Epilogue

“ I've seen a lot of ghosts. Just not the way you think. A ghost can be a lot of things. A memory, a daydream, a secret. Grief, anger, guilt. But, in my experience, most times they're just what we want to see.

Most times, a ghost is a wish.”

—Steven Crane, The Haunting of Hill House, 2018

Suddenly, at the very end, things have become unstuck.

Nowhere in the impossibility of my dreaming could I have imagined the changes and challenges that have occurred in the last weeks and months of our transient civilization. The hopes of home, even the shattered and intangible versions I imagine are now set adrift, without space or place. The creations I have formed with my mind and hands are now un-homed, shoved into corners, low ceilings, boxes, and virtual spaces where they exist in fluctuating memory and disappointment. Though strangely appropriate to this unsettled set of recollections that makes up the collection that is myself, it brings home both the mutable nature of existence and the intrinsic necessity of stability in an unstable realm. 

We must stay home, but what is home?

We must be safe, but we are not.

We must have distance, while we huddle apart.

Where is home in an unsafe, unstable, shifting, and dangerous

place, time, and existence.