For years I’ve loved writing letters, choosing beautiful stationery, and sending small pieces of myself out into the world. And recently, more and more people have told me how much they miss real mail, the kind that isn’t a bill, an advertisement, or something to toss into the recycling bin five seconds later. Real mail has weight, intention, and warmth. It feels like a pause in the middle of the day. This coming year, I want to bring a bit of that magic back.

It began with a piece of research I stumbled upon months ago: evidence suggesting that certain centers of the brain can remain active for several seconds after recorded death. Reports of near-death experiences describe panoramic life reviews, strange lucidity, and dreamlike sequences of memory. The science around it is uncertain, but the possibility stayed with me: that the brain might, in its final moments, create one last story for itself.

It’s not hard to notice, especially with all of the moving around I do, how much my environment shapes the size, theme, and output of my art. Here's 18 years in a blog-post nutshell.

It’s been a couple of weeks in Vienna, and life is slowly finding a rhythm. I’m focused on studying German, exploring creative groups, and working on small mixed-media studies in a temporary studio apartment before my second artist residency.

As I prepare for Vienna, I wanted to reflect on some of the strategies that helped me integrate into Malta’s art world, in the hope they might inspire someone else (and keep me accountable as I try to do it all over again in a new place):