Shapes for future suns
May 27 – June 13 2020
I walk down to the beach and try to make something from nothing. Shells with moon snail holes, knotted nylon, shards of blue plastic high on the tideline, beer cans and red ribbonous seaweed, rose stalks growing though a crack in the wood, tossed magazines and felt-tipped markers.
Or Made from my body alone, its flight and its fall.
The sun is bleeding and my hands are pricked as I weave this wreath of thorns. Back yard stinking of seaweed as I conjure your trace. I’ll try to draw the arc of my time spent in the sand. I’ll put it all in my car and drive it to this clean white room.