The Jessica Writings
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The Jessica Writings is a largely private body of artwork Michele created combining drawing, painting, collage, found imagery, text, and recurring characters.
The work explores women, relationships, identity, memory, loss, resilience, and the emotional spaces people inhabit. Its visual language often uses intentionally altered or “wonky” perspective, overlapping rooms, shifting scale, and imagery that operates more like memory or thought than literal physical space. Characters and written fragments interact within these constructed environments, creating visual narratives rather than conventional illustrations. Although the original body of work has rarely been exhibited, its collage-based approach to combining imagery, character, text, and story has continued to influence Michele’s later artistic practice. |
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IN PROGRESS: The Jessica Writings: Women, Rooms, and the Things We Carry
An original theatrical work by Michele Fritz to be turned into a collaboration with a partnering organization
Jessica has spent much of her life imagining where she might go, who she might become, and what she'll do when she's finally ready.
Guided by Scout, a sharp-witted storyteller with secrets of her own, Jessica revisits encounters with an eccentric collection of women whose lives reveal the complicated ways people seek love, security, independence and belonging.
Through humor, intimate conversations and a surreal world inspired by Fritz's original illustrations, rooms transform, memories unfold and unfinished stories collide.
The Jessica Writings explores the distance between imagining a life and actually living one—and what happens when it's time to make a choice without knowing how the story ends.
Jessica has spent much of her life imagining where she might go, who she might become, and what she'll do when she's finally ready.
Guided by Scout, a sharp-witted storyteller with secrets of her own, Jessica revisits encounters with an eccentric collection of women whose lives reveal the complicated ways people seek love, security, independence and belonging.
Through humor, intimate conversations and a surreal world inspired by Fritz's original illustrations, rooms transform, memories unfold and unfinished stories collide.
The Jessica Writings explores the distance between imagining a life and actually living one—and what happens when it's time to make a choice without knowing how the story ends.
| Rough Excerpt from the Play |
Jessica Musings
Jessica's mother told herself a little lie every morning. "Its just a little drink to calm my nerves," joanna muttered to herself in a matter of fact tone. She told herself a little lie as she sipped from a flask while crouched in the womans restroom at work.
She woke up this morning and said i dont like what ive become. Im accused on days when i do no wrong. Whats the point of trying if no days are good days. Lets end this elphant shit parade now. A bottle of pills, a cocktail of bitter pleasures, and a sad lonely goodbye.
She woke up this morning drowsey with longing for endless sleep. In the sterile cold bed of a hospital no one came to visit. No one expect her husband that had let her down the day before. He didnt even tell her why he had come to see her as she demanded an answer. She had taken the time to doll up what she was, thought a nice long dinner out would do their relationship good. But he didnt seem to care, didnt seem to want what she had dolled up. Her lipsticked presence only a reminder of the drunken nights before picking her up off the floor and carrying her dolled up limp body to bed.
Why had her parents found her on the floor of her bedroom and pumped the cocktail from her stomach. She didnt want to be revived again. Why did they always have to find her. And then why didnt they come visit her in the hospital on Sunday.
She called me to talk only to say that she didnt want to talk. Only vent? Whats the point? Why am I loved in this relationship just as an ear. What the hell do you say, say nothing she says. You dont have to say anything. What the is the point of my silence. More wasted time, more time passed by. More of the same, the same, the same. These things bind me, these things hold me down. A thin thread of humanity of compassion, of facing the truth. This thin thread holds me in place, bound to the ground.
She woke up this morning and said dont let life pass you by.
She woke up this morning and said i dont like what ive become. Im accused on days when i do no wrong. Whats the point of trying if no days are good days. Lets end this elphant shit parade now. A bottle of pills, a cocktail of bitter pleasures, and a sad lonely goodbye.
She woke up this morning drowsey with longing for endless sleep. In the sterile cold bed of a hospital no one came to visit. No one expect her husband that had let her down the day before. He didnt even tell her why he had come to see her as she demanded an answer. She had taken the time to doll up what she was, thought a nice long dinner out would do their relationship good. But he didnt seem to care, didnt seem to want what she had dolled up. Her lipsticked presence only a reminder of the drunken nights before picking her up off the floor and carrying her dolled up limp body to bed.
Why had her parents found her on the floor of her bedroom and pumped the cocktail from her stomach. She didnt want to be revived again. Why did they always have to find her. And then why didnt they come visit her in the hospital on Sunday.
She called me to talk only to say that she didnt want to talk. Only vent? Whats the point? Why am I loved in this relationship just as an ear. What the hell do you say, say nothing she says. You dont have to say anything. What the is the point of my silence. More wasted time, more time passed by. More of the same, the same, the same. These things bind me, these things hold me down. A thin thread of humanity of compassion, of facing the truth. This thin thread holds me in place, bound to the ground.
She woke up this morning and said dont let life pass you by.
Leaving is so definite
That's the thing about being a teenager. All the important adults in your life are telling you to stop worrying about what others think about, just do right and go straight. And then of course those same adults are caught up in what you do as a teenager, spending so much time thinking about you and what you might do, how you might fit into this world. But the physical aspects of being a teenager the actual brain capacity is in social mode striving to figure out what this body is and how does it fit into this world.
As a teenager Jessica would spend most of her waking hours, in her front yard wondering where that road, that passes in front of her house, might lead to. Which direction should she travel? One direction could lead to misery the other happiness. How do you know which is the right one? This feeling, impossible to categorize, held her captive wondering day in and day out. As the important adults, a few magazine articles and a talk show or two taught her, she stayed devoted to being a part of a family.
Leaving was just so defining, so cage rattling. Others projected feelings of distain and impossibility on Jessica as she talked fondly of the road and where it might take her. This confused her, didn't they want to know too? Why would they not? Just content to sit, not imagining time doing something else. Perhaps something that mattered? Do something in life that would make for an exciting funeral? Instead of invoking guilt in the minds of a small crowd of people when you pass away, why not strive for droves of funeral attendees that dropped everything in their life just to be a part the memory of you as you are lowered in the ground.
Perhaps in the end that funeral party is never as exciting as you had imagined, not as glittery and star studded as you had dreamed, but we must at least strive to have a handful of believers at your funeral. Believers because you spent your lifetime living.
So many paths, leading to so many places choosing one and actually going gets a little daunting. Should I go somewhere because there is already someone there I know? Perhaps it a more fulfilling journey if you just go, relying on your instinct and trusting that you cunning enough no to starve and not sacrifice yourself in the name of “needing money.”
That's the thing about being a teenager. All the important adults in your life are telling you to stop worrying about what others think about, just do right and go straight. And then of course those same adults are caught up in what you do as a teenager, spending so much time thinking about you and what you might do, how you might fit into this world. But the physical aspects of being a teenager the actual brain capacity is in social mode striving to figure out what this body is and how does it fit into this world.
As a teenager Jessica would spend most of her waking hours, in her front yard wondering where that road, that passes in front of her house, might lead to. Which direction should she travel? One direction could lead to misery the other happiness. How do you know which is the right one? This feeling, impossible to categorize, held her captive wondering day in and day out. As the important adults, a few magazine articles and a talk show or two taught her, she stayed devoted to being a part of a family.
Leaving was just so defining, so cage rattling. Others projected feelings of distain and impossibility on Jessica as she talked fondly of the road and where it might take her. This confused her, didn't they want to know too? Why would they not? Just content to sit, not imagining time doing something else. Perhaps something that mattered? Do something in life that would make for an exciting funeral? Instead of invoking guilt in the minds of a small crowd of people when you pass away, why not strive for droves of funeral attendees that dropped everything in their life just to be a part the memory of you as you are lowered in the ground.
Perhaps in the end that funeral party is never as exciting as you had imagined, not as glittery and star studded as you had dreamed, but we must at least strive to have a handful of believers at your funeral. Believers because you spent your lifetime living.
So many paths, leading to so many places choosing one and actually going gets a little daunting. Should I go somewhere because there is already someone there I know? Perhaps it a more fulfilling journey if you just go, relying on your instinct and trusting that you cunning enough no to starve and not sacrifice yourself in the name of “needing money.”
