What We Choose to Carry

When I was nine years old, I lived in Barcelona, Spain and broke my arm. I cannot remember everything of that experience precisely, but I can recall strong, colorful fragments surrounding objects of great importance. The plaster cast I wore that I decorated with a study of Botticelli's The Birth of Venus, the poppy-like rose my brother gave me upon returning from the hospital, and Ms. Kitty, the doll my mother gave me to comfort me in my night at the hospital. Understandably these objects might not appear related, which invites the viewer to decide what they are choosing to carry and how those things look together.