the dead speak of their day in technicolor musings
2017
watercolor, ink, gouache on hand molded paper
30"x22"
While sitting in my petal heavy garden a bee flew up my skirt.
The toneless sky throws mocking shadows over my tiny house.
Because the house is cold, I stepped outside.
Glancing up, I felt the world tumble.
It all seemed to have already happened.
It was utterly there.
The toneless sky throws mocking shadows over my tiny house.
Because the house is cold, I stepped outside.
Glancing up, I felt the world tumble.
It all seemed to have already happened.
It was utterly there.
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