I typed the poem on a thrifted typewriter before enlarging and printing onto aged (thrifted!) paper. I upgraded my tools to cut with more precision and learned to work faster to lay everything down. Making art is solitary but fulfilling. I plan to complete 1-2 more of these in time for them to be shown in my studio's gallery group show in November, and have my sights on a newer poem for one. I also find the reincarnation of these old works to be quite full-circle.
Everything Was Right - Mixed Media on Canvas
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In memory of youth and inexperience I swing a creaking door to a vacant room In my mind's eye, in this perfect house the blazing canop...
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Here's to the final pretender a moth buried in her silky dust, a lady with wings of crepe and a thorax riddled with scars An adhesive st...

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