A wrecking ball of a human colliding with her targets looking like she is swinging from her arms trapeze to trapeze.
Grace and torrential power.
Those are the kind of punches I want.
March 1971, I arrived. Italian mom, wasp dad. Fire in my heart- a deep sadness in my soul- empathy my guide.
Ohio is a good place to be from……….thousands of miles away from. My father ran and headed west as most young brooding men did in the 70’s…….Severing me from the matronly bond plunking us down in Colorado.
The mountains shaped me and mother nature held me close, consoling and comforting me- sheltering me from loss of the family unit. Thin mountain air strengthened my lungs and built the force behind my voice. Dillon Valley carved out from glaciers, whittled my personality into this sinew and bone becoming Tricia.
The story I will tell over the next few years is one of how I became. One of how you can become. A trial and error of victim to personal responsibility. A right of passage into humanness.
The past a mediocre sculptor influencing direction……the present a logician, philosopher and artist taking the scraps and binding them into something tangible and magnificent. The future an oracle paving the way and lighting up directions to take. Every moment leading to healing and an unflappable resilience.