Chapter 1

CJ: This will be our resting place. Our anchor hopefully. 

It always seems like the best moments happen just before the cameras turn on, and that is the case now. Getting to where we are has been a story that might never be told properly because it wasn't documented well. Today, however, we are committing to capturing our own moments of growth, discovery, and creativity. 

We are inhabitants of a place we call The Water House.

I feel that we have a story to tell but I don't know what it is. I guess this is an attempt to tell a story as it happens.

The Water House is in Detroit, Michigan. It is on the first floor of a building of lofts and it faces the Detroit river. We live in the only place in America where you can look south at Canada. I remember living on the Hudson River looking across at Hoboken from Battery park. My closest friends and family are still there, and I am here, with Tina.

This story is about art and America. And it is about Tina and me. It will probably be told over dramatically and in the end will require vast amounts of editing, but that's appropriate, I think, if one is to speak their truth in the present. And that is my goal here, to speak my truth in the present, our truth, until the next present moment comes. 

Tina: (Here are the first pictures we took with our brand new camera! ) 

          (...nailed it....) 

Tina: I'm crocheting something (it's kind of a surprise for a certain someone who hopefully will read this blog) and I keep messing it up. That's what I'm thinking about in this moment. I'm not reading CJ's post to avoid the influence and to keep my thoughts fresh and real for me. (Sorry in advance if I repeat something he says haha) 

We are in Detroit. In a loft we call, "The Water House." There are many reasons for this title... we live along the Detroit River, there is a watery feeling to this place, and there are about a gazillion pipes in this apartment so anytime anything flushes, drains, drips, or leaks--we hear it all. 9 times out of 10 it sounds like some kind of rain storm in here. I like that. 

I think it is about time we started this and started documenting this journey that we can't even name. I can't help but feel this sense of waiting. For what I am waiting, I have no idea. Nonetheless, I'm waiting for something. Perhaps its waiting for the answer as to why we came here in the first place. Perhaps it is who I am as an artist. Perhaps its what I am doing here on this Earth. 

I read in this book today that when you get old, it's not about answers, it's about stories. Maybe that is both our charm and struggle as youth, we want answers. We want to know why this world is the way it is and why are we in it. Maybe life is about laughter and bowling balls and pontoons and roller skates and strawberry pie.