I don't consider myself a writer, but I find it hard to process any idea without putting words to paper. I keep a journal, I make lists, I prefer email to phone most of the time, and my sketchbook is more verbal ramblings than visual notes. I generally have a terrible memory. I can't recall very many childhood memories - not being very sentimental, I can't say it bothers me much. I like to think I have remembered the most important things in my life, although perhaps they are the things that have become important to me because I remember them. It's hard to say. And yet while I don't hold on to memories of the details, I have a strong and potent memory of sensation. I may not always remember names, faces, places or dates, but I always remember the emotional tenor of my experiences - whether I was afraid, thrilled, seduced or dismayed, whether I wanted the moment to last forever, or whether I was dying for it to end. My memory is visceral. In some ways, I guess it has made me a woman of extremes. I don't really feel things lightly. I either love it or hate it, trust it or fear it, crave it or dismiss it. And I'm fascinated by the emotional gray zones in between, when the decision is made to go one way or the other. I know a lot of people who prefer to stay in the gray zone, who curl up and wallow in it, who take comfort in its stability. But when I find myself stuck in a gray zone, I can't stay still. It's like giving up in the midst of a game of Hot and Cold. If someone says "Warm! You're getting warmer!", do you just stay there? How can Warm be good enough, when what they're really trying to tell you is that you're getting closer but you're not there yet? Maybe Warm feels Hot after a bout of being Cold, but once you've experienced Hot, there's no going back to being satisfied with just Warm. Trust me.

Alright, so the Hot and Cold thing may not be the most sophisticated of metaphors, but it's New Year's day, and I've been sitting here reflecting on the events of the past year and my hopes for the year that lies ahead. I like to think that so far I've lived my life with an intensity and passion that has served me pretty well. It has not been without trauma or heartache, lots of Hot and Cold, but I have few regrets. I have always said that I hope to have an interesting life. Pursuit of a happy life always seemed a little uninspiring to me, a little lacking in ambition. I certainly don't want to make art that people "like", that makes them "happy" - making art is too much of a struggle to be satisfied with such polite responses. I want my art to create visceral memories in others, to capture the prominence of sensation in the experience of life and memory, and to tempt others to live ever-increasingly outside of the gray zone.

So here's to a new year. A very interesting new year.