love is not scalable, nor holds scalability intention. love requires granular care grandiosities of scale are unable to accomodate. somewhere—somehow—timelines inverted—collective me travels from object abstracted to object obtained. the spirit has to do some kind of morphosis dance to transfer from once being a thing it now possesses. what does it mean to be a stolen body on stolen land? am i performing black capitalism or reclaiming heirs’ property?—the distance between the two, right relationship. i bought land because means of production is power, introversion, and a deep knowing another timelines are possible. i’ve wanted my own house since i was 4 y/o.
love is not scalable, but love is imminent relational connective tissue. imagine midsommer—black steel garage doors gravitate upward leaving onlookers to discover hundreds of lit candles tabled in uniform rows accompanied by mercenary-like wine bearers—a non-performance performance. 13—my assigned table number, a sign of luck—if only table 13 existed—ominous in nature, i found my name tag at table 14 and perched.
across from me sat andrea geyer and andrea ray—to my right clifford owens and to my left naeem mohaiemen. me, baby emerging artist, dead smack in the middle of thinkers who shape the very creative terrains i traverse. i told them about my work, mostly riffing care manual and the series i did at dia—wide-eyed and compelled. i left the table with a few contacts and an even bigger heart. big B’s in the room, faces flushed from libation consumption, we spoke timelines through each other. walking through wall street this morning after an endocrinologist visit at nyu, i stumble upon cast and crew shooting a BILLIONS scene—perpetual alignment gestures tickle my inner belly and upper lip.
love is not scalable, but new dreams of love are possible and already here—december 1 & 2, i open New Dream of Love (live) with Lester Meyer. get your tickets for some winter loving—going to be an epic show.