WHAT ARE YOU LOCKED IN TO? WHAT ARE YOUR DREAMS?
i was 4 when my dad surprised my sister and me with a stunning wooden bunkbed. As he asked which bunk we each wanted, i found myself hypnotized by the top bunk; the thought of not only being closer to gOD, but to sleep. in space. above my sister??
you could see all 7 of my teeth.
i turn to my dad to yell, “TOP BUNK!” at the top of my lungs, and as i charge to claim my glorious throne—why is this {redacted} in MY bed!? and with that smirk on her face?? :// it seemed i’d spent so many of my shiny gold time & attention coins on the ‘dream’, i forgot to save for the chase! my imagination hijacked my reality, & it made me miss out on my goal. and it stung.. especially when she stuck her tongue out at me.
locked in/dreamers delivers an extreme version of this narrative: here, locked behind this metal gate, locked in a field of indistinguishable labels, locked into the soil, locked into a wooden box, locked into eternity—is a body of people who are explicitly locked in to the American dream. it’s a fantastic dream! yet, as human beings, we have a responsibility to bear witness. lock into making sure we grow old, and the kids know their true story. lock into the heat of an electric kiss, or the pulse of a vibrant dance floor. lock into real freedom: your own humanity. your own now.
we must make sure we aren’t stuck in our imaginations when we dream. we must dream, live, out loud. so.
what are you locked in to? what are your dreams?
30in. × 20in. Concerto Black with Gold Framed Fine Art Print on Archival Paper; hanging wire and 4” mat installed. Total size with frame: 43.25in. × 33.25in.
WHAT ARE YOU LOCKED IN TO? WHAT ARE YOUR DREAMS?
i was 4 when my dad surprised my sister and me with a stunning wooden bunkbed. As he asked which bunk we each wanted, i found myself hypnotized by the top bunk; the thought of not only being closer to gOD, but to sleep. in space. above my sister??
you could see all 7 of my teeth.
i turn to my dad to yell, “TOP BUNK!” at the top of my lungs, and as i charge to claim my glorious throne—why is this {redacted} in MY bed!? and with that smirk on her face?? :// it seemed i’d spent so many of my shiny gold time & attention coins on the ‘dream’, i forgot to save for the chase! my imagination hijacked my reality, & it made me miss out on my goal. and it stung.. especially when she stuck her tongue out at me.
locked in/dreamers delivers an extreme version of this narrative: here, locked behind this metal gate, locked in a field of indistinguishable labels, locked into the soil, locked into a wooden box, locked into eternity—is a body of people who are explicitly locked in to the American dream. it’s a fantastic dream! yet, as human beings, we have a responsibility to bear witness. lock into making sure we grow old, and the kids know their true story. lock into the heat of an electric kiss, or the pulse of a vibrant dance floor. lock into real freedom: your own humanity. your own now.
we must make sure we aren’t stuck in our imaginations when we dream. we must dream, live, out loud. so.
what are you locked in to? what are your dreams?
30in. × 20in. Concerto Black with Gold Framed Fine Art Print on Archival Paper; hanging wire and 4” mat installed. Total size with frame: 43.25in. × 33.25in.
