I make Diary Drawings in the dark, lying on the floor. Accumulated layers of writing, ranging from private introspection to stream-of-consciousness rambling, build up an achromatic field. Sometimes out of boredom or at a loss for words, I copy the lyrics of songs that play in the background.

I share my emotions here not through the written word, but as they are held in my body. Tightly curled lines of text, made by my elbow scrunched against my ribs, betray feelings of anxiety. Broad, sweeping lines of text, produced by the tilt of my wrist along an outstretched arm, reveal moments of hopeful exuberance. Personal reflections give way in this manner to corporeal traces and patterns of line.