As a child, I can remember my parents telling me to “go write” if I was furious or crying for too many days. I have always had a soft heart--vulnerable, freakish, and painfully intuitive. I would like to think that this unrest is where my queer soul lives, uncomfortable with the tidiness and barriers in this world. Writing has always been a psychic sanctuary for me. On the page I can spend time with a friend, my self, a voice being saved for this privacy.
In my early journals you’ll find that I greeted this persona with a formal kindness not unlike the many secret journals of other teens. I open with “Dear Diary” or “Hello” and closed my entries with “Good Night” or “With Love” or “Yours Truly.” Twenty five years later, I learned that my mother used a similar etiquette in her diary, writing “Goodbye” at the end of an entry--no matter the length--acknowledging the spirits peering over her shoulder. It is clear that this form of privacy invokes a communion, working to fill the void of what might be missing in one’s world, one’s home.
- Excerpt from Erica's letter to the viewer