No one knows how hard we work - and no one should ever know. Everything should look seam fucking less. Like candy. The arguing I do, the exchanges in time, being taken for granted, the happiness that I share… I challenge people to move forward. The words I choose -- the articulations -- it is all a part of the unseen struggling I’ve done since I was 7 years old. I went to my mother and said “I want to be an artist”.
Even more unseen is the work my mother has done, the endless work. The work that she communicates with her style and grace. I love my mom. I am her ransom note. She sent me here for all of you to believe in your fucking selves. Please make a note of it. Lädy