I make abstract sketches because I feel sketchy these days. I’m wriggling lines twisting about myself until I’m a little knot, a dot lost in space. I make abstract sketches because I’m lazy as fuck, the lighting is horrible, and it’s easier that way. I make abstract sketches because I am saturated. I can’t bother with details, my mind is stuffed. I make abstract sketches because I like to caress the edges of bodies and faces without getting involved. I put a stroke of red and let the tips of my toes carry me away and I run. I make abstract sketches…

I think I’m porous. That explains the rippling I feel somewhere inside my chest on the surface of my lungs or the heart, I’m not sure. That’s probably why I smell of black coffee at certain times during the day, maybe I need to add some milk.

The hand of an anorexic

“Human existence is so fragile a thing and exposed to such dangers that I cannot love without trembling.” - Simone Weil, Gravity and Grace.

Take her weak trembling hand
and frame it
A portrait : pale, white, and thin
translucent skin
blue veins : radiating
with inner antagonisms;
gravity…grace
a fresco of decreation
on a ceiling of a chapel
where God fills the voids
inside a six year old girl
who refused to eat sugar