass. The glass is cleaned.

My fingers hold the nail against the wall as I begin to hammer. They’re a path back to the beads. Back to the memories. Forward to the future.

The nail is secure, the frame is placed, my feet take a few steps back, my eyes are pleased, the walls are covered…my heart aches. The camera has captured this boys smile amidst a war. A life of killing and rehabilitation. Rejected by his village and desired by my lens. Trapped behind glass he hangs as I prepare for my future.

peace and love