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jojol's review
5.0
Like nothing I've read before, except, I flatter myself, in my own journals. For me, it's the juxtaposition of the major and life-altering with the ordinary and life-constituting that gives journals their unique flavor. But while reading Truitt's entries revealed this phenomenon to me in my own journaling, her work itself pushes back against the distinction whose invention it inspires. Placing daily musings alongside philosophical inquiries alongside preoccupations with life and death and aging, progress updates on her sculptures, and accounts of times spent with family and friends, Truitt declines to privilege any one above the other. Her various roles—not limited to those of artist, mother, person—are all urgent and meaningful and not so easily distinguished.
Another distinction loses substance under her care. Yield reminds me of the way I used to write in my diary, with performative and personal expression warring for dominance. Despite her express references to the potential publication of the very words she's penning, Truitt's writing never feels false or forced. Rather than the meta nature of journaling—heightened by her established practice of publishing what ordinarily is inordinately private—obscuring or skewing the authentic voice, she blurs the line between public and intimate in a more honest expression of her psyche.
What results is nothing short of inspiring: achingly beautiful and profound vulnerability.
Another distinction loses substance under her care. Yield reminds me of the way I used to write in my diary, with performative and personal expression warring for dominance. Despite her express references to the potential publication of the very words she's penning, Truitt's writing never feels false or forced. Rather than the meta nature of journaling—heightened by her established practice of publishing what ordinarily is inordinately private—obscuring or skewing the authentic voice, she blurs the line between public and intimate in a more honest expression of her psyche.
What results is nothing short of inspiring: achingly beautiful and profound vulnerability.
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