As I stand, confined to my domestic setting in a new age of strife, I am aware of the lack where the usual and/or appropriate coverings that constituted living once protected and exposed me. Summoning Ana Mendieta, I am flooded by time and history. I pause. Now, over thinking and filling up with emotion, I begin to fall. I fall not backwards but forward into the lack. This is a fall of self-accumulation. I am weighed down by a material presence I hadn’t noticed until it was absent. I don’t want anyone to catch me as I fall because I resist returning to that familiar state of being.