It’s possible you’ve been wondering why I hadn’t blogged in a couple of weeks. Well, I was away on a trip. I went to Denver with my mom to visit some family. Denver is where my sister and I were born, and where we lived until I was thirteen.
When I’m in Denver, I feel something I don’t feel anyplace else.
It starts in DIA, which is my favorite airport. When it was first built, my aunt (who was a travel agent at the time) took me on a special tour there before it was open to the public.
As soon as I step outside it’s the air. It’s not a smell, exactly, but how the air feels. And the sky is so big. Colorado is the only place I can fully stretch out my limbs.
Maybe there’s something to having a birth home. It’s where I’m from, where I was made, the first home I ever knew. I grew to my full height in that altitude, it’s the only place I was ever a kid. The mountains to the West were how I knew where I was.
And Denver, the city. The skyline, the way dusk is. I’m not really sure what it is. I thought I knew while I was there, but I didn’t write it down and now I can’t quite grasp it. I guess it’s home is all.
Home feels like a complicated issue for me. (Maybe it is for everyone.) It’s my little studio apartment by the river. It’s the cinema where I work. It’s my parents’ house. It’s New York City. That place I lived in San Francisco for two months. It’s my family. It’s laughing with my sister. It’s wherever I am? And it’s also Denver.
I did a lot of drawing while I was away, and will post those sketches soon.