four thousand nine hundred and eight miles (2023)
four thousand nine hundred and eight miles began in November 2022 while studying abroad in Farnham—a small town in Southern Surrey, U.K. Surrounding the campus was rolling pastures and grazing cows and I had made a habit early on of wandering its paths and green-spaces daily. Being riddled with continual discomfort from the task of traveling, to the seeking of relaxed settlement, and expelling conversation, I felt distanced from the very presence of my body. So much so I grieved. I decided to dig up clay from a farm on my regular route, to reclaim and be more sensitive to my environment of comfort—aiming to construct an object that would outlast my short time there. My clay never took form during the last month and a half, sitting, remembering with me until it accompanied me on my journey back to Portland.
That same fall I became attached to the term limbo. Distanced from any religious or negative connotations but instead claiming a state of movement with no end. Upon returning, limbo was my normal state. In relocating my sense of self, four thousand nine hundred and eight miles became a performance that allowed time passed and distance traveled to become tangible. That limbo could be an accepted duality. Through caring to a material extension of my body, equally seeking to be realized, slowness was allowed and preserved through various forms of attentive touch.
four thousand nine hundred and eight miles began in November 2022 while studying abroad in Farnham—a small town in Southern Surrey, U.K. Surrounding the campus was rolling pastures and grazing cows and I had made a habit early on of wandering its paths and green-spaces daily. Being riddled with continual discomfort from the task of traveling, to the seeking of relaxed settlement, and expelling conversation, I felt distanced from the very presence of my body. So much so I grieved. I decided to dig up clay from a farm on my regular route, to reclaim and be more sensitive to my environment of comfort—aiming to construct an object that would outlast my short time there. My clay never took form during the last month and a half, sitting, remembering with me until it accompanied me on my journey back to Portland.
That same fall I became attached to the term limbo. Distanced from any religious or negative connotations but instead claiming a state of movement with no end. Upon returning, limbo was my normal state. In relocating my sense of self, four thousand nine hundred and eight miles became a performance that allowed time passed and distance traveled to become tangible. That limbo could be an accepted duality. Through caring to a material extension of my body, equally seeking to be realized, slowness was allowed and preserved through various forms of attentive touch.
Riso zine published a month after performance.
Documenting journal entries, rehearsal and first words.
March 2023