Calculated Art

At times, gaps in my loved one’s work revealed the hidden hand of my guidance—her artistic, visual halves paired with my numeric and textual sequences, forming a collaborative chess game of creation that unknowingly fueled larger projects; I thought it mere homework help, yet months before departure, we attended a master class by John Kwik, whose lifelong methods mirrored ours. Meanwhile, she confessed the crushing burden of juggling school and dreams alone, speaking in hushed tones of adoption plans and silent pleas for help, cloaking deep despair. This confession stirred within me a tempest of emotions—compromise and sacrifice marked by fatigue from shifting classes and a humble job among kindred souls. Though much was lost, what remained was a precious artifact, a symbol of endurance and salvation, whispering the names of those rescued by unseen hands. In quieter moments, a deep, guttural voice—like a mountain throat singer—resonates within me, a “dragon” speaking through recordings, a tether to my fading vocabulary and the slow, deliberate pace of my days and driving. Sleepless for over a year, memory and focus wane, yet the dragon urges feeling words beyond recognition, awakening latent energy like a humming engine. Around me, flickering technology and whimsical “gremlins” cower, their mischief dispelled by the presence of a spectral guardian, steadfast amid chaos.