32 Hours

This photo features the door of the art closet I was exiled to

during my project. During that time I experienced some of the

strongest emotions I've ever felt. In all honesty they weren't

all pleasant. To you this is a door. To me this is the gateway to my own personal section of

hell.

This photo features the area I set up to mirror solitary confinement. An ordinary simple bathroom that

seemingly seems a bit barren. However, in the longer I look at this image the more and more I realize how this room tortured me mentally. The make shift solitary tricked me into believing I deserved this. That I was somehow locking myself here

as penance. I began to second guess myself, and before long I was analyzing my life trying to

recall all the bad I've done. This chamber of isolation was my

punishment. For what? Only time will tell.

As I sat in exile I tried many different things to pass the

time. This string was not only a source of hope, but was

something that would become a tool in venting my

emotions. The more and more I thinned the yarn the smaller and weaker the original string

became. However, I kept pulling refusing to stop until

the yarn was alone isolated, it was only until I finished that I realized what I had done. The

yarn had become a part of me. A self reflection into my

mind as I see Nathan.

The simple inconvenience of breaking your pencil tip is nothing more then that. An inconvenience. However, I've found that when you

throw yourself into isolation little things can throw your mood in

strange directions. This can mean good things like finding hope in a

piece of yarn, or in this case turning an inconvenience into a major

frustration. The constant breaking and sharpening actually made me insane. I continued to sharpen the

pencil expecting it to work. Wanting it to write, but it didn't. Every time I

broke the tip. It was a tragedy.

This photo probably means the most to me. During my 32

hours of isolation loneliness set in faster than I'd like to admit.

During my exile I found a glove with no thumb. I don't know what sparked it but for some reason I connected this to my

friends without me. Even though my isolation was just an experiment I honestly felt the impact. A normal glove that is seemingly worthless became

the strings that held me to all of my friends.