2025
I wore my blue sweater every day for two months. It was my comforter and my protector: look at the blue, not what's happening inside it.
I knew the sweater had to go, but where would all that pain go? I wanted distance, not erasure.
“Death before growth, rot before bloom.”
This needed to be true: shit to become fertilizer.I cast a ceramic shell from cow dung to replace the sweater. Not to hide, to digest. The hollow form holds what can no longer be carried: a pill bottle, photographs, the American flag.
Shit is what remains after we've taken what we can from something. What's left after the body extracts nourishment from memory, from history, from a world unraveling. The piece stands as both tomb and seedbed, waste and fertility at once.
Trusting that grief decomposes into something living.
Clay, soil, herbs, flowers, bones, flag, pill bottles, photographs.
