"“Labyrinth” was created in a kind of trance, during a mixed-mood bipolar episode... Asemic writing is what I turn to when my ability to understand language fails."

Aya Bram is a poet, artist, and maker. They received their MFA in Creative Writing and Poetics from the University of Washington, Bothell. Their work interweaves themes of illness, death, queerness, history, and identity. They can be found in Concision Poetry, Dream Pop, and Night Music Journal, and as the book and layout designer for Snail Trail Press. As part of their practice of death positivity, Aya writes lyrical living obituaries and eulogies. They currently reside in Seattle, WA.

Artist Reflection

“Labyrinth” was created in a kind of trance, during a mixed-mood bipolar episode. When I’m in mixed-mood and manic states it feels like my limbs are full of too much electricity, rushing around through my veins, making me restless. Too energetic in my body, yet dull in my mind, I use asemic writing as a way to process the electricity into art. I don’t fully remember making this piece. I taped up paper on my bedroom wall, got a bottle of ink and a dip pen, and went to work. I remember feeling trapped in my mind, and that is the closest I can get to an intention. 

Asemic writing is what I turn to when my ability to understand language fails. I struggle to read and write when in bipolar episodes, lacking either the focus or energy required to sit with and understand language. These long periods of not being able to understand written words would make me feel lost, like a part of myself was broken away, leaving me expressionless. I started using asemic writing as a way to combat the loss of language, and in this way, asemic became the language of my bipolar episodes. 

There are places in “Labyrinth” where the English language slips through the asemic. Spots where my hand was compelled in a kind of automatic writing. In this way, the work is hybrid: language and not language. But it is also a hybrid of consciousness, where I slipped in and out of awareness. I can remember flash moments of making this piece, but these are out of body memories, where I see myself standing at the wall with the pen in my hand. They are false memories, formed from listening to my former partner describe what he witnessed while I made “Labyrinth.” Or, they are nonlinear memories, formed from an actual out-of-body experience I had during the creation of the piece. I’m not really sure. I do know that “Labyrinth” feels like something that came from another world.