Ivy’s dream group relationship, as a house, 2024.
Oil paints on handmade scrap canvas and frame. Purchase

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Art by Ivy Waegel
Prose by Aryn Hills

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Love Insurance

I remember; it was a Wednesday morning, sometime ago. I was walking around an old neighborhood, having just snuck out of a lover’s place so we wouldn’t be found out, at the ass crack of dawn. It’s autumn right now, the same then, so it was the perfect mix of warm and cool then, as well. All of the leaves were swimming upstream through shades of green and yellow, having yet to greet the oranges and reds that awaited on the way down. So early, I imagined the birdies were singing;  “oh sweet boy, you must find joy/ in the little things/finish your dream in a sweeter sleep” a fitting plea, a cuter way of telling me it’s too damn early to be wandering. But love prevailed that day. It had me in a park, waiting for the sun to fly a little higher. Also, I couldn’t just go “home” which was just down the road, blocks away. I had no key and, apparently, it would’ve been rude to wake up someone in that home so early in the morning. I just sat there on a table in the middle of a field, inside a public gazebo, alone. Thoughts of friends, relations and what to do next came in and out and they were laced with hunger. With eyes watery but less like tears & more like dew on the morning grass, I stared down a road from where I sat, unaware that I’m falling to the side and drifting back to sleep, as the birds previously advised. I caught myself on the way down but my feelings continued to fall. The immediate impact; realizing I was sleepy, hungry, cold, & out of options. 

a few years later…

Now, this feeling that I have saying this, was not with me then. I was so used to dealing with adversities alone, I learned to mute my emotions, similarly, to how we throw our phones into dnd mode. Today, I feel hurt, remembering where I’ve been. Recently, I’ve found myself carrying around the lost pride of that boy into moments where I’ve defended my sacred spaces. The aggression had shown itself because I wasn’t yet used to having things that are mine, genuinely mine and I’m still not. A desire to defend such things, tosses my heart in kerosene, an outdated practice/feeling in which I’ve kept alive purely out of nostalgia. 

There was a time where I believed a person could be mine. Recklessly believing friends and lovers belonged to me in this altruistic sort of way. Even I, to them. When you connect with significant people and they make a beautiful impression on you, a new world is created and all of the emotions you share are the trees, clouds, flowers, rain, blades of grass, the wind, sunshine, etc. & with every memory… there’s a season. Conversation is the architect, the foreman on duty, the designer in residence. Ironically, with every wall that tumbles, one goes up… you feel me? Over and over until you have a home. Inside of these homes are everything you admire, love, respect, & know about each other. The way someone hugs you can be that fur blanket in the living room. The dependability you sense in someone can be the couch that it’s on. A lover’s laugh is the vinyl collection and their voice overall, the record player. I can go on and on until my dream home is on this page but it’s never all dreamy, is it? So, instead, I have questions for you: where & how are you in these “worlds” when you think of certain people?… Are you comfortable? Are you alone? Are you cozy or are you cold? Do you feel empty or do you feel whole? Is everything covered in shades of gray or are you sure about it all? Is it a house or is it a home? If someone moves out, will you find a new roommate? Or will you demolish or sell the place? Taking only a few of your favorites, will you leave behind everything? We’ve all had things in our heart that have made arson look a little too good, like the perfect option but that’s another story. It’s okay if you don’t have the answers right now. I’m not even sure if I could answer them myself. At least not at the moment. We should know the answers at some point though.

 This may be just another instance of me taking friendship/romance/love (overall) very seriously but I don’t care. I’d go as far as saying; on all levels of connection, if there’s love I feel, what’s mine is yours. I tried to use that way of thinking to balance out my possessive ways. It kind of worked until entire worlds came crashing down and so many things were lost in the fires. Insurance doesn’t cover this sort of thing. At best, all we can do is talk about it. So… Here I am.

Beautiful. Alright, that’s all the time we have for today. We touched base on a lot of things. You said a lot. How do you feel?… Same time next week?

Sure. How much do I owe you?

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Aryn Hills | Hi, I’m Aryn. I romanticize my life and everything in it because of all of the books I’ve ever read. I think the foundation of everything I do, creatively is writing. Not really sure where I’d be or who I’d be without it. I was born in Chicago & I consider myself a music artist first and everything else follows. I create art because I have to and I just so happen to love it. Talking about myself is weird so I’m gonna stop now. 🙂

Ivy Waegel | I am a multimedia craftsperson, making drawings of queer and transgender dreamworlds, and handcrafting living tools, like spoons, bowls, shelves, and clothes, out of scraps. Living with these lovingly handmade items, being made sustainably, made with reverence, and made for queer people, my goal is to summon up the kind of world and lifestyle that I fantasize about.

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1000 Words | Home Not Home Artists + Writers

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