Week 1, Message from The Weaver

Summer Cold and Birthday Blues

Dear Sneezy Thunderheart,

All I know about you is that you were perhaps sneezing when you picked your name... Did you have a cold? My mother always made me warm milk or thyme tea with honey. I love that she wouldn’t be afraid to kiss me when I was sick. What is your favorite part about having a summer cold? Or do you think I'm crazy for even asking...? At times, I feel I am, in fact, romanticizing having a cold. I believe it's because it might be the only time I used to receive special treatment—except for birthdays, of course. My birthday was last week, and a friend asked me about birthday blues. Did you ever experience it? I told her I knew very well what it was; I had felt it for years... but finally found a way to let go of expectations on that day. There is something I feel on that day, though, that allows me to connect with myself in a unique way. I'm sending you a picture of the birthday cake I got: a self-made stack of donuts. With it, the roses I got from my roommate. My relationship with roses is ambivalent, but they're growing on me.

I wonder if you got over your cold by now—that is, if you had one at all—and, if so, if you had someone to take care of you: a friend, partner, or a parent. Whenever I get a cold now, my husband rubs my back with Tiger Balm before I go to bed. I love this feeling of being taken care of and taking care of others when they are sick. It makes me feel useful in the simplest way.

I'm writing to you from a chaotic roof, my bare breasts being refreshed by the breeze of a small fan, drying the last drops of breast milk on my belly skin. I'm hungry these days. Can't wait for your reply.

The Weaver

Week 2, Message from Sneezy Thunderheart

Hello The Weaver, 

Well, I don't have a cold, but I am constantly sneezing, as my nose is allergic to just about everything: dust, essential oils, perfume, Tiger Balm, cats, and annoying people. But I have four cats and a house full of women who use all kinds of creams and perfume. Since my love for my cats, my wife and my daughters, not necessarily in that order, is so strong, I power through the sneezes. Thunderheart origin story is a little more heartwarming. Back during my college days, I shared a house with 5 other dudes; we were messy and maybe not the cleanest. One day, we noticed a little mouse coming in to steal our flatmate's food. Without a care in the world, no noise or movement would startle him, and every few days, he would come back for more, casually strolling through the kitchen to Tim's cupboard. We nicknamed him Thunderheart for his bravery; I'm using it as a tribute to him. 

Anyway, enough about me and my nickname; I'm trying not to read too much into yours, but feel free to tell me more if you'd like. Do you weave in a traditional sense? Or do you weave in a metaphorical sense?

Happy birthday, by the way. It's already been a few weeks since. I've never been big on my birthday; in fact, the last time I had a birthday party was for my 21st, many moons ago now. Doughnuts cake sounds great. 

I also assume you are an artist; tell me about your art practice without giving too much away. I'm genuinely curious about your process and the inspiration behind your work. Are you happy with where you are at? Every time I think I've reached a good place, self-doubt sets in. I am lucky enough to keep pushing myself. Lately, I have been using pseudonyms and releasing work under fake art collectives. I find it liberating not to have any expectations or assumptions made about my work.

Anyway, I shall leave you with a photo of one of my cats, Meet Wally; he is totally blind but the bravest of my cats, absolutely fearless. His courage in the face of adversity is truly inspiring, and I often find myself aspiring to be more like him. 

Till next time

Sneezy Thunderhear

Week 3, message from The Weaver

Dear Sneezy Thunderheart,

I'm sorry it took me longer to reply. Thank you for your lovely letter. I love your cat! And that brave mouse story… I find you brave as well—to endure everything around you that leads to your sneezing.

I’ve been away from my daughters for ten days, surrounded by lots of artists. I enjoyed meeting new people and dancing with old friends, but also missed being alone in my studio and waking up between my girls. Just before I boarded the plane, I started writing about something truly painful. I carried it with me the entire time I was away, and it fueled my creative process in a very powerful way.

I feel like I’ve come closer to understanding that writing, for me, has never been a choice—it’s a need, a necessity for survival, really. When I don’t practice it for a while, I get irritated, just like when I don’t sing or take images. I need all of those things to understand my life, to release my feelings. That’s where the name Weaver comes from—since I’m weaving multiple disciplines together.

I’m afraid I’ve never been very good at actual weaving.

I was quite at peace with producing my work without doubt these past few months, but like you, I’ve found that just as I finally reached a point where I felt good, the doubts started creeping back in. I read Rick Rubin’s The Creative Act: A Way of Being last year, and it really helped shift my ego and taught me to give in to the thunderstorm of ideas. It made me feel like the work wants to be made—and I’m simply its servant.

If I had to name one doubt that’s crept back in recently… it would be: Why do I almost always focus on pain? But honestly, for me, there’s no real point in avoiding it. When I write from pain, about pain, I can feel it moving inside me—but after I finish writing, it begins to live outside my body. It starts to leave me through the words and the artwork. That’s when I begin to feel good, which is my true goal.

I understand my creative practice much better now, but I also know how easily the ego—the persona—can get in the way and blur my vision from time to time. I try to avoid comparison, or thoughts about others’ expectations, but of course, it still happens.

I loved that you shared work anonymously and experienced that liberating feeling.

Now, I’m quite excited to be reunited with my children and husband again. They are, truly, the greatest fuel for my practice. I’m actually really happy with where I am—but also impatient to get back into the studio, because I’m bursting with ideas after my trip.

What is your newest obsession?
And what keeps you pushing forward when you’re full of doubts?
When did you realize you were an artist?

I’ll leave you with an artichoke flower my husband and I got for our anniversary party a few weeks ago. It still looked stunning this morning. I’m a little obsessed with flowers and colors—I love keeping fresh wildflowers in the house. They’re like the makeup of my home, the perfume that would make you sneeze.

Warmly,
The Weaver

Week 4, Sneezy Thunderheart

Dear The Weaver, 

No need to apologise; I understand how hard it is to balance work, family, and personal time.

I recently attended an art event as well, but I tried something new: I brought my two older daughters with me. They are much older than yours (18 and 16), and I thought they would enjoy being in a new country and experiencing a different culture while I worked. I was mistaken! They wanted my company; they wanted to go on evening walks with me, and I shared every meal with them. One of them fell ill, which ultimately required a doctor's visit. When we left after the week, I was initially annoyed that I hadn't been able to see my friends, check out all the fantastic artworks, or relax with new acquaintances. However, now that I've had a few days to reflect, I realise what a wonderful time we had. They are at an age where they don't spend much time with me when we're at home, and maybe next year, the eldest will go on vacation with her college friends. This could be the last summer we get to spend together like this. So, I say forget about art and career—family is what truly matters, perhaps the only thing that counts. My father passed away earlier this year, and all he wanted in the end was to be surrounded by his family; everything he accomplished in his work life became insignificant.

I was intrigued to read that writing fuels your creative process and serves as a channel for your energy. I started incorporating writings, mainly because I found the medium I was using to be limiting. However, as I relied more on writing, I became sad to notice that people often don't engage with it in the same way. They tend to react more to images and paintings, while written words are frequently just glanced over without much thought. Nevertheless, I can see the power of the written word in those who do choose to engage.

I believe that we, as a species, often focus on pain. Pain is frequently what we discuss with friends. People go to the cinema to watch sad films; tragic love songs linger in our memories far longer than happy ones. I'm glad to hear that expressing your experiences liberates you and that you can channel them through your work. Years ago, I created a project where I interviewed many of my extended family members. My key takeaway was that they only shared funny or tragic stories; no one remembered their daily lives.

Recently, I've been creating more provocative work that is political and critical of the world. I know that people tend to get offended easily before they take the time to understand the intended message, so releasing it anonymously felt like the right choice. It has been liberating to the point where I'm adopting an entirely new persona for my next project—costume, wig, accent, the whole nine yards. So I guess this is my new obsessions. I am busy refining my alter ego and writing scripts for his performative work and online persona……

What are you working on now? Would love to hear about your new ideas.

You asked what keeps pushing me forward when I feel full of doubts. Honestly, I think I'm never without doubts. Even when things are going well, I question whether my work is necessary. Does the world need another book or exhibition? I often look at job listings, yet here I am, still at it after 20 years. As for when I realised I was an artist, I must admit that I still don't feel entirely sure. I'm just trying to tell stories to whoever is willing to listen and maybe share an experience. What about you? When did you realise you were an artist?

I hope you're enjoying summer so far with your husband and children, although I think you've been away again? I have a confession—or rather, an observation—based solely on your writing, the two photos you shared, and some of the information you discussed. I may have connected the dots and figured out who you might be. It would be a shame to confirm or deny it at this point in our exchange; anonymity adds an interesting layer to the conversation. When our identities are ultimately revealed, if I'm correct, perhaps I could consider a second career in online sleuthing! If I'm wrong, I'll just deny it!

Warmly, 

The less Sneezy Thunderheart ( We are away from home and there are no cats to make me sneeze but I did get up with my girls to watch the sunrise this morning)