Watching her fold laundry has the effect of a lullaby on me, as if her gestures are an anesthetic. I’m reminded of some poem I read in college about sorting laundry. The kind of thing you read in English 101 that’s more important than you can appreciate at the time. I couldn’t see such yellows then. But how I wanted to. How.
This is my studio for exploring my work. Consider these drafts.