I grew up in a strict Christian world. God was everywhere. Watching, weighing, waiting. I don’t believe. At least I think I don’t. But every time I say it, I check the room. As if He or my devoted mother who surely is near him, might hear me anyway. Some things never quite leave. They melt, they shift, they show up in strange places. In guilt, in comfort, in the surface of a bowl.
I’m not an agnostic. I do believe. Not in doctrine, but in something else. In love maybe. In presence. In what moves between people when they’re really there.
Questions about this piece? Please contact us at info@atelierwerkman.com