say hi to insomnia put to good use:

yesterday.

April 4th, 2011/ Francesca Woodman (04/03/58- 01/18/81):

yesterday, in the blur of the night, and a stomach full of carbs- too many eaten- they were all i had that day; i bought a bottle of wine. For no reason at first, but then again, because i was feeling anxious, nervous, about the direction i’m about to take. Into the unknown, what the majority calls security, or for me now, - in or un security. I bought a bottle of wine. I chose an argentinian one. The man with the big, round, smiling face, (although im sure he tries so very hard to make it mean) rung me up, like almost every other time, flashing me a happy grin. I worried about how much was still left on my debit card; he paper bagged, and plastic bagged it, something he rarely does, but maybe my insecurity was showing. It was bleak, i had been home after walking aimlessly around my new found neighbourhood, the place where i had lived for six months, maybe seven, but i slept for one, so six. I walked around, under and over, in and outside, of my desolute, crumbling neighbourhood. Warehouses, and subsequently now converted, lofts, stood tall, not tall enough to hide the mountain, the mountain of hope, or dreams outside this confusion of a place. But tall, and bleak, and warm, and worn, and old. Like memories. Memories tagged in efforvesant colour of good memories, of bad too. The sun beat down white, white against Fattal, against Crane. We walked, then she left, and i alone, wandered. Wandered, looking up. Stared up at the windows, so large and foreboding.

Today i sit here and now remember that yesterday was the birth of my forever favourite artist. Only just a girl when she leapt from her own window. And although it was out of a broken love to Benjamin, my own forename, my wonder at those open windows was one of intrigue, coincidental remembrance, and absolute happiness and freedom. She leapt from her window abandoning life, her work, and her love for not only Benjamin, but the torment fought over a life time of trying to prove genius. I remembered Francesca.

I love you.