The Cuban-American performance artist, Ana Mendieta thrust her bones into the earth to see what shapes she could make with the weight of her.
I often think about indents. I think about the ways in which we impact others or others impact us. How often do we actually speak up and share the ways in which our shape is changed by others.
When I am deeply moved by another, I tend to fill my lungs with silence. I exhale seizured language (shaky and discombobulated).
At a recent open mic, I was moved by the openness of a poet that seemed as though they literally dug into the crumbles of their scars and transcribed and transcribed. I opened my green notebook and began haunting the lines with language influenced by another. I should have told them how they moved me. How I wanted to turn off the microphone after they read because I just didn’t want the reverberations from their sound to be interrupted by another. I should have mentioned to them that it is so difficult to say how impact arrives.
It kind of feels like a dent. Like a gasp of life, bruising.
If you call yourself creative, then it’s fair to say that you’ve gotten roughed up a bit in life. It is in these spots of pain that often creates the surges of inspiration within someone.
This is why it is so necessary to say to another: you move(d) me. Thank you for existing with ink in your fingers and loose paper by your side.