Sticks, stones, roots and bones

‘Sticks, stones, roots and bones’ (2021) artist: Jodi Hugo


All I keep thinking about is the soil I am from. The earth and the land that still courses through me. The elements that make up my body and my brain. And how I am inevitably shifting and changing physically as I live, breathe, drink and  eat in this new strange land. The seasons are flipped the microorganisms are different. The water tastes and washes differently. The sun hits me differently and all this dust and dirt is filling me.

The memories hurt. The nostalgia burns in my chest and the loneliness of this new uncanny valley country is accumulating on all the surfaces and in every corner. It seems like I should understand it and understand the people. But the mold is different. I have tried scrubbing it away but the dust accumulates faster that I can clean it away. 

Every cell will be replaced in time. My bones will be left with holes. My blood will taste different. My brain will still be somewhere in this old place. It will still be functioning on all the old elements, polutants and nutrients that it was built from as it is withereing and not understanding this new reality and this new aging body it finds itself in. 

But we had to move. We had to escape so that we can find rest.

The roots and stones, bones and soil we left behind will keep us together. It will bind us. The way it molded our bodies and minds will always leave a trace. The environment imposes it’s will even after we have flown from it. 

Will I be able to incorporate this place and become a part of it as I shed all I do not use? 

And will I be buried in this soil that my ancestors left centuries ago?

My mind will fade and this body will be left to become a part of this land. 

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