T R A N S C E N D

[Image ID: a typography edit that reads "if you can't stand to see happy transsexuals, look the other way!" in all caps. to the left is a cluster of dandelions. the dandelions have a gradient overlay of green, yellow, and orange. the entire image is textured to look aged and photocopied. /End ID]

22, 23, 24, 25, 26 + 27th of April ~ a drawing a day

04.15.2016 Les Jardins de Diane, Fontainebleau (France)

But mostly I didn’t speak. Mostly I was walled up inside myself, and certainly a very long way from anyone else. I didn’t cry often, but I couldn’t get the blinds closed and then I did. It seemed too awful, I suppose, the idea that anyone could peer over and get a glimpse of me, eating cereal standing up or combing over emails, my face illuminated by the laptop’s glare.

I knew what I looked like. I looked like a woman in a Hopper painting. The girl in Automat, maybe, in a cloche hat and green coat, gazing into a cup of coffee, the window behind her reflecting two rows of lights, swimming into blackness. Or the one in Morning Sun, who sits on her bed, hair twisted into a messy bun, gazing through her window at the city beyond. A pretty morning, light washing the walls, but nonetheless something desolate about her eyes and jaw, her slim wrists crossed over her legs. I often sat just like that, adrift in rumpled sheets, trying not to feel, trying simply to take consecutive breaths.

Abandoned chapel in the south of France!