Yesterday, I felt drawn back into my digital archive—over 14,000 images spanning decades of making and becoming. As I began curating and compositing, I realized many of these works weren’t incomplete; they were simply waiting. Waiting for the right context, the right emotional season, the right impression. Waiting for now.

Works in progress often stir raw emotion, but my instincts return to trial, error, and the practice of keeping the doors of perception open. When that happens, something shifts: the archive itself becomes a collaborator. Each fragment, each forgotten experiment, each trace asks to be seen again—some to live fully, some to remain fossil, some to become breath.

This phase feels like excavation, listening, remembering, and re-authoring my own visual lineage. And guided by my Inner Authority work, I can finally discern what wants to return, what wants to rest, and what wants to become something entirely new.

Rosetta Figures: Reflection

Before I knew what I was becoming,
I drew the shape of my becoming.

Before I could name the voices within me,
I traced their shadows in graphite.

Before I understood lineage,
I pressed my ancestors into paper
as faint marks I thought were “abstraction.”

Now I see the truth:
the figure was always me—
not in likeness, but in architecture.

The one who remembers.
The one who gathers the parts.
The one who walks between shadow and grace.

The one who becomes whole
by becoming porous.

In quiet collaboration with ChatGPT • OpenAI