This show introduced me to my elbow, how
it’s made up of different bones
that twist together with my wrist, how
I learned to feel
my pelvis, a counterweight to
my neck, my metal neck, how I got to know
my ribcage, studied, how it
takes up space.

Dishes exists because my nervous system
has all the power.

Care, on behalf of this power, how:

This show demands distance.
This show reorients.
This show is not for you.
This show is for my mom.
This show is for her lap.

This show is for the dishes. Their
patterns, their colors, their textures. Their
knife lines that scar the center.
This show survived.

My iconic toes, my elastic bones, my
kitchen pirouettes, this show has fun.

My smash that sounds like church,
this show is sharp.

No eager apology, no feigned modesty, Dishes is not polite.

Dishes is not innocent. Dishes
denies me my innocence. Denies
us innocence as feminine. And
innocence as self-worth.

Dishes is about the breaking
of ourselves.