This is Michael’s suitcase. He filled it with soil from the side of his house on Albany to take to Germany. I am not sure why I have it. It may have contained other pieces or materials or maybe left at my house for some reason from moving something. We did so many projects together and some alongside each other. It was a suitcase.
When I heard Michael died I brought the suitcase into my garage. I was overwhelmed with melancholy and could not do anything but gather what I had and set it all in a suitcase. It was empty and all I could do was to fill the suitcase with every item I had of Michaels. There are shared pieces, and remnants of collaborations intersected and overlapping. Postcards, and writings, small objects, and books he wrote and books we talked about. He was a reader. His pal, poet Bertha Husband told me that. Michael introduced me to her.
The suitcase archive has been near me since April 30, 2006, filled minutes after. I would like to give the suitcase archive to his sons, Sam and Franklin. I will do that when I see them.
