4. Letter to Timothy
Ed Deary Sometimes when I read Instant Coffee I think about how much of a “affliction” living in a small town in the middle of nowhere is. So here is a short list of events:

This weekend:
Star Belly Jam, a music festival featuring “hippie” bands.
Free camping, the all-day ticket price is 20$ a day.
(note- I don’t think the bands are the reason to attend this: the lackey crowd, laced up should provide anybody with a reason to go. This is the equivalent to a trade show on drugs. I won’t go, but I look forward to the inevitable stories that will flow out. Really, some of the things that I have heard have been quiet re-tellable).

So much should have been written down. My memory is not what it should be, and I am so afraid my weakness will keep me away from what I want.

What are you doing now? Are you working out of the house and with your “instant coffee”? Do you still fight with your sister?

I have to leave this place, move in with my mother in North Vancouver, and put my stuff in storage. You did this, how was it?

Sometimes I think that I should get more student loan money and go to UBC’s English department. Other times I think that I should keep going with what I’m doing, (the relentless studio practice).

At the Khyber, your stairway show blurred the separation between studio practice and the contemplative act. Sometimes I think of that show, the way you were able to weave idea and thing together. Sara’s art of cooking pulled me so far from school. Now I’m sewing trousers. Happy to run away from the institutions, learn to cook, and name it badly with the feminist quip; the private is political. God, some days I actually believed that I was doing art- staying home making myself dinner. Black on Black paintings have the same effect as picking one’s nose. So what the f–k, I want to leave the house now – engage with this public society. I live alone and plan to move home. Maybe that’s o.k?