This book, illustrated and composited throughout the second semester of my last year at Sheridan College, is a funny thing to me. Its written contents are entirely collected from journals that I kept over the previous three years: scraps of thoughts, immature poetry, nastiness poorly disguised (though an all-encompassing sense of wonder is laid equally as bare), bits of sincerity, of grief, of love.

As I look back on these pages (in August of 2019, only four short months after the book’s completion), I have to laugh at myself - at the hurried construction, the guesswork, the frustration that coloured my last semester of school. I wanted to make something that meant something to me, but I was doing that with thoughts that had aged out of my life, dipping my fingers into my past and trying to paint something new.

I laugh now because I see myself: not just through the words, harvested from my own experiences, or the work, which I had to somehow create, but through that which does exist in my life now which did not exist during the time of this project’s completion: a trust in myself to continue onward when that which once so profoundly affected my life has departed. The ability to let go. This entire book was a desperate act of clinging. Now I understand that it is what I needed to create in order to release.

Here are a few of my favourite spreads. The original book is 66 pages.