Sometimes I wish jargon didn’t exist. Sometimes I wish I had more time to plan a calendar – and keep a schedule. Sometimes I want to be the one who gets it.
But root 2 squares and armatures and eyes mock my understanding. Rubber cement fumes sting my nose and create a headache. And Frida stares at me – beckons me to tell a visual story as I trim down her life’s works into an 8×11 frame.