I am in the midst of a month-long art project right now, which is an attempt to hardwire myself to think the way I want to this year. I came up with this by focusing on my theme for the year and devising a project to bring me softly into my desired state of mind. I did a month-long art project last month to close out my 2022 theme of “embodiment.”

Both of these projects, by design, have required me to spend at least 10 minutes a day writing on designated sheets of paper, which are then aggregated and transformed into objects that I keep in my space as a way to remind myself of the things I want to remember. I’m bringing these themes into my daily life first by ritualizing them and then by making them physically tangible.

My concept is highly influenced by CA Conrad’s notion of a somatic poetry ritual but it is also the natural extension of my process, which often involves a highly ritualized and digitally assisted way of working with source text. The difference with these two projects is that I have turned them into longform undertakings that require me to interface with concepts and tendencies that are psychologically intense for me. I’m doing this on a daily basis, and it has changed me.

To put it simply, my current project asks me to sit down every day and envision the best thing that could happen to me. In therapy I have discovered that the most dangerous thing my trauma has done to me is take away my ability to imagine a better life for myself. I come up against this blockage every day and I’m trying to actively counteract it. But the thing is…some days I don’t want to. Today I really didn’t want to. I woke up sad this morning and sitting down to write nice things about my future made me so upset I got nauseous. I cried afterwards. If I didn’t have that sheet of white paper that I had to fill up with my words, I wouldn’t have engaged with those feelings at all.

The rules I have devised for these projects have helped me overcome my resistance and stay present with my feelings. Some of the rules are convoluted and personal—I have a specific visual meditation exercise I’m doing before my daily writing that relies heavily on the cosmology and symbolism of my internal world—but the important thing is that I didn’t think too hard when I was devising them. I’ve learned this lesson from my procedural work. Whatever weird rule comes to mind first, I have to follow.

Ultimately in both my writing and my therapeutic recovery, I am constantly in the process of tricking myself into removing obstacles to the truth. I said “tricking” just now but I don’t think I believe that anymore, although I used to. It’s more like I am inviting myself to go over a fence, to cross a boundary into a field of truth, by giving myself a ladder. I’m offering myself tools to make the process easier. I know what I need intuitively and without having to think about it. I don’t regard myself as an enemy anymore.