Thursday, April 22, 2010
Friday, March 26, 2010
It's hard being left behind. I wait..., not knowing where he is, wondering if he's okay. It's hard to be the one who stays. I keep myself busy. Time goes faster that way.
I go to sleep alone, and wake up alone. I take walks. I work until I'm tired. I watch the wind play with the trash that's been under the snow all winter. Everything seems simple until you think about it. Why is love intensified by absence?
Long ago, men went to sea, and women waited for them, standing on the edge of the water, scanning the horizon for the tiny ship. Now I wait... I wait for him. Each moment that I wait feels like a year, an eternity. Each moment is as slow and transparent as glass. Through each moment I can see infinite moments lined up, waiting. Why has he gone where I cannot follow?
-Prologue from The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffeneggger
1.to stay in a place or remain in readiness or in anticipation (until something expected happens or for someone to arrive or catch up)
2.to be ready or at hand
3.to remain temporarily undone or neglected
I wait, this is my gift and curse, it's something I do well, I'm patience, and persistent. I'm a waiter, I wait on people and wait for people. This series of work is an attempt to share and explain what it was like to spend years waiting, to be alone, but not really alone, waiting to be whole, waiting to be broken. It's an endless cycle. I waiting for the world to start and wait for it to stop. Wondering what it would be like to have someone wait on me, or if someone does.