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Molly Allam
Day 7
Ipomoea morning glory, nasturtium, sweet pea
Window
Day 6
I've got a right to be wrong My mistakes will make me strong I'm stepping out into the great unknown I'm feeling wings though I've never flown I've got a mind of my own I'm flesh and blood to the bone I'm not made of stone Got a right to be wrong So just leave me alone I've got a right to be wrong I've been held down too long I've got to break free So I can finally breathe I've got a right to be wrong Got to sing my own song I might be singing out of key But it sure feels good to me Got a right to be wrong So just leave me alone You're entitled to your opinion But it's really my decision I can't turn back I'm on a mission If you care don't you dare blur my vision Let me be all that I can be Don't smother me with negativity Whatever's out there waiting for me I'm going to faced it willingly I've got a right to be wrong My mistakes will make me strong I'm stepping out into the great unknown I'm feeling wings though I've never flown I've got a mind of my own Flesh and blood to the bone See, I'm not made of stone I've got a right to be wrong So just leave me alone I've got a right to be wrong I've been held down to long I've got to break free So I can finally breathe I've got a right to be wrong Got to sing my own song I might be singing out of key But it sure feels good to me I've got a right to be wrong So just leave me alone
guilty/pleasure
Day 5
How can I create the space and how do I sustain the space, and sustain myself? What happens within the space? What changes are made? If changes happen, what does this mean for the space? Who decides if the changes are good or bad? How can I resist the changes? How can I understand the space? How can others understand the space? How does the space interact with the world? What am I doing and why?
Struggling
Day 4
dedicated to research
Day 3
Reminders for working
Day 2
Some days there isn’t any it’s hard to imagine and hard to find
Reenacting joy
Day 1
I find a small ceramic sculpture, hollow with three openings. It’s white, with raised bumps at the bottom covered in a blue-green glaze like algae, or oil on water. I made it three years ago. I think about pouring water through the holes. I look inside it. I hold it, heavy in one hand. It’s dusty from where it’s been sitting on a high shelf. I breathe through one of the openings, and feel my breath through another. I make a sound, and the sound travels too. I make it again, drawing it out, and I cover one opening, then the other. I open and close the openings with my hand. I have to do it quickly, without planning - otherwise I change the noise with my mouth before it’s been changed by my hand. When I stop, my mouth hurts.
Blow hole