book of sand
At one of my favorite places, captivated by itâ€™s black sand and its perpetual nightly companion: the lightning storms. Aware that my body was falling behind my desires -my feet were swollen and the exhaustion and fatigue made me almost unable to walk-, let alone enjoy the very things I was there to do. I consciously knew what was happening: I was dying. Like a stubborn child, I refused to return home, and by the time I did, a few hours after my arrival in New York City, I collapsed and embarked on a medical journey that included multiple cardiac arrests, littered with extended comas and countless other ramifications that made my current existence a kind of medical miracle: I was medically done -pretty much dead, really-. I -once again-, returned to what I now consider to be the crime scene*; this time however, and still recovering from the medical dramas, I brought countless copies of actual and ongoing medical records which document the medical ordeal that has dictated my very existence ever since and beyond. I then proceeded to slowly create what I am calling THE BOOK OF SAND*. * The pacific coast of Guatemala. * Sand on actual medical records / 8.5 x 11 inches (21.59 x 27.94 cm).