
For Carl Jung, “Individuation” was the process of self-realization — the discovery of meaning and purpose in life, and the way one finds out who one really is. It is a process of differentiation and integration, becoming fully the “fragment” as part of the whole — and it is a journey available to each of us.
In Process of Elimination, every grain of powder was inspected as a way of understanding the pieces that make up a “linestone”. In this ritual, I seek to examine the pieces that make up my understanding of myself.
I funnel the pile of pulverized powder into my father’s white silk handkerchief, and I fasten the bundle with a piece of red thread, snipping the string with my mother’s silver scissors, which she used for making newspaper clippings.
With a special selection of linestones previously gathered in Linestone, I fill up a small wooden box that belonged to my grandmother, Kate de Forest Jennings, which she used for keeping photographic “negatives.”
With these simple gifts in hand, I set out across America to visit with a handful of mentors, teachers, and friends who have helped to shape me over the years.
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Brian Kernighan in Princeton, New Jersey — my computer science teacher and thesis advisor at Princeton
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George Harris (my dad) in Chadds Ford, Pennsylvania — who moved there in 1996 when he and my mother divorced
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Godfrey Reggio in Santa Fe, New Mexico — the first director of Fabrica, where I spent a year in 2004
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Henry Rich in Truro, Massachusetts — with whom I founded a mint company in 2002, before finding my way as an artist
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Joanne DeLuca in Pleasantville, New York — who I initially met in 2006, while designing a website for her company
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Max Schorr in Los Angeles, California — who introduced me to Zen through a retreat we attended in 2011
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Mike Swetye in Santa Cruz, California — with whom I’ve shared many nature-based journeys and adventures
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Sep Kamvar in Concord, Massachusetts — a former collaborator on projects such as We Feel Fine
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Steve Murray in Lawrenceville, New Jersey — my teacher, advisor, dorm parent, and coach at Deerfield
During each visit, we share a long one-on-one conversation, after which I offer each person a linestone as a simple gift of thanks.
Once a stone has been selected, I draw a line of gray powder from cheek to cheek across each person’s face — as a way of inviting their presence into this process.
At the end of the film, I return to the old stables at High Acres Farm, re-entering the space where the process began.
With paint on my finger, I draw a white line across a clear sheet of glass in front of the camera — inviting the viewer into this process as well.
The line of a linestone breaks its perimeter, going beyond the bounds of its circular shape to connect with something more.