Milled Through (Luggage Fabric, Cardboard, Trash Bags, Bristol Paper, Hub Cab)

Ruminations about immigration experiences in my industrial homecity.

I’m thinking a lot about Lowell MA, one of the many homes of the industrial revolution. I’m dwelling here, on the history of refugees who come to this city of many names. Mill city, The City of Lights, that ghetto sanctuary. Thinking about how cyclical it all is.

I focused a lot on how weird it is, how freedom from war is being once again surrounded by machinery, by smoke.

How home appears so disgusting sometimes, yet at the same time it’s home. It always is.