I’ve never really doubted my dyslexia. Actually no one does. I still can’t spell or find where the punctuation marks go or for that matter, be sure about the directions my ps and bs take.

But what seems to be hardest is the whole process of sequencing things. When I was younger I found it terribly hard to tell a joke or a story in a linear manner. I’d tell the end, then the middle then the beginning. It still makes sense to me that way but I do know better.

But I’ve also found it has to do with the organization of stuff. Last year when I moved the studio I managed to pack the same box 46 times, I believe. It contained thread, scissors, odd books, dirty cups and very peculiar yarn. I seem to keep opening one box exactly like the other.

It’s organizational, as I said.And I believe it’s my dyslexia rampant. But my dyslexia also allows me to unravel yarn, and to think in different processes from one end to the other without being lost in sequence. Because sequence doesn’t matter if you can’t follow it.

Dyslexia is a gift. It’s a view from another country. It’s the ability to do something different because you see something different. But it doesn’t help at all as you unpack. I fear I’ll have one drawer exact like every one of those 46 boxes.

Of course, since they’re full of beauty, why should I care?